This weekend I did something brave. I took a chance. And I am so happy that I did.
My definition of true bravery is when you take a risk to get something you want, knowing that the odds aren’t in your favor. (Bravery is a lot like stupidity in that way…) Cowardice is letting the two most dangerous words in the English language build a duplex in your head and retire there. Those two words are “What if?”
This past weekend, I evicted “What” and “If” from my brain. (they are now carrying cloth bags on the end of a stick as they hitchhike along the railroad in their straw hats and jagged hem jeans) (get it? Because they are homeless now!) (But not the sad kind of homeless – more like a Loony Tunes character kind of homeless)
If you read my last post, you know that I made a conscious decision to share my innermost, scariest “What If.” It wasn’t until I actually (re)read the post for the 6th time that I realized I was so over holding onto just a possibility. I was ready for more than putting up walls, burying feelings, and having to answer all my friends’ questions about what was really going on between us.
So I took a chance. I said, “Fuck it!”
While channeling the Dickens’ Ghost of Christmas Present for my annual Christmas Party (wearing a Little Black Dress complete with a Christmas wreath hairpiece, pure gold glitter that I glued to my eyelids, cheesy Christmas ornament earrings, and a true spirit of hedonism), I laid it all on the line.
I will spare you the gory details involving copious amounts of red wine and glitter filled tears. Let’s just leave it at this: his reply was the exact answer I needed to hear. It wasn’t what I wanted, but it was everything I needed to get rid of “What If.”
And honestly, other than the gold glitter stuck to my pillowcases, I regret nothing. I took a risk, I lost, and I didn’t die.
I don’t know who is next on my great journey to finding my partner in crime – but I do know that I am more ready now than I was last week.
Je ne regrette rien.