Risks are scary. And yes, that does seem obvious, doesn’t it.
But I don’t mean big risks. I’ve done some of those. I’ve jumped out of a perfectly functional airplane (Twice, because I figured it didn’t count until I’d done it again, knowing what it would be like).
I’ve moved to a foreign country on my own, with only a rudimentary grasp of the language. (It worked out, but in the oddest ways.)
We expect risks like that to be a little crazy. But they’re not every day sorts of things, so they don’t come up that often, and somehow that makes them more manageable.
It’s the little things that get me.
Right now I’m taking some risks. Small risks, not life threatening, but possibly life changing. I’m considering transitioning out of what’s been my bread and butter career for years. Exploring the idea of offering completely different services in an unrelated professional field. Rearranging how our household finances work. Dreaming up a job I think should exist, and trying to hustle it into being, without exactly knowing how that’s going to work out.
And even though no airplane is involved, it’s all just as scary.
Maybe even more so, since this isn’t a temporary leap, but a slow and steady shift.
I think things are going to work out. I really do.
I’m remembering other small risks. Sending out chapters of my first novel for crits. Putting books up for sale on my own. Reviews. Moving to a new town.
Every change was just as scary, but now they’re just part of life, and part of the steps I’ve taken to bring life more in congruence with what I imagine.
These new changes are just more of the same.
Maybe, possibly, what I’m feeling isn’t exactly fear, but growing pains. Growing, shifting, transforming.
And that’s not nearly as scary.