My only New Year's resolution

Fear nothing.

Until recently, most of my life has been dictated by the phrase, "Why not?" I've moved, changed colleges, explored new careers, taken and quit all kinds of jobs based on my lack of fear of change. Why not go to grad school?  Why not work in the film business?  Why not move to Los Angeles?  Sure, why not?

But lately, I have been struck with a bad case of the Fears.  I have been fearing change when it comes to my living space, the subjects and style of my writing, and the "freelance" part of my freelance career. Let's examine a few of my Fears, shall we?

I've wanted an outdoor space for just about ever but I've worried that the new place won't be as good or as cheap as what we have (the devil you know, as they say).  

I've wanted a dog for just as long but I've worried that I won't have time for one.  

I've wanted to try writing different types of stories but I've worried that I can't possibly write as well as my heroes.

I've wanted to re-arrange my teaching schedule but I've worried that my students will leave.

I can continue on for another year like this, in comfortable mediocrity, or I can bust out and get back to my roots of "Why not?" I always ask my dance students, "What's the worst that could happen if you try a step or a combination this way?" You fail? Okay, so try again. But the best that could happen would be you succeed and then you can move forward and do more things.

I really need to take my own advice: stop overanalyzing everything and just do something.  Take *a* step.  Any step in any direction.  It will be far better than being stuck in one place forever and ever. But the biggest reason to stop fearing change?  No one cares.  Let's examine that again, shall we?

NO ONE CARES.  Seriously, people care about themselves and their own families and their own lives.  They don't care about you - about me.  I don't mean this in a negative way.  I mean this in a practical way.  No one can possibly care about my life and what I do with it the way I can.  So if I try something and I fail at it, what's the big deal?  It's more likely that no one will even notice.  And that's a very freeing way to approach change. I can proclaim to the world, Hey, World! I'm gonna do XY and Z! And the world (i.e. friends and family and Facebookers) will respond with a, "Go for it!" And they'll click Like and then they move on. Because that's what people do.  They move on to the next story.  They won't even remember I told them I was doing XY and Z until I do it and tell them I did it.

So you see...No One Cares. But me. And if I'm only doing things to impress myself, then why the hell would I want to do Nothing?  Heck no.  I want to do Something and if it fails, then I'll do Something Else.

Fear Nothing. Happy 2013.

The lure of leftovers

If you don't know me, you will probably think I sound strange and if you do know me, well, you'll probably think I'm a lot stranger than you already do.

I hate having food in the house.

Weird, huh?

I also hate furniture.Okay, see, I have this fear of settling down, of staying in one place too long, of not being able to pack up and leave at a moment's notice. Buying furniture - and painting the walls and putting up pictures and decorations and generally making an apartment more comfortable and personal - means you're stuck. You can't put all of your important belongings in the car and drive off.

I know, I know. I've been in this same apartment, same town, for ten years (10, oh my god) and it doesn't look like I'm about to leave any minute.

But I could. I can. I can leave what's here and start new somewhere else. I can put my husband and my ballet slippers and my laptop in the back of the car and just go. Well, maybe Mo doesn't go all the way in the back.

Freedom.

What exactly does this have to do with food and my distaste for having it in the house? You're probably asking yourself. And then quickly following that with, "man, Leigh is seriously deranged."

How could I just leave - or go away for the weekend or shake up my world - if there is food here? It means I can't do what I want when I want or the way I want. Food in the house, like furniture, requires me to make plans and decide where I'll be for a while. Most of the time, I do like plans and I do enjoy a routine but I like the feeling that I don't have to if I choose not to. In other words, I want to choose to be routine, not feel forced to have one.

Is that so strange?

Random Thoughts on a Friday the 13th

Things I Used to Be Afraid Of

1. Spontaneous combustion - not just the sudden conflagration of a pile of newspapers in the closet but of my own body. As a kid of maybe 8 years old, I was seriously worried I might spontaneously burst into flames. I must have seen this on an episode of "Wonder Woman" or "Six Million Dollar Man."

2. Getting stuck in purgatory - I was a good Catholic kid so naturally I was concerned I would go to Hell if I was bad (forget about Santa not giving me presents, I feared the Devil). Worse was learning about purgatory or limbo. To assuage my worries, my mother assured me that would not happen to me since I had been baptized. So naturally, I became worried for all of those babies who had not been baptized.

3. Botulism - in the 70s there were some outbreaks of botulism linked to canned mushrooms which marked my psyche forever. To this day, I still examine every centimeter of a can of anything and refuse to purchase or use a can that has even the slightest indentation. So technically, this is one thing I am still afraid of.

4. Dolls coming to life - not to terrorize me a la "Chucky," nor for adventures a la "Toy Story," but to chastise me for not taking them into bed with me. For this reason, I would tuck all of my stuffed animals and dolls under the covers each night and make sure that they each had a turn to be next to me.

Random Thoughts on a Friday

4 Things I'm Ashamed To Admit I'm Afraid of

1. Yoga - I've never taken a yoga class in my life. Never done a Downward Facing Dog, never carried a rolled-up mat in a special backpack, never chanted in another language. I know lots of dancers take yoga and love it; they claim it helps their technique and stamina and flexibility and that's awesome but I'm so afraid of walking into a class and not knowing what to do. I would totally embarrass myself, I'm sure, which is why I've never gone. You can put me into a ballet class in another country where no one speaks English and I would be fine because I understand the language of ballet but yoga... [shudder]

Namaste.

2. Pop Music - Please don't ask me who Asher Roth is. Or what song Taylor Swift sings. Or which Jonas Brother is which. I have no idea. Not a clue. I am so out of touch with pop music that I only heard a Miley Cyrus song for the first time about two months ago. I'm not afraid of the music itself but of being asked about it and found out for the musical illiterate that I am. I have never pretended to be hip to the music scene but these days, I am so far out of it, the music I like is classified as Oldies. [shudder]

3. Fire - Whenever I leave my apartment, even for a short walk up to the post office, I back up my current WIP onto a jump drive which I carry in my purse. I am so afraid something in my house will catch on fire and explode and then my computer will melt and I will lose all of my work. And since I have a brain like a sieve, I know there isn't any possible way I could recreate it after the fact. I think part of my fear stems from the true story about Ralph Ellison (who wrote "Invisible Man" - not the sci-fi story but the literary novel which won the National Book Award) who lost hundreds of pages of a manuscript in a house fire and was never able to rewrite them. [shudder]

4. Throwing Up - okay, okay, I don't know a single person who actually enjoys this but I have such fear that I would - and have - gladly suffered with horrible stomach pain just to avoid it. I routinely reject food that a normal person would try simply to limit any possible tainting or stomach sensitivity. I am aware of one person (related to me!) who has, in his much younger college days, used vomiting as a means of continuing to party. Yes, he would drink to excess, become too full to drink anymore, then throw up so he could have another beer or 5. Crazy? Ugh. I call it gross. Just thinking about it makes me a little queasy. [shudder]