I think I hold onto fear a lot more than I thought I did. I think I’ve convinced myself I’m not scared of things that I am, but I don’t know why. Is it easier to not advance in life towards the things I want than it is to stay in this stable yet boring state? Sure, I’m comfortable here; my finances are (mostly) under control and I have enough without having too much but also while being able to splurge sometimes on food or fun activities. But is just being ‘comfortable’ enough? No, it doesn’t feel like it. Not when I can feel the constant calling to leave this place and land in a different world than what I’ve known. It’s not enough when I feel like I can’t get you out of my mind, as crazy as it seems since we’ve never met, but when something is telling me that every day that somehow, I know we’d be good together I can’t just keep ignoring it. Being ‘comfortable’ isn’t enough for me anymore when my heart feels the urge to wander and keeps desperately pleading me to move.

And what about my job? It’s a good, solid job with potential to offer me so much opportunity and financial gain; I know because I’ve set myself up in that position – to be a vital part of my workplace community and system of operation. I don’t do this intentionally or with any malicious intent, but rather I just like being as helpful as possible. But I don’t love it. It’s fine; I’m not unhappy there but I crave more. I crave more purpose in the work I do; crave more opportunity for travel and yes, higher pay at the present time would be nice. I crave more of a sense of “I make people happy with what I do;” I want people to recognize me either by myself or the company I work for. I want to be looked up to, and to make people say, “wow, they’ve really done well for themselves.”

I want to leave to pursue other things that might fulfill this in me, but I’m scared or what leaving might mean. Plus, I like the people I work with. I have been lucky to fall in line with a group of like-minded individuals who are all great at what they do and care about each other. I’m comfortable here. Externally at least, but internally I feel like I’m living a life not for me. This isn’t who I am or meant to be, I can feel it. But I’m scared to chase after that person.

I want to say I’m very family-oriented, but I don’t know how true that is. In some instances, family always comes first for me, but there are some areas where I don’t make as much effort as I probably should. And I could sit here and come up with dozens of excuses as to why that it; that’s a special talent of mine, the ability to excuse my own behavior most of the time. But I always feel like I should be doing, could be doing, more. And I think that hits home hardest when I think about wanting to travel or possibly move to another country, because I use them as one of my biggest excuses. “I can’t leave the country with my family in it,” I tell myself, “it would break their hearts and what if they hate me for it?” I know they actually wouldn’t hate me; I don’t think anything I could do could make them hate me. But I tell myself they’ll be disappointed by my decision and call me selfish. Their approval means everything to me (why it does despite how my childhood went, I can’t understand). I could come up with hundreds of reasons related to my family alone of why I can’t leave to chase after the things that call out to me, but in the end, I know it’s all because of one thing: fear.

But I tell myself it isn’t fear holding me back, because I guess it’s just easier to blame other people for me not doing the things I want to rather than admitting it’s really myself who’s holding me back.

I’ve told myself this so many times that this became my reality: I can’t leave and travel the world because what would they do without me? I should be spending more time with them; it’s selfish to just leave. I can’t quit my job in pursuit of something more fulfilling, because that place would start to crumble without me there and the friends I’ve made would be miserable. I can’t let you go, so I shouldn’t be talking to anyone else to try to move on because a small part of me will always be thinking about how they’re not you.

I tell myself these lies that make so much sense the longer I delve into them. I tell myself these lies, and they become so familiar; so easy to slip into. So comfortable.

And why not? Because the only person I’m hurting with them is myself, and I’ve only ever lived my life for other people anyway, so why not keep it up? It’s easier this way for everyone, especially me. I’ve watched the people in my life fall into similar patterns, and they seem happy or content most of the time until they aren’t. Until they sit at their rustic, reclaimed dining tables in the morning, staring out their custom bay windows with eyes that turn down slightly in sadness and they wonder what their life would look like if they had just made different choices or had gone after the things they said no to previously. I feel myself wondering that all the time about myself and where I’m at: will I end up like them? With the things they thought they needed to be happy, but not necessarily following the things their hearts long for?

And there it is again: the mention of longing. This seems to pop up as a recurring theme in these posts because I guess my life is filled with it. I don’t think it’s a bad thing, and maybe it’s even the key to help me get past these fears I let hold me back. I’m scared to leave the country, but I long for the new experience of a world, a life so unlike the one I’ve known up until now. I’m scared I’ll never find someone to love with the full extent I have to offer, and someone who will love me the same but I long for that kind of bond of knowing after one meeting that there couldn’t possibly be a more perfect person in the entire universe for me.

I’m scared of leaving what’s comfortable here where I have a better idea of what to expect, but I long for the adventure of discovering new things I didn’t know existed and proving to myself that I can do it alone.

I’m scared of the potential of losing what I have. But I long for all I could gain.

I don’t want to be one of those people who spend their whole lives talking about the things they want to do but then makes excuses until they’re old and look back to everything they could have done with regret that they didn’t try harder.

There will never feel like there’s enough money, and money comes and goes anyway so might as well use it while you have it.

There will always be people who will miss you when you leave, and yeah, that will hurt but it doesn’t mean that relationship won’t be there anymore when you’re somewhere else. It will take more effort to keep up, but it won’t just disappear. If there’s love their, whether it be a friend, a family member, or a romantic partner, it will always work out.

There will always be uncertainties in whatever you do – you never truly know the outcome of anything. The apartment you’ve been living in for the last few years could burn down through no fault of your own despite how much time you spent trying to be the best tenant and not letting a single rent payment be late. The stable financial situation you’re in, where you’re maybe not living it up and splurging regularly but you also have enough to pay for all of your bills and throw a bit into savings is not as stable as you think. At any moment, God forbid, something terrible and expensive could happen that takes up everything you managed to save up the last 5 years of your life, or the economy crashes and with it, your sense of financial calm. Even that nice cushy job with the benefits you strived to get and where you worked so hard to be a crucial member of the team is not always guaranteed to be a safety net for you. And that is perhaps the biggest lie I think I tell myself: as long as I stay right where I am, I’m safe.

There really is no such thing, at least not in that sense. Once I make myself fully accept this, I think I can move onto to doing those things I’ve always wanted to do. I’m tired of just accepting comfortable in my mind when everything else in my body is screaming for more. I need to start listening to it – even if it doesn’t turn out well in the end, I can at least look back and say that I tried. I’ll get to the end of my life with stories to tell even if the endings aren’t always great rather than with a weary heart that grows tired of longing.

No, I won’t wait until that longing becomes unbearable. I won’t wait until my body is too old and frail to attempt half of what I want to do. I refuse to grow old and have done nothing with all these ideas and desires. I always thought I was scared of just growing old in general, but now I think I’m starting to realize that I’m actually terrified of growing old from a life where nothing happened. Where I can’t look back and be proud of the risks I took or the things I said and went after. I don’t want a life that doesn’t make me smile and reminisce in the end.

So I’ll go. One way or another, I’ll start doing the things I want to – small at first to get myself to see that it’s not so bad or scary after all to step outside of what I know. I’ll go to the places I’ve always wanted to visit and see and meet the people I’ve always wanted to know. I’ll go for me, and no one else. I’ll go and stopping getting in my own way. I’ll go to finally fulfill my longings.

I’ll go and stop letting the fear I’ve disguised as other things keep me from living.