I should have let my fear go

I ventured north with a friend to the Kingwood Center Gardens to see their early spring blooms and orchids in the greenhouses on Monday, which was lovely. Snowdrops, some early daffodils, hellebores, and a few other early bloomers were all putting on a show, their colors bright against the dull brown of the earth. Cardinals were flitting to and fro, stunning sapphire peacocks roamed the yard, and ducks swam in the small pond while small children fed quarters into the corn dispenser to haphazardly throw at them. 70 degrees and sunny. Spring, if not here officially, is nearby.

We both packed our sketchbooks in case we wanted to sit and do a bit of art together, though we didn’t know we both brought supplies until we arrived at our destination. The thought of sketching outside of my little desk at home was exciting, though – I pictured standing there drawing some orchids, or sketching one of the statues or the spring flowers. Perhaps sitting at one of the many outdoor benches or tables to sketch and compare our drawings while we chat. A good way to spend time, really. We ultimately didn’t do any of that, though, and I find I’m upset with myself over it. I allowed my self-consciousness about doing something I haven’t done before, around someone else, to get in the way. Again.

It’s so stupid that at this age I’m still, internally, that little girl afraid to be herself. Afraid to say “yes, I want to do this” because I worry about what others will think even when they’re on the same page. Afraid to show people who I really am, fully and unapologetically, because so long ago as a child I learned that being wholly me was unsafe. How much fun I have missed in life because of that fear?

Would it have been that big of a deal to sit and sketch a while with a friend? How would I have felt had someone seen us sitting there and asked to see what we were doing? Would I feel completely embarrassed to show some random stranger my sketchbook if it were a good drawing that I felt proud of? What about if it were absolutely trashcan-worthy? And why does it matter, anyway? Highly doubtful that this random stranger, in this fictional scenario, is some snobby world-famous artist who will immediately look down on the silly little artworks that I make just for myself.

The answer to all of this is pretty obvious when I really think about it, but in that situation… in those moments where I’m living life and not overthinking it, I’m a kid again and afraid.

I have a big milestone birthday coming up in July when I turn 40. Last year I joked that this was the last year of Candice as most people know me, and that come July I will magically be transformed into a new version of myself. I call it my “fuck it 40s.” The era of doing what I want, because I want to, because it makes me happy.

I know this isn’t how life works, of course. I’ll still be me. I could have entered this “fuck it” stage forever ago, honestly, but I kept playing the game. Kept trying to be who I thought I should be instead of who I am. But there’s something exciting about this upcoming milestone and hitting a point in life where you realize it’s all bullshit and just giving yourself permission to stop caring. And I think that’s what I’m working toward right now – acknowledging the old me, and pushing the “new” me that was there all along out into the sunlight for good.