How often have you denied a chance, a fresh proceeding, a new experience because you’re uncertain of what’s next; the angst as you approach the sharp corner of doubt. From the midday meal to the profound mystery that is your life tomorrow and ahead. You hesitate, glance away, as your heart whispers, “I’m not sure” and slowly submerge into the mediocre moment. Paralysis exacted by a lesser picture in the mind, a future lost in the dark of inaction. How often are we wasted by the venom that is fear.
I’m not talking about activating your Carpe diem-ic side to make the most of now. I’m talking about the kid in you who doesn’t raise his hand because he’s afraid to speak his mind, and is terrified of going to the blackboard ‘cos he could be wrong in front of everyone. I’m talking about dread staring down hope, its brave heartening voice swallowed, and the butterfly effect of apprehension. And for the last turn on this broken record, about getting nowhere because the sail isn’t raised.
How can we have a healthy appetite for dreams, success (or fulfilling kitchen ventures evident in the better rösti I’ve made) if we cannot stomach mistakes. The dreamer must overcome setbacks and the voices that scoff, “it won’t work”. It is about raising your hand, it is about going to the blackboard. More importantly, and steadily personal, it is about faith – pressing closer towards the Father and His everlasting promises for us, one tottery, humble step at a time.
Per Fidem Intrepidus