When I was wee, I was totally fearless.
I was unafraid of mastering the monkey bars, I rode my scooter right from the top of the slope in our driveway over and over and over, I hung out of the back of my father’s boat and was dragged along in the water in all sorts of instruments. I spent a few mornings before school in my brother’s lap, clutching to the rope of a go-cart and speeding rather haphazardly down our street.
I didn’t mind if a horse threw me, I learnt to ski. I spent most of my childhood in bare feet despite burs and hot concrete.
(I never did quite learn to ride a bike, though. Even with training wheels – but that’s a balance thing. And I wasn’t a brave eater, I was completely cowardly. And I was total rubbish at climbing trees.)
But I was brave.
And, for reasons I still haven’t quite figured out yet, or, care to explain (because, if I’m candid, it’d just be a boring wall of text,) I wasn’t brave for a while.
And I missed that little girl! I missed her brilliant imagination and panache for sand-castle sculpture and her willingness to try.
But the most important thing is, I think she’s back.
After a brief stint in New Zealand, and a trip to Canada looming in five days (!!) I can safely say that my initial hopes for my gap year have been answered, only tenfold. I suppose a little post-graduate scholarly ambiguity, considerable financial uncertainty and throwing oneself headlong into another culture could be good for some.
(I’m being a cheeky git there, but there’s some truth in it.)
It’s nice to feel daunted and intimidated and challenged, because knowing that it’s all a little bit impossible makes it all the more worth trying.
I’m not entirely confident, or empowered, and I have a bad day every once and a while, but this is good.
Anyway – It’s nice to have her back.