As a little girl I was quite the dare-devil, living to take risks, being “rough and tumble”, brave and reckless. Alive. Free. Daring.
Naturally with those risks came a few bumps and bruises along the way. Like the time I wrapped my hand around the blazing hot muffler of the riding lawn mower right after my Dad told me not to touch it. Or the time I showed off to the neighbors by doing back flips in the front yard, only to break my arm.
Those childhood years, filled with danger and adventure came to a screeching halt when I abruptly banged into puberty. Painfully self-conscious, easily intimidated, slowly taking less risks. What would others think? Would I look stupid? My head space buzzed with “shoulds and shouldn’ts”.
Somehow, albeit not gracefully, I managed to escape those year and eventually I reconnected with that little girl and let her fly.
And, well, here I am decades later starting a blog. And yet that 13-year-old girl inside still wonders if I have anything relevant or meaningful to say. Why would people want to read my ideas?
But hey, that’s where the magic happens, right? And besides, that little girl, she’s ready to jump! Excited. Alive. Feeling Brave.