Learning to Jump off the High Diving Board...

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I've discovered that I have a bit of a perfectionist streak.  Well, maybe half perfectionism, half fear of failure.  Whatever the correct label might be, the result tends to be the same: it is damn hard for me to begin and finish things.  When I was on my own I could just avoid or dismiss things.  But when you are beholden to another and called to the new-found responsibilities demanded by love... there is only one option: do what is required of you... get it done.  The nagging questions and doubts become an ill-afforded luxury.  This realization seems to change very little except the end result.  I still have these worries, these doubts, the handicap is still very real.  The difference is only that I can no longer lean on it as an excuse.  The responsibilities demanded by love - i.e. love as a verb - override the fears. 

It recently occurred to me that fulfilling these responsibilities is often like jumping off the high diving board.  When I'm up there it is terrifying and potentially able to make me freeze up and be trapped in inaction.  I can do it though - don't look down; don't think about the landing; remind myself that I'm capable and it will indeed be okay.  Some days it seems like every action, every moment is like this.  I'm not sure that jumping gets any easier; but I do know that I am learning to jump off with increasing frequency.  That, at least, is reassuring.

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