What am I afraid of?

I am afraid of spending my money on the wrong things, again.

I am afraid of choosing fast and easy over slow and uncomfortable.

I am afraid of my parents reading the Cha Cha Beat. I am afraid of my parents?

My parents love me.—My writer’s mind excuses when they don’t say “I love you.” It’s all about show, don’t tell. Their actions speak. They love me in spite of not liking me all the time. I am not the person they thought they’d raise. My sister’s are. But I am not.

I am afraid of my family judging me. Which is weird because I judge them all the time. My entire existence is a judgement on how they live their lives. I was living that life too. Then I decided it sucked and moved three thousand miles away. A decade later, and I’m a happily engaged woman, spending her Saturday writing on the rocks at the beach. Life is good. So let them judge!—You know, Cha Cha, you really should learn to show off a little more. Be proud of who you are, girl! Should we take a selfie?! No? No.

I am afraid of never making money from my writing. Which is a moot point because I still have to write. This is not about money. The stakes are much higher than that.

I am afraid of having to prove myself in public. They will see me fall. But I’ll get up again. They ain’t never gonna keep me down. I am afraid that it will hurt to fall. What if I don’t get up again?

What if I post this beat? It will be there, time-stamped evidence of my vulnerability. What if I move forward? What if I keep writing? Maybe one day I’ll share a link with my parents.—Not to this. God no! But to whatever I’ve just written that seems right for them to see.—How much more will they read? One, two, four more beats before they get the idea. Will they get the idea? Will they think the idea is stupid?

If they think the idea is stupid, then clearly they don’t get the an idea. The Cha Cha Beat is brilliant!—Then why are you so f*cking scared, Cha Cha?!

I am mad now. Because I can’t pin point this fear. Like my own consciousness, the more I go looking for my fear, the more it seems there’s no there there. Anxiety and doubt are blowing smoke. But that doesn’t mean I am on fire.

I am on fire! Look at me go, breaking through these mental traps. I’ve got a new strategy. Once word at a time.