for being such a (self-proclaimed) lover of adventure, you’d think trying new things wouldn’t cause me debilitating distress. but since the very moment i embarked on my journey of motherhood, i have been stagnant.
in almost every single aspect of my life, or at least as an individual (thankfully my stagnancy has yet to bleed over into who i am as a mama), i have been stagnant. these days, i can barely even find the courage to say yes to a new, never-before-tried dish of food, let alone a new potential hobby or friend. i often think — if i could only put my finger on whatever it is about trying new things that terrifies me so, i could fix it. i could be a better me for the people i love. i could live a better life. i wouldn’t have keep repeating the same exact books and films and albums and outfits and lattes and breakfasts over and over, day in and day out — never changing, never growing.
and you know what the worst part is? my supposed “inability” to try new things hasn’t only hurt me. on the rare, once-in-a-blue-moon occasion my husband and i leave the loft as a hand-holding, kiss-giving twosome for a date, it’s always the same. i request the same songs on the drive to, i choose the same restaurant or café, i order the same thing. nothing ever changes. nothing is ever new. and it’s entirely my fault. if it were up to aaron alone, i reckon we’d never go on the same date twice. the effects parenthood has had on us in this respect couldn’t be more different. becoming a father has helped liven aaron up, if anything — made him much less fearful, and far more eager to get out into the world and explore. to experience all he possibly can. but not me. no — these days, i can feel a panic attack begin to brew just by thinking about stepping outside of my comfort zone. but actually giving it a proper, honest go? well, is “torture” too melodramatic a word?
i know, i know. it’s well past time i started fighting my irrational fear of the unknown and the unfamiliar — a fear i’ve permitted to rule my every day. but it’s not too late. it’s a brand new year. a fresh start. a blank slate. what better time than this to begin bettering oneself?
a resolution for the year twenty-sixteen: be open to trying new things. say yes more than no. don’t let the fear win.
this is probably the first new year’s resolution i’ve ever made that i couldn’t forgive myself for breaking. i mean, allowing myself to avoid anything new? what kind of a life is that? certainly not a life i want to provide as an example to my all too impressionable three and a half year old son, i’ll tell you that. he deserves so much better from me.
i think i’ll take it slowly, though, at least to start. i’ll try littler new things — like watching a television show chosen by someone other than me for once, or checking out a variety of cookbooks from the library so i don’t keep defaulting to the same couple meals i always do, or buying a live plant instead of the easier-to-maintain artificial option i usually to go for, or unrolling the yoga mat that’s been collecting dust for months and committing to a small daily practice, or planning a coffee date with one of the local mamas i’ve “met” through instagram.
baby steps, y’know?
little joys 