It was a simple interview about women in engineering.
The reporter stared at me, bright-eyed, expectant and asking for an interview.
My boss smiled encouragingly.
Fear paralyzed my soul, and I felt that familiar, partially true stigma about the socially awkward engineers flicker through my mind.
Then, the words just popped out of my mouth, “Sure, no problem.” It was a small decision that was against everything in me that wanted to play it safe.
I was faced with a decision, no matter how trivial.
A decision to put myself out there, with an idea and a position to stand by. In that moment I realized as much as I wanted to say “I can’t”, it wasn’t true. Refusing to do something just because “I can’t” ninety percent of the time just means “I won’t”. My physical and mental ability to accomplish something really have nothing to with “I can’t”.
The reasons I won’t do something are sometimes solid and sometimes they’re a bit on the squishy side. Facing that, every time I say I can’t now, there’s a little poke inside of me right next to that place courage lives.
Let’s face it — most of the time courage isn’t home. But every once in a while, I knock on that door and courage stands tall, present and ready. When the day-to-day moves so quickly, and time becomes a fluid entity, I can almost reach out and feel, like silk sliding over my splayed fingers, I somehow find the courage to stand in the river and not be swept through by the current.
Where did that come from? “I can’t” used to populate my vocabulary like the taste buds on my tongue, and, like those tiny bumps, I don’t remember the day “I can’t” settled with its bad flavor on my lips. Somewhere in the air, I can taste something else, something sweeter.
There is an “I can," savory like that first bite of a steak. But there’s something to walking into a restaurant and ordering off the menu. Life is a lot like that. I have to know what I want, and I think my menu’s written in French.
Where do we go about breaking down our barriers and getting used to the idea of doing? If you’re anything like me, the instant you turn down a good opportunity to play things safe, daydreams set in on how things would have gone.
Surprisingly, I found this driving spark not by defining who I am and who I belong to. I personally find my identity in dedication to a God, who never changes. In belief in an unfailing love that proclaims it’s OK to be out there, living, expressing myself and making a mistake.
The important thing is that when you mispronounce the escargot on the menu, you learn how to say it right. You may find you like the taste of snails or find great joy in all those adventures just waiting to happen.
So, order up!
