Hesitation

So this past week I got a phone call.

A great opportunity; and my first inclination was to make excuses to justify my decline. Some deeply seeded words there…’justify my decline’. You see, when I returned to Toronto 9 months ago, I was eager to get back into the demanding, yet intellectually and emotionally satisfying realm of teaching.

I put myself out there and…

crickets.

So I resorted to tending bar once again. Not a bad gig, except for the odd drunk. And it felt good. Good to be the smartest person in the room (or at least think so). The concept simple, the labour physical and the people easily amused. I told myself that a couple years of being a literary academic was enough. That I had my moment, and that I had peaked in my twenties. Now, I just do something to make enough money to pay the rent and that’s fine. Jovial and cheeky, I’d be waiting tables til the day I break my hip. Could be worse.

A little extreme I know, but I am not the sort to feel at ease with a direction unknown, so I guess this is it. WAIT A SECOND. The old girl wouldn’t write off her years simply due to lack of inspiration. She wouldn’t just ‘lump it’. SO WHAT THE F*CK HAPPENED?!

I got old.

I lost that shiny coat of paint, and perhaps even my spirited flair with words. Mentally, I retired at 30.

Then I got that phone call. And in that moment I realized what a coward I’d become. I have a chance at another school, and all I could think of was why I shouldn’t take it. Why I couldn’t do it. Why I wasn’t good enough. That’s when my closest confidants delivered upon my face a metaphorical b*tch slap.

I have good friends.

I also went to the interview today. I think it went well. 

In summation, I let myself feel comfort in giving up. It was easier to decline an opportunity, than to allow the opportunity to decline me. Maybe its the Azerbaijani ego that runs through my veins or the loud mouthed vagrant I sometimes showcase at select social gatherings (if you’re lucky), or perhaps the frightening knowledge that regardless of what my millennial upbringing imbedded in me, I can’t always have what I want just because I want it. 

Somewhere between a swift kick in the arse, and Kenny Loggins blaring “Highway to the Danger Zone”, I got my groove back.

30 isn’t old. And I’m not done taking risks just yet.