When to be afraid of messing up.

Last year I decided to learn how to grow my own food. I'm pretty good at houseplants and I've grown tomatoes and other things here and there. But what stopped me from truly learning was my fear of messing up. Wasting money. Doing it wrong. And being overwhelmed with learning everything right away.

I put peas in too late. My zucchini didn't fruit. I didn't know garlic needed to be planted in fall. I was too late ordering asparagus. My beets never made a beet. The feeling of not knowing what everyone else seemed to know was brutal.

The other day Dave wanted to go put our little fishing boat in the water. My whole body seized up. I was afraid of doing it wrong, I'm the one that tells him what direction to go and the hill is on someone's property and I was so nervous the guy would come out and yell at me.

The guy did come out. I sweat through my shirt. It was fine. This big bear of a guy who has ferrets for pets that my dogs almost ate one day. It was fine.

And. I was afraid.

I was afraid of having a conversation with my 15 year old about Trump and being anti-racist because I believe I don't know enough, am not articulate enough and get way too emotional. I did, of course, get way emotional. I did it anyway.

I want to grow carrots but I've heard it is hard. I want to grow beets but last year they failed. I want to learn how to preserve food but I'm terrified of canning something wrong and making someone sick.

I ordered the seeds.

Last week I sent an email out to all of you, asking you to reply. My hosting inbox was full and I was away without a computer or internet for days. I didn't know. I felt sad that no one answered. Then I got messages telling me that people couldn't get an email through to me.

I messed up. I am OK.

I didn't get your emails (please if you could, resend them xo) and I had to be in a moment of feeling very irrelevant and the old story of messing up and being a loser wanted to crawl back in.

I was fine.

I ordered the seeds. I got the boat in the water. I had the conversation, first of many. I screwed up the email.

I'm afraid of messing up. All the time.

I must have thrown out my economic stimulus payment because it comes as a debit card from a place called Money Network Services. Pretty sure I would not have opened that and quickly stuck it in the trash. (My sister saved me and you can call this number to replace them 1.800.240.8100, you are welcome.)

Sometimes messing up means I work a whole lot harder. Sometimes messing up means I feel brave. Sometimes messing up gives me a panic attack. Sometimes messing up is disappointment. Sometimes messing up is freedom.

I am afraid of messing up. And I keep going, I keep feeling it and doing shit anyway. Maybe I'll end up with carrots some day and even learn how to store food. Maybe my kids will have more empathy. Maybe Dave and I won't fight putting the boat into the water or other task that I really don't want to do. Maybe I'll learn to clear my inbox in time and open my mail and maybe I'll even mess up less one day.

Maybe. We need to keep going. Wear masks to say, I care about you. Amplify black and marginalized voices. Do the work of anti-racism. Make every day a celebration of Pride. 

We will mess up. Some of us more than others (hi). Keep going.

I see you. I appreciate you. I adore you. And if you feel like sending another email my way, I promise I'll get it this time.

Love ya, H