Safety Net
Living a fulfilling life is risky business, and some perceive that risk at a much higher level than others.
Full disclosure: I am NOT comfortable as a risk taker. At. All.
At times, this risk aversion has served me well, especially as a teen, a time when precarious behaviors are tempting and encouraged by peers. It kept me from dropping acid on the way to school at the age of 12 with the neighborhood girl I used to walk with. It stopped me from entering into sexual relationships with boys in high school who were just that--boys. In my gut, I knew neither of these situations would lead to anything good, so I politely said, "Thanks, but no thanks."
I also had the safety net of my religion and severely strict parents. I could always blame not going to parties on my parents. That is not to say I didn't do anything risky as a teenager--I still managed to make some pretty irresponsible decisions--but these were carefully measured and planned, and I was still a nervous wreck the whole time I was supposed to be having "fun."
But, Annmarie, you'll say, those are good things, you were responsible and moral and smart. Sure. But, the bottom line: It was fear that held me back. Fear of my parents. Fear of a bad reputation. Fear of burning in Hell, a fear that was drilled into my little brain from the time I can remember. And, settling on decisions based on fear is not the best way to operate.
With that said, there have been many times in my life when risk aversion has not served me. At. All. The minute anything became difficult, I ditched it for something I was capable of handling successfully. I didn't grow up with "You can do anything you want." That was too idealistic and unrealistic. I grew up with "Find something you can do, and do it well." I'm not saying it's the worst philosophy, but it assumes that you are not capable of overcoming obstacles to reach lofty goals. It doesn't encourage setting lofty goals at all. "Don't be so grandiose" was a common mantra of my childhood. All of this was said with good intentions, but man, it's hard to shake those ideas.
Case in point: College. It took me 7 years to get a bachelor's degree. I should have had a master's and have been partially through a doctorate degree in that amount of time. I could have gone away for school, but that was too risky. It was easier and more realistic to stay at home.
I made it successfully through my first 2 years at a community college in an honor's Interdisciplinary Program, all while working full-time to pay for my classes and books. And then, I went away. I actually followed my boyfriend (now my husband) up to UF, pretty risky business for me. But, I had him as a safety net. I declared Public Relations as my major. Economics was my first challenge. I didn't even understand the words coming from the professor's lips but still managed a C. Then, I had to take a reporting class--JOU 3101. When I called someone for my first interview and he hung up on me, I gave up. I changed my major to English and took a D in that class--on purpose. I had toyed with psychology, but I had to do some uncomfortable research in that first class, so that was also off the list. By now, I had wasted a lot of time--and money, but I was willing to take that hit for the pursuit of an easy (for me) degree.
Once I was enrolled in my English courses, I knew I was home. I was comfortable with the subject matter and enjoyed analyzing literature. But, John graduated and moved back to the Tampa Bay area for his exciting job in accounting, and without that safety net, having to struggle to schedule classes at a school that was not friendly to people with full-time job schedules got to me. Then, the brutal murders of brown haired, brown-eyed girls began. Yep, the murderer had a type, and she looked an awful lot like me.
Peace out, Gainesville. I headed for USF, close to home and known more as a commuter school. By this time, I went part-time so I could work a full-time job and at times added a part-time job or two to start saving for our wedding. Marriage happened. A baby happened. A career happened. Even without any clear goals associated with the degree I was seeking, I was determined to finish. Fast forward to being super pregnant with my second kid when I finally earned that degree. So pregnant, in fact, my professor told me I had earned my "A" and dismissed me from the remaining two weeks of the course and the final exam. I think he was worried that my water would break in his classroom after watching me waddle in after working a 10-hour day as an apartment manager. I didn't go to graduation because I didn't think my bladder would hold out. And, at that point, I didn't even really care. It didn't feel like an accomplishment to me. In fact, it felt more like a failure.
I didn't seek a master's in counseling 5-6 years ago when I saw how many hours I had to devote to the internship, on top of the class schedule. How am I going to do that while teaching and raising teenagers? It can't be done. I couldn't find it in myself to take the risk, to face the obstacles, to live without the safety nets of a reliable schedule and a subject I was completely comfortable with.
Finally, at the ripe age of 49, I decided to bite the bullet and sign up for a graduate program in Educational Leadership, a degree that is about the only one in education that can lead to a job with enough of a pay increase to actually recoup the cost of the education. I was so hesitant to push that "apply" button, but now I'm glad I took that risk. It hasn't been easy so far, but it also hasn't been too difficult to handle. In fact, it has energized me and given me some confidence in myself.
I am finally seeing risks--even if they are measured risks--aren't so bad. You still won't find me skydiving or moving to some remote island to live off the land. But, I'm not operating out of fear anymore. The world is not the scary place I've always been led to believe it is. It's actually a pretty wonderful place now that I've taken steps break free from the limitations I've set for myself and that others have set for me. My therapist tells me I'm in my "zone of genius." I like the sound of that. I really love the feel of it, and I plan on taking the necessary risks to make it last.
Full disclosure: I am NOT comfortable as a risk taker. At. All.
I also had the safety net of my religion and severely strict parents. I could always blame not going to parties on my parents. That is not to say I didn't do anything risky as a teenager--I still managed to make some pretty irresponsible decisions--but these were carefully measured and planned, and I was still a nervous wreck the whole time I was supposed to be having "fun."
But, Annmarie, you'll say, those are good things, you were responsible and moral and smart. Sure. But, the bottom line: It was fear that held me back. Fear of my parents. Fear of a bad reputation. Fear of burning in Hell, a fear that was drilled into my little brain from the time I can remember. And, settling on decisions based on fear is not the best way to operate.
With that said, there have been many times in my life when risk aversion has not served me. At. All. The minute anything became difficult, I ditched it for something I was capable of handling successfully. I didn't grow up with "You can do anything you want." That was too idealistic and unrealistic. I grew up with "Find something you can do, and do it well." I'm not saying it's the worst philosophy, but it assumes that you are not capable of overcoming obstacles to reach lofty goals. It doesn't encourage setting lofty goals at all. "Don't be so grandiose" was a common mantra of my childhood. All of this was said with good intentions, but man, it's hard to shake those ideas.
Case in point: College. It took me 7 years to get a bachelor's degree. I should have had a master's and have been partially through a doctorate degree in that amount of time. I could have gone away for school, but that was too risky. It was easier and more realistic to stay at home.
I made it successfully through my first 2 years at a community college in an honor's Interdisciplinary Program, all while working full-time to pay for my classes and books. And then, I went away. I actually followed my boyfriend (now my husband) up to UF, pretty risky business for me. But, I had him as a safety net. I declared Public Relations as my major. Economics was my first challenge. I didn't even understand the words coming from the professor's lips but still managed a C. Then, I had to take a reporting class--JOU 3101. When I called someone for my first interview and he hung up on me, I gave up. I changed my major to English and took a D in that class--on purpose. I had toyed with psychology, but I had to do some uncomfortable research in that first class, so that was also off the list. By now, I had wasted a lot of time--and money, but I was willing to take that hit for the pursuit of an easy (for me) degree.
Once I was enrolled in my English courses, I knew I was home. I was comfortable with the subject matter and enjoyed analyzing literature. But, John graduated and moved back to the Tampa Bay area for his exciting job in accounting, and without that safety net, having to struggle to schedule classes at a school that was not friendly to people with full-time job schedules got to me. Then, the brutal murders of brown haired, brown-eyed girls began. Yep, the murderer had a type, and she looked an awful lot like me.
Peace out, Gainesville. I headed for USF, close to home and known more as a commuter school. By this time, I went part-time so I could work a full-time job and at times added a part-time job or two to start saving for our wedding. Marriage happened. A baby happened. A career happened. Even without any clear goals associated with the degree I was seeking, I was determined to finish. Fast forward to being super pregnant with my second kid when I finally earned that degree. So pregnant, in fact, my professor told me I had earned my "A" and dismissed me from the remaining two weeks of the course and the final exam. I think he was worried that my water would break in his classroom after watching me waddle in after working a 10-hour day as an apartment manager. I didn't go to graduation because I didn't think my bladder would hold out. And, at that point, I didn't even really care. It didn't feel like an accomplishment to me. In fact, it felt more like a failure.
I didn't seek a master's in counseling 5-6 years ago when I saw how many hours I had to devote to the internship, on top of the class schedule. How am I going to do that while teaching and raising teenagers? It can't be done. I couldn't find it in myself to take the risk, to face the obstacles, to live without the safety nets of a reliable schedule and a subject I was completely comfortable with.
Finally, at the ripe age of 49, I decided to bite the bullet and sign up for a graduate program in Educational Leadership, a degree that is about the only one in education that can lead to a job with enough of a pay increase to actually recoup the cost of the education. I was so hesitant to push that "apply" button, but now I'm glad I took that risk. It hasn't been easy so far, but it also hasn't been too difficult to handle. In fact, it has energized me and given me some confidence in myself.
I am finally seeing risks--even if they are measured risks--aren't so bad. You still won't find me skydiving or moving to some remote island to live off the land. But, I'm not operating out of fear anymore. The world is not the scary place I've always been led to believe it is. It's actually a pretty wonderful place now that I've taken steps break free from the limitations I've set for myself and that others have set for me. My therapist tells me I'm in my "zone of genius." I like the sound of that. I really love the feel of it, and I plan on taking the necessary risks to make it last.
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