Earlier this month, I woke up to an email from my mom.
The subject line read: Fw: my bookkkk.
Half-asleep but curious, I opened the attachment, not expecting to discover a 4,867-word story I had written in 2013 on my grandpa’s desktop computer while visiting him and my grandma in Michigan. I still remember writing it like it was yesterday, perched in his office chair and convinced I was creating something extraordinary.
For your reading pleasure, I present an opening excerpt from what was surely a future bestseller:
“It was finally the last day of school and coincidentally, my birthday. The birds all sang together in sync with the molted cicadas chirping along. Even the school bell seemed to chime in on the melody.
“‘Happy birthday, Bailee!’ shouted my friend Kate. She handed me a rectangular card without an envelope.
“Have a doggone good birthday!” it read, with a picture of a bulldog on it.
At the time, I thought it was probably the greatest work of fiction ever conceived. I mean, come on — the doggone pun is pretty good.
As adults, we tend to develop tunnel vision for the future. I often wonder where my career will take me, what my relationships will look like years from now, and how I can become the most successful version of myself. We spend so much time asking who we want to become that we sometimes forget to ask who we’ve already been.
In our final Leadership Columbia class this spring, we discussed how we can be heroes in our stories and in others’ — but sometimes, we are also the obstacle standing in our way. For me, that obstacle has long been my own anxiety. Fear of not being good enough. Fear of being too much. Fear of being too naive, too inexperienced, or too late. This year, in many ways, I have tried to do the things that scare me anyway.
Leadership Columbia was one of those things. So was working on a film set for the first time, taking on photography work, traveling to Las Vegas for a videography project, and — perhaps most ironically — finally getting medicated for that anxiety. I also joined a writers group filled with talented people I met relatively recently, requiring me to choose vulnerability every single week when we gather to share our work.
Reading that story my mom sent reminded me that, while looking toward the future, I shouldn’t forget about that spunky 12-year-old girl sitting at her grandpa’s desk. I want to remember the fearlessness it took for her to knock out a 15-page book simply because she wanted to. She wasn’t worried about publication or whether it was any good. She just sat her butt down and wrote. Who cares if it’s not perfect? Who cares if it’s even so awful you should probably throw it in the dumpster and maybe even set it on fire?
One motto I’m trying to live by lately is: First make it; then make it good.
Time moves forward whether we act or not. The months and years arrive regardless of whether we start the project, apply for the opportunity, or take the risk. So why not do the thing, even if we’re scared or bad at it at first?
As you think about where you’re going next, I encourage you to take a moment to look at where you’ve been. Who were you before the doubts crept in? What parts of that younger version of yourself deserve another chance to lead? What qualities do you want to carry forward, and how can you continue to grow while still honoring the person who got you here?
I hope you enjoy our August “Time Travel” issue, where we explore Columbia’s past and present through the people, places, and stories that have shaped our community. Take a journey through Stephen Bybee’s magnificent documentation of the city we love, celebrate as Hickman High School looks toward its 100th year, and discover how our local radio stations have helped define the soundtrack of Columbia for decades.
