Nightmares

I have vivid dreams.

Dreams that seem more real than what's real.

I dream about people, about love, about projects.

I dream about what's in my heart, because when I'm awake, my brain won't shut up; it dominates the conversation and my heart can't get a word in edgewise. But at night, my heart pipes up and says, "Listen. Here's what you really want. This is the thing you're actually chasing. Consider these things, too, when making decisions."

Last night, I had a nightmare. I woke up, curled into a ball, and sobbed.
It was my heart saying, "Listen, it's okay to be scared. And you're scared right now. You should stop pretending you're not."

It is okay to be scared. It doesn't mean I won't do the thing that scares me. It just means that it's important to me; it may even be an indicator that I am about to do exactly the thing that I need to stretch and grow and become more than I am.

The morning I began my mission for the church, just before we piled into the truck so my family could drop me off at the missionary training center, I broke. For the first time. I cried and told my dad how scared I was, that I wasn't sure if I could do it, or if I even wanted to do it. I felt alone.

Dad told me it was okay to be scared. And that I didn't have to pretend I wasn't. That it is okay to need people--I hate that I need people, it's so vulnerable! But I do. And, thankfully, I have bunches of wonderful friends and family members who want to help me, anytime, any day.

That mission turned out to be one of the most precious experiences of my life. I think of it every.single.day. It was scary, because it pushed me to be better, it demanded that I decide who I was and what I was going to do about that, and it required me to have integrity and be what I said I was. It took a lot of effort.

I feel like that now, too. I know what I am capable of, and I feel like the horizon holds big, giant, leaping steps in that area (the area of changing the world and fulfilling the measure of my creation).

And it is scary, because sometimes instead of stetching and rising to the task and pressing forward, I just want to sink into the couch, eat pasta and read a book.

But I can't. I'm ready to do more. And so I admit it: I'm a little scared! But it's a good-scary. It's a scary that tells me, "This is your chance to do something important."

The lesson about fear is this: Do not heed your fears. But don't ignore them, either. Face them. Look that fear sqare in the eye and tell it, "You can't stop me. I am going to do this."