We sat at a table past closing time the other night, three of us, same age, different pages. We have to do something! she exclaimed, the gregarious one. I smiled back, because I know she's right, but there's a bigger knowing in me that says she's wrong. Why not? he asked. And I couldn't answer that one. I don't know why not: because it's too hard? Because it's not redeeming the time? Because it seems impulsive and I'm not? Because I'm afraid of too much Me in any equation?

Tonight I leaned on the counter and told her the preposterous idea. She chopped broccoli and her eyes lit up. Do it! she said, and I tucked my chin and raised my eyebrows. But why would I expect another response from her? She's been the boot that's kicked me into most of my adventures. None of which I regret. Well, not entirely.

I say back to her that every time I raise the possibility of another adventure of some sort a Puddleglum assures me that I have contentment issues and to stuff it, buckle down, and conjure up joy. (I am my own worst Puddleglum. Just saying is all.) But the truth is I do have joy and I AM doing it. I'm not dragging my heels to work and church and events and I'm opening my door to joy and people and change and whatever else the boot kicks around. It's just that I look at deep desires in my heart and pages of prophetic words and say contentment isn't sitting still, it's actively taking hold of what's available and doing something with it.

The tyranny of fear is the worst of all. I think. Fear of man is my worst enemy, fear of you my second. Fear that I'll make the wrong step. Fear that I heard wrong, or someone else did. The fear is not that I'll end up penniless and alone, but that my sole company will be someone standing there shaking their finger at me, "I told you so" their only words. The fear is that I'll disappoint people and the fear is that I'll disappoint you. That you'll shrug your shoulders and say, what is she thinking?

So I'm not there yet, for what it's worth, I'm not making any huge decisions for adventures. I'm not making promises. I'm digging down deep, trying to figure out what the great desire of my heart is and then deciding that no matter how scary that desire is, or how many fingers point in my face, or how much faith I'm going to need to explore it, that I'm going to do something.

I've got to do something!