I don't know what you're talking about

I was thinking on the T this morning. Serious thoughts. So serious I could barely focus on the crossword puzzle.

I'm happy right now. I would even go so far as to say that I'm secure in myself, and that I've become happy with the person I've grown to be. I found principles and I'm sticking to them. I don't lie about who I am, and it's a personal relief to know that all the stuff I've said wasn't just lip service, but me speaking truthfully from my heart.

But everything I do these days is clouded by this hesitation that I have. And even though I'm still doing things the same old Briar way, I'm doing them with a new twist. With a newfound caution that was never there before. It almost feels like I keep thinking, "One misstep and everything that I've so carefully built for myself -- my entire fragile world -- could come crashing down again." And you know, I know that it wouldn't be that bad right now; it wouldn't be the end of the world. Caution isn't so bad. Sometimes it's what keeps you from being hurt; but sometimes it's what keeps you from experiencing life. And lately, separating the fear from the caution is difficult.

It's kind of like knitting, and right now it's like I've cast on and knit a few rows. So what if I've done it wrong? It's just a few rows. I can just rip it back and start over. With new yarn, because sometimes that's what you do when you're knitting, and the yarn is all wrong for you. Or worse, when you're all wrong for the yarn.

But this time it's different. This time it feels like I'm using a really facny cashmere/silk blend, so beautiful and delicate that I wouldn't mind just laying in it all the time. Something so soft it makes my heart skip a beat. Something priceless and handspun and really hard to find. And that scares me.

I mean...what? That wasn't a metaphor. Seriously.