When we decided to live an adventurous life, we knew things wouldn't always be easy. We knew we'd face challenges and tough decisions. In January, we faced the toughest decision yet. One day, things were fine. We were humming along, happy in our new routine. The next, the floor fell out.
I have a secret. Actually, it's not much of a secret for those who know me well, but it is a fact that some who don't might find curious. I'm afraid of open water. More specifically, open water in which the depths can't be discerned by the naked eye. I think this is because I have a seriously overactive imagination. I can work myself into quite a frenzy by shutting my eyes and letting my mind wander. A bit of a problem when I was a small child, I know relish this aspect about me. I am perfectly capable of keeping the monsters at bay and it's easy to entertain myself in hum drum situations. I love my imagination.
In 7th or 8th grade, home economics was a required class. One of the projects required was an awful, blasted sweatshirt that would try to take the title of Bane of My Existence. As a class, we reviewed how the sewing machine worked and studied the meaning of pattern markings. We learned about the wretched task before being set loose to work at our own speed. I watched as, one by one, my classmates completed their garments. Still, I sat with the too soft, cheap, obnoxious red fabric in pieces. It's not that I did nothing during our class time. I was, in fact, doing the same thing every day - beginning the project.