I don’t take risks. 

If I could describe myself in one word, that word would not be brave. Maybe it would be passionate or kind or hardworking or tenacious (which is really just a fancy word for stubborn). But it would not be brave. 

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not quiet or shy or reserved. I raise my hand in class and I have a really obnoxious laugh. I’m pretty outgoing and I don’t have any issues talking to strangers. I don’t come across as a person that has any problems with communicating at all.

But I think “courage” is too often associated with people who appear to be extroverts. People tend to automatically assume that if you’re outgoing, you’re the type of person that likes to try new things and challenge themselves on a daily basis. And maybe, for a lot of people that like to project themselves the same way that I do, that’s the truth. 

But I don’t take risks. 

I’m scared of a lot of things. I’m scared of horror movies and that notification that reads “7 missed calls – mama”. I’m insanely claustrophobic and I have an irrational fear of millions of ants crawling all over my body (based on a movie my uncle made me watch when I was five).

I am also scared of trying new things. I’ve got a whole host of fears surrounding what other people may think of things I say and do. And most significantly, I am terrified that even if I put in my best effort, I will never quite become the person I have always strived to be.

So, I don’t take risks. I never raise my hand in class unless I am positive I know the answer. I don’t try new things; I’ve played the piano since I was four years old and I’ve been on the same soccer team for the past six years. My whole life, I’ve let my fear of not meeting the standards I set for myself paralyze me into sticking strictly to what I know. Because the way I’ve always seen it, there are very few things worse than giving something everything you’ve got and still not being good enough. 

But this year, I wanted to change that.

This year, I’ve decided that I want to take more risks. I’ve decided that, every month, I am going to push myself to do one thing that scares me. Maybe I’ll tryout for a team even though I could end up being the worst person there. Maybe I’ll join a club despite the fact that I am no longer a bright-eyed freshman, or finally hit up the gym even though it will probably be glaringly obvious that I don’t have a clue as to how to use any of the equipment. Who knows? The world has just become my extremely hostile, terrifyingly brutal oyster. 

As for this month, what risk have I taken, you might ask? You’re reading it right now. Because I made the decision, on what good sense I don’t know, that there was no better way for me to push myself than to publicly declare some of my deepest fears in our school’s extremely coveted publication. I’ve decided that, even though I care way too much about what others think of me, I am going to talk about doing things that scare me for anyone and everyone to see.

Now, you probably won’t see me walking into a movie theater to watch Annabelle anytime soon. And I don’t know if I’ll ever reach a point in my life where seeing a bunch of missed calls from my mom will ever not send chills down my spine – I mean, even I’ve got my limits. But, for the first time in my life, I’m ready to own up to the things that scare me and do something about them. I’m not saying that I’ll be scared of less things at the end of this year. I’m not even saying that I’ll be scared of different things. I’m just saying that I’m ready to face the things that have held me back my whole life. 

I mean, isn’t that what being brave is all about?