How 'bout you?

What would you do if you knew you could not fail?

Kimberly, My Bernt Life...As A Rasmussen

Kimberly (or my little sister Bimbo as I so lovingly refer to her) has long been a subject of conversation here. She is an inigma to me. Sometimes I feel like I know her better than anyone, but other times I feel like I have absolutely no idea what planet she came from. It's a push-pull kind of thing. Sisters...symbiotic strangers. Our relationship is different from any other in my life. SHE is different from anyone else in my life. Look out, world. Here she comes.

What would you do if you knew you could not fail?

I couldn't just chose one thing, and so I have three.

I would be a lawyer. Most people consider me a "soft" person, but one of my favorite things is debating until I win. I know I will win. It frustrates others when I win. I will fight to the death. Bring it on! I'm not scared of you.

I would find control in eating licorice. I'm obsessed with red vines and chocolate twizzlers. I eat them uncontrollably. If there is a package of licorice present I will have it eaten within an hour. It is sad, and I fully admit that. The longest I have gone without eating licorice was about 2 months and that was 6 years ago.

On a more serious note...

I would play the piano not only in front of people, but allow people to sing to my music. When I play in front of people, I get so incredibly nervous, I break out in a short sweat and have a mini panic attack. I love playing music because it inspires me. It helps me express myself in a way I can't explain. It bothers me that I will not allow myself play in front of other people.

Playing the piano in front of people scares me because I feel like I need to change the way I play to accommodate other people's singing instead of inspiring people to sing to the rhythm I'm playing. If I mess up, I automatically want to start over instead of playing on. To overcome my fears I started to play the piano again in Brazil on my mission. In Brazil it is very rare to find someone who knows how to play the piano. They are very humble and love it if someone can play. Most of the time they have a teenager play for the Sunday congregation who has only been learning to play for a couple of months. My first area needed someone to play a piece they were practicing for their choir performance. I practiced with them, but the week before the performance a new missionary was transferred into the area who played better than me. He ended up playing for them on Sunday. The experience of watching the teenagers play, even if it was just with their right hand showed me that I would be able to do it. I promised myself that when I got home from my mission I would practice and get to the point of being comfortable playing while people sing.

Kathleen Meil, Mamas Always Write

I talk about Kathleen all the friggin' time. Probably because we are friends and comrades in a million different ways. She's an every day friend, a mom friend, a creative friend, and a friend who makes me feel like I CAN DO ANYTHING. She and her husband were the first to tell me I knew how to work a camera. And she's always the first to help me realize I'm not thinking big enough. I'd like to give her a taste of her own medicine.

What would you do if you knew you could not fail?

I’m embarrassed to say it out loud, and even more embarrassed to write it down.

Even if you say I can do it, I’ve got a million reasons why I can’t, and besides, I’m pretty sure you’re just humoring me.

I’m afraid to tell you, because then if (when) it doesn’t happen, you’ll know how disappointed I am, how broken my heart is, and you’ll look at me sympathetically and think, well, we all knew it was a long shot.

It’d be better to say something funny, like acrobat, or completely unlikely, like Broadway star.
But since you posed the question – What would you do if you knew you could not fail? – the answer has been sitting inside me like a stone, or maybe like a seed. And the simple alchemy of sun and soil and snowmelt promises a little sprout, and a tiny blossom.

I want to make a living writing.

I want to be a woman of the page.

I want you to read my name in a magazine, or on a bookshelf, and think, well, we all knew you couldn’t fail.

Amy, A Commonplace Life

Amy of A Commonplace Life is my newest crush from the blogosphere. I'm not sure if she would take this as a compliment, but I've often felt that she writes in the same way I photograph. Her posts feel like she took my images and put them into words. Or perhaps I've taken her words and put them into images. Whichever direction the energy flows, I find her to be a creative sister and inspiration. She is a person I can't wait to get to know better and her answer to the magic question will tell you why.

What would you do if you knew you could not fail?

The question assumes one is afraid of failing, which I’m not. I fail all the time. Failure is a familiar and (almost) comfortable place where I’ve spent more time than I care to admit. Please believe me when I say that I don’t intend this to be self-deprecating. I can do self-deprecation and this is not it.

Among the list of my grander failures I count: multiple attempts to earn my bachelor’s degree; one marriage; two career choices; financial decisions that are too numerous to list and some unfortunate pet adoptions.

Being forced to examine this list, what jumps out at me is the common denominator. Impulsive behavior. Making choices without enough information. Jumping in without heart. Poor judgment.

Here’s the thing I find most surprising when listing my failures—I’m not sure there is one thing on the list I would change.

Admittedly, finishing school would undoubtedly provide me a sense of accomplishment that still evades me. But would I understand my failings as well as I do? Would I have any sense of my true calling? (I’m still hoping to find this.) I have to believe these things matter. I teach my children about strengths and weaknesses. About humility and hard work. I’m well aware of what I need to work on.

Absolutely, making different financial choices would have made things easier. But I choose not to regret them. Maybe only because regret, like envy, causes me pain that I cannot tolerate.

And the marriage. How could I regret that with all that I’ve gained? My son. My beautiful, fragile, talented, brilliant difficult boy. And the relationship with his father. I learned how to forgive. How to move on and let go. Nothing has ever taught me more about how imperfect I am.

There are changes I would make if I could.

One major one being: I wouldn’t live where I live. I don’t care much for it here. But it’s not out of fear that I don’t leave. Its just circumstance. Still, I don’t think the question was designed to elicit confessions of dreams-deferred because of reality. I interpret the idea to be “what are you not even trying to do because you are afraid”? And to that I ask myself what may, for me, be a more relevant question:

What would you do if you knew you might succeed?

Ah. Now I’m thinking. Regretting. Wishing. A nerve has been touched. The answer jumps quickly to the front.

I would go back to school. I would study everything. I would figure out what rings my bell and jump in headfirst.

If you’re still reading, you know that I’ve already attempted to finish school and I count not finishing among my list of failures. Not making sense yet? Stay with me here. Could I have failed at this because I was afraid of succeeding? The simple answer is youbetcha. I am afraid of what might change if I figure it out. I’m afraid of not being the person I have worked so hard to understand and having to start again. Of not loving what I love now or needing what I need. I have reconciled this inability of mine. It’s part of my persona. I just didn’t finish college. People are always surprised. But you’re so smart they say. Perhaps. But I was unable to focus or study. And now that I believe I could find the support to do it, now that I understand why I couldn’t do it before, now that I think I might actually be able to do it, I’m too scared to try.