A while back， I was offered a job. Supported contentedly by my freelance writing work， very cozily ensconced in my flexible schedule， I didn’t think I’d be interested in a full-time position that would require me to show up at an office every day. But： I was an avid reader of the magazine where the position was available； I had deeply admired the talent and the integrity of the staff； and the job required that I learn about a field—the beauty industry—about which I knew very little. A job full of positives and yet I was afraid to take it； afraid that the staff wouldn’t like me； afraid I would be lonely； afraid I wouldn’t be able to do the job well， afraid I’d miss the ease and familiarity of my freelance life. I recognized it as the same fear I’d felt more than 50 years ago， playing out in a different way. When I thought of the possibilities that might come with the job—Fun！ A long ride！ Fast-paced！ New！—my heart leapt. But of course， then：“What if…？” The leaping feeling turned to pounding. This time， through the racket， I simply said，“Yes， I’ll do it.” It finally seemed more painful not to take the risk than to take it. And if I fell off the end？ I’m a big girl now； I thought I could handle it. I imagined my fear as a scrim fluttering between the unknown and myself. I would try walking through it.
On my first day at the office （after a sleepless night）， I expressed my anxiety to one of my new colleagues. “I’m really scared I’m not going to be able to do this job，” I told her. “I feel as if I don’t know anything about anything.”
“And if you can’t do it？” she said.
Then， I said，“I guess I’ll slink out of here in shame.” She seemed to understand the depth of my unease without making me feel that it was justified. Then she patted me on the arm. “It’s always good to have a plan，”she said.
When I submitted my first shot at a photo caption （just a caption！）， it was quickly returned to me with “cliché” scrawled across the top of the page. Yikes！ I had my plan， of course. But slink out in shame？ I didn’t think so， and at least not without another try. And—damn—another！ Finally：“perfect”. In 30 years， I’ve never had a job I’ve enjoyed more， that has pushed me more or offered such rich opportunities. The possibilities I thought might materialize are even more interesting， more exciting than I’d ever imagined. I’m still butting up against fear at almost every turn. But now， when it feels right， to the din of my pounding heart， I walk through it.