Erin Lucie

I have a lot of interests.

I have an overwhelming love for reading and writing. I have a passion for promoting empathy, faith and positive self image. I’ve always wanted to write a blog or a book. I have a keen interest in social media. I really enjoy hiking and the wonder of nature. I have a deep appreciation for sharing and creating music and how playing the piano helps bring me down to earth when I feel like all my strings have been cut.

I could do any number of things with these interests but I haven’t, because I have a voice inside my head that lives at the front of my mind and constantly whispers:

I don’t know where to start. 

This phrase is a huge glass wall preventing me from trying anything outside of my comfort zone. Through it I can see a world of amazing possibilities, but when I start to lean against it, it shatters into tiny shards of doubts and insecurities that are far more sinister:

I’m afraid of what people will think.

I’m too unfit.

I’m not talented enough.

I’m flawed.

I hate exercise.

I can’t give this up.

I can’t handle rejection.

God’s forgotten about me.

I’m too scared of confrontation.

I don’t want to burn out.

I’m too tired.

I’m too busy.

I’ll just wait for an opportunity.

People won’t like me.

It’s not realistic.

It’s not safe.

I’ll fail.

I’ve tried before and failed.

There’s no point.

I don’t have anything to say.

My opinion doesn’t matter.

I’m content where I am.

I’m not organised enough.

It’s too hard to learn.

And it goes on. And on. And on.

But this is the truth:

Those doubts are lies.
I do know how to start.

With one step.

One change.

One fully committed decision.

It can be a terrifying prospect.

But I’m more terrified of the future that will happen if I don’t step out of my comfort zone and meet my fears head on.

Because in that future there is still a voice in my head and even though it would be pushed to the furthest corner of my mind, it whispers:

I know how this will end.

Growth. It’s something so unnoticeable, yet so noticeable all at the same time.

The lawn of the place that I rent grows. I barely notice it. Then one day, I go to hang out my washing and realise I have to hack my way through the jungle in order the reach the clothesline.

Growth. So unnoticeable. So noticeable.

The same has happened in my life, and perhaps it has happened in yours.

This morning, I lay in bed resting after 10 weeks of adjusting to joining the workforce as a teacher. I have spent 10 weeks stumbling through adult responsibilities such as renting my first house, choosing my own electricity and internet providers and buying a vacuum cleaner.

Not only have I had to perform those adult responsibilities that keep a roof over my head with the expected first world conveniences, I have also had to learn what it means to be a professional, how to maintain professional relationships, and how to act like I’ll know how to use the first aid kit I take to the students’ gymnastics sessions, should a student be injured (and yes, I’ve done first aid).

This morning my hacking-through-the-jungle moment came as I lay lazily in bed on the morning of my departure to the Gold Coast for a holiday. After browsing through Facebook, Pinterest, Instagram, and my emails until there was no more to see, I decided to use my time a little more productively. I looked up the number of a taxi company and called to book a taxi to take me to the airport. After I hung up, I realised that I had never called for a taxi before this moment, and I began to see the last seven years of my life (those spent as a senior student at high school and those spent as a university student) as a number of experiences that had gradually built upon each other to bring me to the point I am today.

Seven years ago the thought of calling a taxi company and getting into a taxi by myself would have been horrifying, but then again, so was the thought of getting a job, or catching public transport by myself, or calling an internet provider to learn about the different internet plans available to me, or simply walking into a store and saying to a complete stranger, “I’m here to buy a vacuum cleaner.”

Growth. So unnoticeable. So noticeable.