When I was little, we used to visit an older lady that lived near us. My mom liked to stop by just to check on her because she didn't really have family or friends, and she wasn't physically able to get out a lot. I remember her being a very sweet talkative lady, and how she sponsored a child in another country that she loved to talk about. Sadly, the biggest thing I remember is the huge couches covered in plastic. In the heat of Georgia summers, my three sisters and I would file in behind my mom and climb up onto the huge seats, and when the conversation was over we would peel the backs of our legs off of the couches and leave. I hated those things. I always wondered what their point was, and when mom answered by saying "To keep the fabric clean." I was only left with more questions. From what I could see, this lady never hosted other people in her home. Whose dirt was she so afraid of that she would encase her sofa in that uncomfortable, shiny, protective covering?
Although as I child I asked these questions (the deep thinker developing in me), I have found myself doing the same thing in life. In preparation of the possibility that something bad would happen, I have wrapped certain talents in plastic. They can be seen, but not touched and no one wants to mention them or use them in the way they're meant to be used.
Even when I announced that I wanted to be a photographer professionally, I only posted about it on my blog and Facebook, I didn't say a word about it on Instagram (where I get the most responses to what I post) except to mysteriously point them here. I'm afraid of failure. I'm scared of what people will think or say. Well y'all, this year I've decided to live bravely. I'm going to gleefully unwrap all my dreams and prepare to have them possibly torn, poked, laughed at, and muddied, but mostly enjoyed.
Because life is too short for plastic-wrapped couches. Don't you agree?