This morning I made crepes for the very first time. I have wanted to make crepes since I first heard the word crepes uttered from somebody’s lips. I love food. I love words. So when a lovely food and a lovely word come together, I am caught up in a crazy wave of bliss.
But I haven’t made crepes before, which is insane because I have made my own (questionable) pastry dough. Why haven’t I made crepes?
Because I was too afraid to try, or even think about trying. I figured that I couldn’t do it.
You see, I have a chicken shit list.
I don’t apologize for my country upbringing.
I almost apologize for talking about poop and food in the same post, but I do have kids, and half of them are boys. Plus, I’m fairly blunt. There is nothing sacred in my home.
I needed to do something this morning. Something positive. Something that would grow me. Something that would take care of that pesky situation I come across three times a day. Feeding the children.
So I called up my good friend the internet, researched crepes at best I could in five minutes, whipped me up a batch, and got to trying.
I think I did a pretty good job the first time around. The family is fed and I’ve knocked something off my chicken shit list. Pretty good for a Tuesday morning!
It got me to thinking about other items on my chicken shit list, and what I can do about them. One of the biggest items on my list is doing a book signing. Because, you know, I tell myself that I don’t deserve to do that. That I have to wait until somebody tells me it’s okay. That I need to be contacted by some higher up authority, fill out paperwork, cut some red tape, and make a blood oath.
Which led to me think about how crazy it is that I struggle to put myself out there. I mean, what am I waiting for? All 12 books to be done? Now, of course I would start to think about this kind of stuff now and start to get brave now. Until my husband finds a job, I cannot order books and do those sorts of things.
But I can prepare for those days, because they will come. While I try to patiently wait, I am going to finish Opalescent Immersion. I am going to figure out what to do about the next school year (I try to plan the entire year out ahead of time so it’s not such a big deal). And I am going to tell myself over and over again that maybe, just maybe, it’s okay to call myself an author now.
Chicken shit lists are for the chickens.
Nobody can truly live life if they are running around with a list of things they are afraid to do because they don’t qualify. Who exactly is qualified? Nobody! Not until they’ve already tossed themselves out there time and time again, that is. And even then!
So I want to share my list with you. Items are not in any particular order.
- Do a book signing.
- Call myself an author and mean it.
- Make pastry dough that is not questionable.
- Figure out what to do with pastry dough that is not questionable.
- Go scuba diving.
- Wear a swimsuit and be totally okay with my body.
- Do something completely irresponsible for once.
- Chunky dunk in the dark. (Yes, 8 and 9 need to be separate. No, you are not invited.)
- Write a children’s book.
So I am making a pledge to myself to stop looking at my chicken shit list as a list of things that I obviously would never be good at. A list of things that probably won’t happen.
It’s just a list and on top of that, I am a wordsmith! What am I thinking? Let me flick my magic wand and turn it into a to-do list! Ta-da!
Do you have a Chicken Shit List? What’s on yours? I hereby flick my wand at your list, too! Ta-da!
Make some Magic, Lovelyhearts!