I’ve always hated the word “shy.” Maybe I used to be a bit shy, but still, I didn’t like the word. “Shy” is the kind of word that sticks with you, no matter how much you overcome. I can still be reserved and soft spoken, but the word “shy” implies that I don’t speak up. That I don’t say what I mean to say.
And I do. Maybe not in the way that some people do, but I do.
Sometimes, though, that shy girl of my past inevitably creeps back into my life. Normally, I don’t let my fears stop me. I don’t let go of opportunities. I try my hardest to take chances.
But recently, I had a phone interview. I can talk to people in person just fine, but I really don’t like talking on the phone. I can’t stand not seeing people’s facial expressions and actions. So I seriously considered not answering my phone for this interview, all because I was afraid. All because I don’t like talking on the phone. All because I was afraid of my own words; the words that I express to the world every day through my writing.
I realized that my fears seemed ridiculous, but even so, I couldn’t help but feel sick. I debated about it over and over again; I could just not answer.
But then I asked myself what I’ve been asking myself a lot lately:
what would you regret more: taking this call, or not taking it?
Worded that way, the answer was obvious. I had to take it. I had to take the chance.
Because maybe I’ll make a complete fool of myself sometimes. Maybe people won’t agree with me or understand me or like me.
But if I don’t take the chance, in the back of my mind, I’ll always wonder what would have happened if I tried?
Sometimes, I’ll try then fail. I’ll get the answer I didn’t want. But I won’t have to guess; I’ll have the answer.
Right now, I don’t know how the interview went, really.
But I do know that I’m glad I took the call. And truly, that’s the answer that matters.