A Curious Absence of Fear

There's a poem by Robert Burns titled "To a Mouse", which contains a famous line that in simple English translates to:

"But little Mouse, you are not alone,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes of mice and men
Go often askew,
And leave us nothing but grief and pain,"

Fun fact: This poem is the inspiration for the John Steinbeck novel. Another fun fact: Robert Burns wrote the poem, "Auld Lang Syne" which is the basis for the sad song everyone sings on New Years'.

Now, I talk about this because I have a heck of a lot of events coming up. I'm starting senior year, prepping for that (hopefully!) hiking trip to Scotland, prepping for my Grad school applications and grad school itself, which would involve a massive uprooting of my life and moving somewhere out west... I'm on the brink of a massive life transition. Moving to Undergrad felt risky and unsafe and new... and now it feels like childs' play compared to what I need to do.

But here's the thing... if you know me, you know how much of a planner I am. I always play it safe, never take risks, according to my friend, I never jump without knowing I have a safe place to land. But with all of this? I'm not afraid. I'm not worried. It worries me how NOT worried I am. I just want to go out and do it!

I was talking to my friend, Nick, about this Scotland trip. He went when he was a freshman. After learning it's a 98 mile trek, I remember drowning in my own excitement, eagerness, or restlessness. I started looking up incredible hiking boots. :P I know 98 miles may be torture at times, but I WANT it. I CRAVE it. Years, maybe even as little as months ago, I would be worried and scared and timid... My anxiety would twist and turn all the cons into massive, insurmountable obstacles. Not this time.

See, I'm the equivalent of the mouse Robert Burns was referring to. I planned out my life to the point where everything was safe and accounted for. The plan was there, I just had to live it out. Well... they went askew. I did everything I possibly could, with as much diligence as I could, and I still watched part of my life fall apart in front of me.

A wise professor once told me (while I was crying in her office) that there is a certain freedom and relief in realizing that every life situation, even those that we take to be stable, has the chance of ending or suddenly falling apart. As someone who craves stability and plans everything, I hated it when she said that. But as I'm preparing for my future, and just trying to live it without knowing what the final product is going to look like, I can finally appreciate all the merit and truth in her words.

I don't have everything planned out. I have a strategy, but very few expectations of what it will look like, or sound like, or smell like, or taste like, when I'm in Scotland or Seattle. I'm just taking every day as it comes.

The last line of the poem? "And forward, though I cannot see. I guess and fear!" That's where I differ from Burn's narrator. I guess and hope and look forward to it all. Come what may.

Be well,

Megan