Do you know what’s terrifying?

THE WHOLE WORLD.

The whole world is a scary, horrible, terrifying place that gives no quarter in hours of stress. You can’t run away. You can’t hide. It is always out there, waiting for you. You are expected to just put up with it and be brave and be strong and so you put on a chirpy happy face and pretend everything is okay even though you are SHITTING YOURSELF in terror.

And there is nothing more terrifying than getting your fat measured by your svelte CrossFit coach on a Sunday afternoon.

NOTHING.

So I go to get my body composition measured because it’s happening today and I want to know if the measurements I took on my own were correct.

I’m pretty sure they weren’t, but I’m hoping they aren’t worse.

They can’t really be higher than I think they are, can they?

First I write down some goals (very nice goals, I think) and then we measure circumferences of limbs and things. I stand there and pretend it’s completely normal. La la la, nothing much, just getting my FAT MEASURED by my CrossFit coach! Ho hum, lazy Sunday afternoon, let’s see what my body fat percentage is today, I look over his shoulder as he writes it down, FORTY PERCENT?? There’s a plus sign, what does that plus sign mean? OVER FORTY PERCENT!?

Much higher than I thought. A part of me dies quietly of horror, and the rest of me makes pleasant conversation. “Ha ha, it was such a coincidence that you were doing body composition today, since I measured myself exactly a week ago and expected to do it again pretty much now,” ha ha, what SERENDIPITY! THAT’S SO FUNNY! Would you like more fat to measure? HERE’S MY BUTT, LET’S MEASURE THAT!

I was going to write this post a few weeks ago, when I started the instructional classes. I was going to write it then because, while I have maintained my internal composure excellently in the days leading up to CrossFit classes and in the spaces between them, I have rediscovered every single class how absolutely fundamentally terrifying it is for me to be there. Just to be there. And I finally wrote this post today because on the way home from measuring my body composition I remembered how very much I wanted to hyperventilate into a paper bag just thinking about it. Why, Megan? Why should this be terrifying?

Well… here’s the problem.

I don’t really believe I’m meant to be there.

I don’t really see myself as ever occupying the same universe Emily does, with her 125 pounds of muscle and 10% body fat. I can’t imagine how I can possibly belong at CrossFit. There is a small part of me who is waiting to be kicked out. “You can’t do these things,” they will say. “You’re not good enough. You’re different. You’re just not capable of them.” And I won’t be allowed to attend classes anymore. Maybe they won’t even refund my money! Because I’m not like them, not worth bothering with.

Every little indignity rubs the terror in, even though they haven’t kicked me out (yet, something says to me)—that I’m not like them, and not good enough. I needed to be in the beginners’ classes instead of the regular CrossFit classes. I can’t keep up with the run. I can’t do a fake, easy pushup. I run out of oxygen so fast when we’re doing anything. And apparently my body fat is ten percent higher than I thought it was. O GOD, the VIOLENCE done by NUMBERS!

Why is it that I think I’m “not like them”? Well, I’m just not capable of the things they’re capable of. I have to make excuses for myself—oh, I hurt myself easily. I can’t move that fast. I’ve never been able to do regular pushups. Whine, excuse, complain. Every time we learn something new, I actually have to STIFLE THE REFLEX to take someone aside and let them know that I need to do something different because I’m not like everyone else. I’m supposed to be an exception. A weaker exception. My whole life, I have made allowances for myself. It’s okay, you just can’t do what they’re doing. That doesn’t make you a bad person.

BUT IT DOES. IT DOES, it DOES make me a bad person. It makes me a bad person BECAUSE THOSE WERE ALL LIES!!

BIG FAT STINKING LIES!!

My whole life I’ve been lying to myself saying that I can’t be like that, I can’t be strong, I can’t be fast, I can’t feel good, I’ll never be able to climb a tree or run a race or fight evildoers with my bare fists, I have completely exempted myself from those categories, and I’ve been telling myself these LIES for SO MANY YEARS that NOW I FINALLY BELIEVE THEM. I believe them so powerfully that the very act of attending a CrossFit class—completely separate from the fear of being physically unattractive, of not being liked, of having spent money on the wrong solution—the very ACT of participating instills an enormous amount of terror just because I’m afraid I don’t belong there. Afraid that if they really knew who they were dealing with, they’d reject me out of hand. And wondering when they’ll find out, wondering how long I’ll last before they do. WHEN WILL THE OTHER SHOE DROP? Will they yell? Will they be disappointed? Will they be disgusted with themselves for not having seen it sooner?

How long before they realize I’m not capable and exile me to a special country for incapable people? How long? How long do I have? Because the incredibly perverse part of all of this is that with all of the effort, and the grunting and the sweating and the exhaustion and the struggle to have enough oxygen to breathe and the embarrassment of consistently being the very last person back from the 400 meter run, with 98% of visible participants slimmer or prettier than me, with Marty being insanely stronger and more conditioned than I am and better at all of it, even with everything else I’ve mentioned, with the sheer impossibility of ensuring my appearance when my hair is pinned up and my clothes are soaked in sweat…

With all of that…

All those things, the perverse part is…

I actually… LIKE IT.

I want to do it.

I don’t want them to kick me out. I don’t want them to tell me that they made a mistake, that I can’t really do this thing after all. I don’t want Em to IM me someday and say, You know, it might just be better if you did something else instead…

I am so afraid that someone will make me stop, when part of me is absolutely certain that I don’t deserve to keep going. And I like doing it so much I could CRY, because it scares the HELL out of me to go.

The world is like this.

The world is a fucking terrifying place with bad monsters and a perceived ability to hear all the negative thoughts in people’s heads when they look at you and situations that are hard and the frequent discovery that you’re worse than everyone else at the thing you thought you were good at.

The world is hard and scary and awful.

But you have to keep living there ANYWAY. You have to keep trying. You have to chip away at the thing, you have to change yourself. THIS is not an opportunity, this is not an obligation, this is a FACT. Opting out produces no results. No one can change you FOR you. You have to make the hard things happen because you’re obstinate enough to push and push and push until they do. You can’t just stop because something is scary. You have to be scarier. You have to be stronger and braver.

THAT is why I’ll go to every freaking CrossFit class. I will go five days a week as soon as they’ll let me in June, and I will love every minute of it. I will go to free workouts on Saturdays. I will voluntarily get my body fat measured and I will do it with a smile on my face, month after month after month. I will do the pushups I “can’t do” and I will run that 400 meters every time even if I’m way behind because that’s the only way for any of it to get better. Inside my head I will cry and scream and insist that I CAN’T and think of ways to trick them into letting me stay instead of making me leave, and I will sweat and pant and be afraid and keep going anyway.

Outside, I will look brave and determined and continue to do everything I’m supposed to do to get through this. I will keep going when it’s horrible, when it’s hard, when I can’t figure out how it ends, I have to keep going because NOTHING ELSE WILL GET ME THROUGH. Because the only alternative is to stop, and that’s no alternative at all.

Just wanting to feel better won’t make me strong. Pretending, lying to myself, won’t make me strong. Talking about it won’t make me strong. Being a pansy and getting away with less than my best won’t make me strong. Making excuses won’t make me strong. ONLY DOING IT WILL MAKE A DIFFERENCE.

So god help me, I’m going to do it.

Red-faced and terrified, I will conquer the world.

You’re about to witness a late night rant. Let’s see how coherent it turns out, shall we?

I’ve actually been going about this all the wrong way.

I’ve been putting off important parts of my life “until I have more money,” but I’ve been discounting the very mechanism that continues to bring me money, month after month, even when I am down to a week between me and the Big Scary Abyss of Doom, the very mechanism that has never failed me so long as I maintain confidence in it.

That mechanism is real, undeniable need.

Sometimes I call it “desperation.” (I do not recommend that mechanism. Please use a different one whenever possible.) But it’s not hopeless the way desperation is—it engenders action, not despair. My best work (my most amazing feats of daring and success) happen when they absolutely need to.

And whatever you call it (even if you say “desperation” but don’t really mean it), there’s something to be said for having a working mechanism. I’ve been examining my life for a method that turns my “three week margin” set point into a “three month margin” set point, and continues to improve from there. The whole time, the whole time, it’s been right there in front of me. So let me explain how this works:

Let’s say I have $2500. Awesome! $2500, I say to myself, that will pay most of this month’s bills. It will get the rent paid and we’ll be through to the 15th or so. Fantastic!

Then I will go to the dentist and the dentist will put on his Bad Face and say “OMG!!1eleven, you need a root canal!” And I will say “WHAT!?? I DO NOT!” and the dentist will say “OMG!!1eleven you SO DO and it will cost ELEVENTYBILLION DOLLARS.”

Then I will pass out.

Nightmare, anyone?

When I wake up, I will say, “Well crap, I guess we have to pay them eleventy billion dollars. Write the bad dentist man a check.” And then (probably after I obtain painkillers for my pending root canal) I will go about deciding how to make more money. Because, well… I have to. Whining, fearing, arguing, none of this will help, so I mostly don’t bother. I just fix it.

Sure, I’ll be nervous. Sure, I’ll feel some trepidation and worry a little about whether I can do it. But mostly (because I’ve done this a ton of times now and I know that it always SOMEHOW works out) I will enforce a sense of confidence and determination, and I will get the thing done. Even down to the wire, all kinds of excellent things can happen to turn things to my favor. The trick is to plan well and make them happen much sooner than later.

And I can do that.

I don’t know why I can’t do that when I DON’T need the money in the next three weeks. I’m still working that part out. It’s a fascinating process.

And in the meantime, there are things we “need.” Not root canal need, but state of mind and organization need. Like bookshelves. Incredibly useful and legitimate business expenses that I’ve been putting off, a whole list of them. Groceries (those are nice, I like those). And we haven’t really bought new clothes in, gulp, probably a few years now. (Hell, they don’t even have to be NEW. Just new to US!)

I’m not talking about hauling off on a daily sushi binge; I’m not talking about spending a great deal more money than is usually in our budget every month. I AM talking about increasing that budget gradually, planning for it, and proclaiming myself capable of dealing with the additional margin. Why on earth not? Many lookers-on were skeptical that Marty could quit his day job and we could both survive perfectly well working for ourselves. Listeners shuddered when they found out that we added a big monthly car payment right around the time he quit. Oh yes, and then our rent went up!

Would you like to guess how many times we’ve actually been unable to pay our rent? Go ahead, guess.

ZERO. (Was that what you guessed?)

How about how many times we’ve had to negotiate a payment plan with a utility company because we couldn’t send them a check?

Nope.

Never happened.

We’ve gotten rid of bills here, added other ones there. And we keep paying them. And 99% of them have been paid on time, every time. That doesn’t sound to me like two people at the brink of destitution. It doesn’t sound to me like people who are incapable of improving their lot in life. It doesn’t sound to me like people who must be content with the boxes they’ve been dropped into.

That sounds to me like two people who can get what they need, when they need it, because they’re capable, courageous, clever—and alliterative, an attribute you must never underestimate. All I have to do is buy the things I need when I need them, and create more income to cover them. It won’t be hard—especially if I plan well, take it in reasonable increments—and especially after the money is spent. Then there’s no going back. I’m great with the Point of No Return, man.

I am not crazy. These are not crazy ideas.

YOU can do this, too. All you need is to make the decision, be brave, and carry through. Almost ANYONE can do this. I’m not even sure I need to use the word “almost.” If you look deep enough inside yourself you’re going to see the same things I’ve seen. Tremendous will power, infinite creativity, true ability to put yourself wherever you want to be. I don’t doubt it for a second.

Anyway, after we pay April’s rent, I’m probably going to buy a freaking bookcase. Or something else on the long list of things I’ve been putting off.

Think about it.

PS. HEY! YOU! Yes, you. I hope you don’t think this is a good excuse to do something incredibly stupid with your budget. I’m talking increments here, people. I’m talking confidence and increments. Be reasonable. But be BRAVE.

PPS. Oh! No, no root canals. That was just an example. Incidentally, though, that exact brand of spur-of-the-moment root canal has happened to me in the past. It was scary; we got through it just fine. I don’t expect any more root canal escapades, honestly; I stopped eating sugar and started drinking just gallons of green juice. I’m probably in pretty good shape.

PPPS. Our scenario assumes, of course, that “eleventy billion” is less than $2500. Just pretend.

Today I’ve been… here we go, are you ready for this word? Depressed.

Oof, man. I wasn’t ready for it either.

Today the second overwhelming “disaster” occurred in my already overwhelming schedule. It’s tempting to think of it as a test: Where’s your breaking point, Megan? Are you sure you want to do all these things? Because I have surprised myself by realizing that I’ve passed pre-November 15th activity levels and am somehow more involved in even more important undertakings… and in such a situation, when disaster strikes, my it strikes hard.

I hesitate to use the word “disaster”, because who knows why these things are happening—I am completely open to the awesomeness that will be my life when it all pans out and I can see what’s what. But for now, I admit it: Quite overwhelming! I finally came to my senses and Shiva‘d til my muscles felt like jelly (and my brain too)... and then I went to sit outside.

Outside, I had a few thoughts. Something about the cool air and the warm sun and the green leaves everywhere. I revelated. And I came back inside and pulled all the blinds way up to let more sunlight in and started ranting at Marty.

“This is our job,” I said to Marty. “This is what we do. We work at home, doing these things! There isn’t going to be any getting of jobs here. We’re not going to ‘give up’ and do something else instead. This is IT. This is what we’ve decided and this is what’s best for us!”

I started pacing the freaking room, and waving my arms around. Marty continued to work on his site, but he was listening. “This is us taking responsibility for our lives. This is the right thing to do! People give away their responsibility all the time, their job is responsible for getting them a paycheck for their rent and their groceries, if they get fired there’s nothing they can do, the government is responsible for giving them money while they look for new work, if the economy sucks then the economy sucks, there’s nothing to be done, but none of that is true! What about taking responsibility for our lives and make things happen by ourselves, taking responsibility for having the life we want to live without the luxury of blaming someone else if it doesn’t work out?”

It’s not all like that. TONS of people have jobs that they love and take responsibility for—and if those people lose their jobs, if “disaster” strikes, they make a decision about what to do next and they do it. But oh, my default setting is clear: I want someone to take care of me. I want someone to fix it and make it better. Don’t make ME do it.

I don’t buy that anymore, default setting or not, and you don’t have to either. Being in a difficult position doesn’t mean getting doomed and then running home to hide under the bed. Being in a difficult position means GROWING and learning to overcome difficult positions. Wait, stay calm… and let the realization come to you. Your brain is smart. It knows what to do, if you’re willing to listen instead of freaking out.

Sometimes it’s hard to remember, but it’s true. It got me through several bewildered moments in the last month or so, and it will get me through today and tomorrow and next week and the month after too.

All we need is a little perspective, right? It’s not really all going to hell, after all.