I’m afraid of blank. Fill in the blank. Spiders? Snakes? No. No. I’m afraid of taking a step in my life I’ll regret later. Or maybe it’s not taking that step that kills me on the inside. I’m afraid that I waited too long, that soon everyone will be ahead and I’ll be left behind. That because I didn’t, someone else got. And maybe that’s not a bad thing, I mean I consider myself a somewhat generous person. But what about me? What if? I’m afraid of the what ifs. Of the bubbly stomachs and nervous palms. Because what if one day my friends decide they don’t want me anymore, or what if I ruin my own life even though I did everything right. What if because I didn’t risk it, try something new, give up, be someone other than myself, I lose. I become no one. Nothing. I would like to say I’m afraid of nothing, but I’m afraid that’s not how it works.
My math and physics teacher, Mr. Schwartz, likes to say what ifs aren’t important, that we shouldn’t worry about them. To put them to the side, and only worry about the real thing, what’s happening for sure. Mr. Schwartz also doesn’t believe in magic. Well then I guess we can agree on two things. But no matter how hard I try, the what ifs creep back into my mind like spiders, slither into my sock like a sneaky, slimy little snake.
So let’s say I’m afraid of the what ifs. The things you can’t help but wonder about, as they drag you into the darkest corner of your mind. And as they stick a knife at your throat, pin you down, and kill you slowly. The sharp blade cuts into you, and if you wiggle it will only dig deeper. I could fight back with all of my might in the never ending battle or simply let it slowly kill me, and I still need to decide.