a new way ::

i've invited my dear friend bethany to share a little about her new dream and venture. if you haven't visited coffee stained clarity before now, please take a moment to slip over to her site for reads that will make you laugh and / or think deep. if you are a writer, you will especially appreciate this humorous look at life and finding your muse.

by bethany bassett

It’s twenty to midnight, and my footsteps are splashing far too loudly on the asphalt. An urban legend I once heard about attackers hiding under cars with razor blades sweeps over me as it does every night when I’m the one locking up the offices. It won’t help to worry, but I grip my car key with bone-white knuckles and don’t breathe again until I’m on the road, headlights washing over empty parking lots and prostitutes with umbrellas. Their eyes haunt me all the way home, my prayers grounded with exhaustion. I pull myself upstairs, peek in on my sleeping daughters, and set an alarm to startle my next workday into motion six hours later. 

This is not the way.

My soul begins to stir once the suffocation of nonstop busyness lifts for the night, and it throbs like blood-flow back into numbed limbs. 

This is not your way.

I protest into the silence that I have no choice about my current schedule. We need the income, so time with my family, with my art, and with my God are necessary sacrifices.

You always have a choice.

I recognize this isolation, fear, and sense of captivity as leftovers from my childhood. Even an ocean away and with a dear little family of my own, I still tend to hail the weight of the world as my taskmaster and let duty trample over everything beautiful in my life. I know it is not the way, I know, but this kind of habit isn’t kicked with a nicotine patch.

It is for freedom…

From the muffled dark of my bed, I can see two futures stretching ahead. Or rather, one stretches ahead in a never-ending sprint of workdays with paychecks like consolation prizes marking the months. The second future, on the other hand, twists out of sight almost immediately. All I can see are What Ifs. What if leaving my job throws us into poverty? What if pursuing my love of writing only sets me up for failure? What if freeing time for creativity and spirituality is just a way of shirking my responsibilities?  What if my girls don’t want me around more? What if no one wants to read my writing? What if I’m letting selfish desires lure me away from what I should be doing? What if, what if, God, what if?

What if you’re letting fear run your life?

The same unfocused terror that dogged me in the office parking lot is pressing me back into the mattress, and I finally realize that my attacker is not some urban legend with a razor blade or the risk I might take toward a better life; it’s the fear itself.  It freezes me with indecision, paralyzes me with worry, threatens me out of trust, and yanks my perspective away from grace. It convinces me that love and laughter, relationship and purpose matter less than the status quo.

No longer.

~~~

As much as the sheer risk of it all makes me want to grip my current lifestyle with bone-white knuckles, I’m starting down a new path. Through a site called Kickstarter, I’m raising funds to spend the next five months writing a book about adventure and freedom in world travel for families. It’s as terrifying and wonderful a prospect as I’ve ever attempted, and with only nine days left to raise the funds, I’m asking for your help.

First, would you back my book? Even though everything in me hates asking others to sacrifice on my behalf, I truly cannot do this alone. A $10 pledge will pre-order you a copy of my book and help make it possible for me to write it this winter, so I’m asking—fears and discomfort aside—for you to give what you can. Second, would you spread the word? Getting a wider audience will make a huge difference in being able to raise the funds, so would you share this post or the link to my Kickstarter site with everyone in your social networking circles?

I don’t anticipate that the fear and What If s will ever stop lurking around the end of each day. For better or worse, they are a part of my history and my personality, but they do not have to direct my steps. This is me, choosing a new path; would you come along with me?