The past few days/weeks, I've been contemplating taking this little risk. You see, I'm not much of a risk-taker. In fact, I'm really not a risk-taker in any sense of the word. I like safe. I like comfortable. I like to know what's going to happen. And perhaps most crippling importantly, I like to know that I will succeed. If I don't think I can come out on the other end as a success, well, I'd just rather not try.
So how the heck did I end up living in Chicago when I didn't know a single person there and I had never even visited prior to moving? Well, the semi-safe way of course. I came via volunteer program that gave me a house and roommates. We say semi-safe because the not finding a roommate or an apartment risk was, obviously, very low. That part, safe. The neighborhood, not so safe. Story for another day. Regardless, it was a safe move. I knew what I was coming to and what I'd be doing and I knew I'd be teaching in some capacity and, at the time, I thought I was pretty decent at teaching. So relatively risk-free.
I come from a long line of worriers. My mom worries about me constantly (and endearingly!). She worries about where I live and about my job and about my future and probably about the kids that haven't even become a twinkle in my eye. And I, like her, will always worry. About everything.
Additionally, I'm of fiscally conservative kinda folks. (Thanks mom and dad!). And I try my darnedest to be so as well, but by nature I just don't think I am.
Side note: I was hanging at Michael's (of the craft store variety) and this man offered me his empty basket on his way out the door. As he handed it to me, he said, and I quote, "This is a lucky basket! Won't make you spend too much money." I laughed and said that would probably be good for me. To which he replied with no hint of sarcasm, "You certainly don't look like the thrifty type" and laughed a little friendly laugh. I told him he was right but my husband would sure love if I was a bit more thrifty. Friendly old man. End side note.
Anyways, I'll probably end up with a serious complex at some point here. I'm a worrier who likes to spend money but I know I shouldn't because I'd love to have a big old savings account. It's truly a vicious cycle of worry, spend, shame, worry ad nauseam.
Ok so let's bring all these points back together, you know, if I lost you along the way. I don't like to fail. I like success. My mom worries. I worry. My parents tried their best to instill in me a sense of financial responsibility. I like to spend. I feel bad.
My husband is the opposite of all this. He doesn't worry. He thinks things will work themselves out. That the world conspires to make dreams come true. Please don't read that as taunting. He actually has proven himself right more than his fair share. Furthermore, he's a little entrepreneur, which, I swear must be a recessive Mexican gene because, with only my mom being part-Mexican, I missed that one.
This is all to say.... that I'm thinking about opening an Etsy shop. I know, I know. Not much of a risk, right? Here you were thinking I was gonna say I was attempting to cure cancer or run ten consecutive marathons or something truly grand. But you know I just can't bear the thought of not being successful which means this would be a risk. There's a good chance that with so many shops on Etsy, mine could be easily overlooked. But, ultimately, my husband (and my old roomie, Jenny!) has gotten to me. He's just got that "si se puede" attitude and it's just so dang contagious. And that Jenny, she's speaking little "you can do it"s too. And I can't not listen.
So I'm gonna give it a try. Probably not tomorrow. Or the week after. But sometime before summer comes barreling in with it's tempting beaches and makes-you-not-move temperatures.
So I guess what I'm really saying is keep a look out for an Etsy shop. And if you don't see one before those lethargic summer days roll in, give me a slight cyber-whack aside the head.
This can be done, right?
P.S. I'm waiting for my tutoree and with no time to seek out exciting pictures, I apologize for just words.