The New Me

The title for the previous post was "Quitting the Rat Race." I wrote it last night, quickly titled and posted before I went to bed. Somehow all day long today, it kept gnawing at me. The title didn't feel right. "Trading Up" kept popping up in my head, a nod to the title of a book I recently had to read for work. The former seemed out of place, somewhat cliche. The latter fit, it was perfect. I vowed to change it as soon as I could, even though I knew I should follow Hearst's widely quoted publishing mantra: "Don't be afraid to make a mistake, your readers might like it."

I'm always looking for perfection and always in secret as I'm somewhat embarassed by the whole obsessive compulsive behavior. Last year I had the privilege of working with a talented business coach. Within a few minutes into our session, I remember blurting "I'm afraid of failing." And when Terry asked me "What would happen if you made a mistake?" I burst into tears. We weren't even talking about my marriage.

Confession #5: I'm morbidly afraid of making mistakes.

About a year ago, when asked "How would you like to be managed?" in a job interview, I answered "I don't like to be embarassed." The assurance I gave, that I would always be over-prepared for every business situation in order to avoid embarassing oversights or mistakes, got me the job.

In fact, I don't think I would be married today, if my darling husband hadn't whispered, "What's the big deal? If it doesn't work out, we'll get a divorce," in order to calm my paralyzing nerves minutes before we walked into the restaurant where we were to get married in front of a close group of friends and family.

Well, that is the old me. The new me would have eloped to Vegas the day he serenaded me with Elvis Presley's "Can't Help Falling In Love" at a local karaoke bar in Brooklyn shortly after our first kiss.

I know the obsession over the title of a post is not a promising start. Nevertheless, my desire to teach my daughter to take chances and not be afraid to make mistakes trumps any insecurities I might have been carrying around since childhood. She makes me want to be a better woman.

Confession #6: While sorting through old files yesterday, I shredded the one-page divorce decree I've carried around since 1989. I don't think my mother ever knew that I had a copy of it. In it, the judge ordered the dissolution of my parents' marriage, sighting irreconcilable differences. I now know it was more complicated than that.