Today I was painting in art, blending my blues and whites together to make everything look smooth and softened in the light. And then I see the girl next to me, watching me, smiling. She had been doodling in her notebook, but now her pencil was on the table, and she and another girl close by were watching me blend my colors together, as I now moved to black, darkening things, moving along, my hand speaking a language that only it knew best.
"What?", I had said, smiling at her.
She shook her head, watching with big brown eyes as I made swift movements with the paintbrush, almost like painting little feathers, or clouds.
"You're fearless when it comes to painting. You don't seem to need to make sketches or plan ahead. You just trust yourself at that moment, and keep going. I don't do that, I don't think I could. I'm always going slow around the edges, getting the details just right. That's why I like watching you paint. You're just in the moment."
I didn't tell her this, or anyone, but kept smiling as I bent my head down again to my work. But secretly, I'm a perfectionest, with my hair and skin, as well as my writing and school work and art. I analyze everything, agonize if I'm doing something right. But, funny... I guess I don't look like that. It made me feel secure, confident, that everyone else thought I was cool, calm, and collected when it was just the opposite.
But I'm not going to tell anyone that. Instead, I'm going to really try to be fearless, and just jump.