The Aches of Almosts

Have you ever written a text you never sent? Said yes to plans, then didn’t have it in yourself to go? Driven past a stranger who needed help? Withheld an I love you from someone who so desperately needed to hear it? Stuck to the same order at your favorite restaurant instead of trying something new? Didn’t write that book because you feared it wouldn’t turn out as you imagined? Chose not to go on that trip you really wanted to take? Didn’t apply for that job you were trained for because you didn’t feel qualified? The list is endless.

These are moments that sit quietly in my memory, unfinished. I think it’s because there’s a part of me that grieves. It’s hard to face the loss of what could have been or the version of myself I never got to meet. Small disclosure: I’ve struggled with fear my whole life. I know a lot of people do, but it’s really a daily struggle. The thing is, I’m afraid of failing because to me, failure feels like proof that I’m not good enough. I remind myself that my fear acts as a protector, and while that is sometimes true, it also holds me back from fully living my life. This is a reality that pains me, because I feel the weight of all the ways I’ve held myself back. I can feel the distance between who I could be and what I could be doing versus who and what I allow myself to be and do. And all it does is strip away my joy.

I don’t hesitate to choose comfort over curiosity, certainty over possibility, and silence over connection. I think about the risks too much, but I rarely ask myself: what if I did take that trip? I could have so much: courage simply by saying yes, a collection of new stories and memories, and encounters with strangers who I’ll never forget.

I don’t know about anyone else, but regret can sometimes feel like a form of punishment—it sits stubbornly, making even the tiniest missteps feel monumental, and it plays on loop in my mind.

But maybe it doesn’t have to be that way: I have a choice to move forward. To write that unsent text, to put words to something that has lived quietly inside and release it a little, to take the trip I’ve longed for. And maybe sending that text looks like reading it out loud first. These don’t have to be grand gestures. The “smaller” steps matter just as much as the bigger ones. The small acts of courage remind me that the life I want isn’t lost—it’s just waiting for me to reach for it.

I have a tattoo on my thigh that says, do it afraid. Most people don’t see it, and that’s the point—it’s a quiet nudge I carry. But, this post is my gentle nudge to you. Courage isn’t the absence of fear; it's showing up anyway—trembling, blushing, sweating, heart racing, but present. You can’t be brave if you’re not afraid.

The almosts can guide us exactly where we’re meant to be if we let them. So as I’m on my journey, I’ll be cheering you on in yours.