A few days late but I’m giving up fear for Lent. 40 days. Come what may.

A series of events in the last two years awakened a dormant fear—reminding me it is always present. My personal safety and my health are not a concern. I exist on borrowed time. Life has taken more than it has given and I’ve no desire to journey into old age. 50 is not the new 40. 50 is 50. So, I’m good.

Fear censors and restrains me. Fear, like a bit in my mouth and a reign in someone else’s hands, has steered me onto a well-worn path of mediocrity. A path hindered by detours, potholes, and debris. It is a path endlessly under construction with no sound destination save survival. Survival doesn’t cut it for me. Never has. Never will. I want more.

Fear says, accept less. It whispers: Look at your history. For you, Aundria Sheppard Morgan, scraps are better than nothing. Fear slips into my vocabulary, entwining itself around my dreams, smothering possibility. Fear is so common, so insidious I don’t feel it wrapping around my chest and throat. All I know is that it hurts to breathe. But that’s just life, right? 

So let’s see what happens when I slip out of fear’s embrace. Let’s see what happens when I remove the bit and harness and run free—uncensored, unrestrained, and with nothing to lose.

Work with me on this journey; or if not, step out of my way.

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