Last night, I kept Dave awake far too late with my worries.  How much should the goal be?  Is that enough?  Is it too high to reach?  Am I really ready to do this?  He reminded me, “You made this decision ages ago.” He’s right, really; I think I did.
My first draft of my Kickstarter was politely rejected two days ago:  “Your book idea sounds fantastic, but your money-raising goals fall a bit outside the scope of what we're looking for at Kickstarter. Ideally, our platform is a tool to fund creative output from an experience -- not the experience itself. You'll need to frame your project around a more finite creative goal in order to be approved.”  In other words, I couldn’t just ask for money for babysitting to write a book I may or may not do anything with.  I had to commit.  I had to state publicly that this is something I’m actually going to do.
My initial reaction was fear.  I liked having a toe in the water, thinking I could probably write this book, but I’m not obligated to have anything ready for public consumption.  If it ended up being too personal or not good enough, I thought I might just share it with a select few friends and family.  Now I had to make a choice.
That night, I talked with Stephanie.  She has a way of sifting through my deluge of words and speaking back to me what she hears in a way that makes sense.  “It sounds like you see this not as a setback, but an invitation,” she told me.  She was right.  As scared as I was, I felt like this was an invitation to jump.  It would have been convenient had everything worked out according to my plan – I could write this book at my own pace, then decide whether or not it was worth sharing, and with whom and how I would share it.  Life is rarely so cooperative.  Instead, I had to make a choice: give up on this Kickstarter business and find another way, or commit.
Yesterday, Anna emailed me, applauding my courage and confidence, because, “Sharing your innermost stuff and asking people for money can be two of the scariest undertakings around.”  She’s right, although I hadn’t thought it through quite so concisely.  This is scary, and I’m not ready, but I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.
When I close my eyes I hear the words, “Take my hand; we’ll fly together.”  And so, I jump.

I cannot believe the outpouring of love, support, and encouragement today; it’s like I leapt in to open arms.  Thank you for catching me.