a letter to myself (in a way)

Dear Tentativeness,

I know you served me well when I was navigating the tough years of childhood.  You kept me safe.  You kept me in line.  You made sure I was around to grow into the person I have become now.  But, you have served your purpose and it is time for you to “ship out.”

I have a family now, a wife and a son, and having you around makes me unable to fulfill my role, rise to my new obligations and responsibilities, as I would be able to without you.

When those “kids” are in the jacuzzi until midnight and we are all trying to get some sleep you keep me from going outside and telling them that the hot tub closed at 10.  That’s okay for now, because the little prince can sleep through anything still, but that won’t always be the case.  You even keep me from picking up the phone and calling the police when I see people trespassing, jumping the fence to get into the hot tub enclosure during the day.  What purpose are you serving in that situation?  None.  It’s time for you to leave.

When phone calls need to be made, people need to be talked to, because I either can’t understand some paperwork that was mailed to me, or because I have a complaint about a service I pay for, or pretty much any other situation, and you keep me from picking up the phone because “it probably won’t do any good,” or, “it hasn’t worked before,” or “the bill isn’t all that much I might as well pay it,” what purpose are you serving then?  None.  I need to be able to fight for my family no matter what is at stake: saving five dollars on the cable bill or telling a doctor that he isn’t the end-all-be-all and doesn’t always know what is right for my child.  Tentativeness, it is time for you to leave.

When I’m assigned new projects at work, or when I need to reach out for help on an existing project, and you keep me from owning the task, from “thinking outside the box,” from doing as good a job as I know I can do, what purpose are you serving?  None.  You are holding me back, keeping me from advancing through the ranks of the corporate world as quickly and as smoothly as I should be.  You are holding me back, tentativeness, and it is time for you to leave.

I appreciate all you have done for me over the years.  You helped me steer clear of peer pressure situations (mostly).  You helped me avoid doing anything too dangerous in my youth when I thought I was immortal and invincible.  You helped keep me on a path that led me to my wife and my child and the family we have built together.  And, I will never forget any of that.

So, thank you, but please… the door is right there, I need you to use it.  I need you to let me go.  I need you to let me be the father and husband I am supposed to be.

Thank you,



P.S. Don’t go too far…


16 thoughts on “a letter to myself (in a way)

    • That’s a good idea. A note by the phone that says “Don’t be tentative” and then perhaps a sticky note on the dash of my car that say, “It’s probably okay if you were a little more tentative.”

    • Thank you! I sorry that you too suffer from too much tentativeness… we should start a support group – reach out to each other for advice, guidance, pep talks when we feel ourselves shying away from these sorts of situations.

    • Have at it! Tell that tentativeness of yours to take a hike because you’ve earned that raise and you should do what you can to make sure you get it!

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