We have nothing to fear but fear itself!  So speak the great American leaders. Being of the plebeian variety, my motivating thought has all too often been:  I have nothing to fear but embarrassment.

Just as one never attempts the possible in order to avoid failure; I avoid embarrassment at all costs.  I plan, I plot, I educate myself. I think things through, I consider the logical conclusions of my actions. I do my laundry, press my clothes, maintain a regular sleep and grooming schedule; all toward the goal of “having it all together.”

It is important to me to do the right thing.  Lately I began to question my motives.  Am I doing the right thing out of a noble, altruistic heart?  Or am I constantly doing the right thing in order to show others how it ought to be done? To prove that I have it altogether? To avoid, through super human effort, mistakes; or, heaven forbid; embarrassment.

I had a wonderful time Wednesday night.  Philip and I took an impromptu mother / son night out and viewed Star Trek. After the screening, I hit the ladies room (as is my custom); we struck a fast pace toward the car, all the while in conversation and critique of the movie.  The gas gage pegged at empty so I decided to fill up on the way home rather than chance a late arrival at work the next day.

We found an after-nine, discount gas station and commenced the filling and window washing.  From the shadows near the air compressor I heard a male voice call, “Miss.”  I ignored him.  Coming a bit closer, he hailed me again, “Miss, excuse me, Miss,” From the corner of my eye I saw a young man in his twenties, with garish henna hair and sideburns stepping toward me.  Was he going to ask me for money?  Directions? Quickly I looked to see where Philip was.  In the car, talking on his cell phone. “I hope he is paying attention to what is going on out here!”  I thought as I looked up. “Oh, Miss, there is something about to fall out of your pocket!”

(My pocket?  Do I have pockets?  If I reach for my back pockets that draws my attention and effectively ties up my arms.  And this guy is approaching me.  Where is his friend?)

Keeping my eyes on him, I reached behind with my left arm, my strong right arm at the ready.  Nothing.  Then I reached behind with my right arm,  my left hand free,  and grasped it – the 18 inch strip of toilet paper- as my informant faded back into the shadows and was gone.

I am now recovered from my laughter – and my false assurance  of having it all together.