The Fear of Missing Big

Summer when I was a little kid meant a few things: trips to the beach, lemonade stands, my Barbie bike, picnics and flying kites, yard work with intermittent ice cream breaks, camping, play dates, and more ice cream.

But mostly what I remember is baseball: being out with the whole family on our side lawn or at the local fields, a cap on my head, feeling the weight and shape of my plastic yellow bat in my hands as I stepped up to the plate; the satisfying thwack of whiffle ball against bat; and when I was in the outfield, there was no distance too far to throw that ball in to home base. 

All that changed when I graduated from whiffle ball to Little League and joined the boys’ team.  As the sole female on the roster I was the obvious target for popcorn throwing contests, which I used to lament, but now realize how much stronger it made me to grow up defined as a person, rather than by my gender.

More pressing than gender roles, however, was the game itself.  No longer was this a harmless scrimmage among friends – this was the big time.  There were innings and outs and no “do-overs.”  A turn at the bat also meant a turn in front of hundreds of peering, judgmental eyes, waiting for me to make one wrong move.  A row of popcorn-monsters sat in the dugout, betting on if “the girl” would strike out or hit a foul ball and then strike out.

And so I unfailingly let the ball machine whiz one-two-three times past me, most times unable to even take a swing.  However, days later on the weekends, my dad would pitch to me in the side yard and bam-bam-bam I’d hit them hard with reckless abandon.

Finally, after another no-hitter, my dad asked me, “Why don’t you ever swing when it’s your turn to bat at the games?”

“Because Daddy,” I replied.  “I don’t want to miss big.”

The fear of missing big has plagued me throughout my life.  It’s why I’ve never been good at sports, auditions, or contests.  My brain sends “mayday” signals, my muscles seize up, and I walk away or give only a half-assed effort.  If I am not at least 95% positive that I’ll succeed at something, I would rather not try it at all. 

Except that I’m finding Peace Corps to be one long series of opportunities to miss big.  I may live alone, but there are still hundreds of beady eyes watching my every move – from my village, to the Peace Corps staff, to friends and family back home.

I find myself in many positions of leadership daily, but two are on the forefront of my mind: the work I am doing to get funding for Pula Matlho HIV Support Group and my role as a representative on the Peace Corps Volunteer Advisory Council.  Both of them have plenty of potential, both could result in great achievements, both have people relying on me to make their wishes a reality, and both could result in disaster, in failure.

With both of them, I could really miss big.

And so the time has come for me to face my fear.  The thing with fear is that it convinces you that it’s protecting you from making a mistake, but in reality, fear is the one thing guaranteed to trip you up.

With that, I’m taking a deep breath and diving wholeheartedly into these projects.  Maybe I’ll stick my neck out and no one will be there behind me – or maybe I’ll finally find the support I’ve been searching for the past year.

Only one to find out, really.  I’ve gotta pick up that bat, keep my eye on the ball, and swing…


*Dedicated to my dad.  Happy birthday!