If you give Elissa a cookie ...

Dear friends and fans,
I realize you are greatly anticipating my post concerning my galvanization into the film world, but I must address something first.

For the past two months, I have made it a goal to limit my sugar intake to two days per week. In this I have been doing very well and am quite pleased with myself come the end of the day.

I'm mainly doing it because I have a slight sugar addiction, but I also do it because it feeds my self-righteousness.

I have been very dedicated and am able to pass up decadent trifle my dear aunt has made, or shake my head at cheap Costco gelato, and even resist the urge to lick the screen while looking at Pinterest.

The holiday season comes upon us, and we all know that means each day is pumped with at least a 304%  increase in sugary goodness. I'm at peace with the forthcoming fructose tsunami and have mentally been preparing for it.

But like any well-written superhero, I have a weakness in my armor.

Gifts of sugar.

You see, when you feel the need to be domestic and bake me supreme chocolate chip cookies that are fluffy in the middle but slightly crisp on the outside -- I cannot refuse such a thoughtful gift. I love sugar to begin with. And I probably love you. So to say no to two loves at the same time would be heralding Armageddon before its due time.

But just save it until one of your sugar days, you say. But I cannot. The wafting aroma of those cookies, though hidden next to the water heater, will permeate my dreams and drive me to madness until I enclose my jaw upon them.

Are you seeing the dilemma you put me in with your lovingly baked gesture?

So this holiday season, as you make your plates of mint brownies and peppermint bark cozied up to gooey caramels underneath seductive rolls of cinnamon -- please don't give me one. It's not that I don't appreciate your friendship or love that you thought of me. It's that I appreciate you thinking of me so much I'm willing to sabotage my own personal goals. This gives me such sweet moments of pleasure, but in the end I feel terrible about cheating myself ... and usually end up with diarrhea as well.

If you can't stand the thought of coming to my door caroling without leaving a token of holiday cheer, know I gladly take cash, check and bank transfers.

You really are just too thoughtful.

Fear

I think we can all say we had unfounded fears as children. I had a couple of unique fears. Like fear of killer bees, O.J. Simpson (although, to be honest, this is a rational fear), the world coming to an end because the paintings of popes ran out of wall space (it was a 20/20 special and that's all my 7-year-old brain got from it ... whoa, tangent. Just understood why the show was called 20/20. As in perfect vision. Good name.), fear of the skeleton lady who sat behind my pillow at night, fear of the vent monster (courtesy X-files). Thinking about it, most of my fears came from TV. Although I'm sure my creative brain would have filled the fear-void with something had I not watched it.

Sometimes, my parents would capitalize on my somewhat paranoid state. Once, I went to the bathroom and when I came out, my whole family had disappeared and the house was pitch black. Instead of looking for them, I immediately ran to my neighbor's house sobbing that my family was gone. Turns out they thought it would be funny to hide from me. But I got the last laugh when I disappeared (to the neighbor's house) and they couldn't figure out where I was.

Now that I'm an adult (can I really say that?) I have different fears.

Fear of a hidden camera in my bathroom.
Fear of all crane flies I've killed coming back to life to attack me.
Fear of being mistaken as Miley Cyrus.
Usual fears.

A fear that I don't have is public speaking. Jerry Seinfeld once said "More people fear public speaking than death. Basically, they'd rather be in the coffin than speak at a funeral." Not me.

I also don't fear being incredibly awkward and making a fool out of myself, mostly for humor's sake. When I was serving a mission in Georgia I went to a transfer meeting intentionally looking ridiculous. Because I knew there was at least one person who would find in hilarious, and I didn't care what everyone else thought. Believe me, a lot of those missionaries later told me it was the first time they saw me and they thought for sure I was one joke away from being sent to the funny bin.

But then there are my deep fears. Fear of never marrying. Fear of failure. Fear of dying alone. Fear of not being remembered. Fear of never making something of myself. Which I'm sure most of us have.

Unfortunately, my fears keep me from my potential. Like writing. I know I'm supposed to write, because I believe I do it well; but then I sit down and fear envelopes me like London fog during a Victorian-themed horror movie. Or designing. My hands start to shake and my head starts to hurt and before I know it I'm rocking myself in bed pretending I'm a hermit crab.

Perhaps it's more anxiety than fear. Whatever it is, it's holding me back and I want it banished. And I realize I'm the only one who can truly fight my own demons.

What I really wanted to get to in this post is that I'm in a transitional point in my life and am facing two doors: mediocrity or potential. The mediocrity door is neutral in color, has a familiar door knob, even has a "welcome" mat printed in Times New Roman. Behind it lies a secure job and a regimented daily routine; but not a lot of fulfilling happiness. I do want to make something clear, I am in no way diminishing the choices other's make. My mediocrity may be someone else's potential, and vice versa. Like they say, one man's junk is another man's treasure.

But the potential door is abstract painted and doesn't even look like a door. More like a black hole with streamers and beads dangling from the top while being sucked into the vortex of unknown. There's no welcome mat. In fact, there's a giant canyon you have to leap over before even getting to the door. Behind it lies the possibility for adventure and growth, but also the possibility for bigger failures. It's an uncertain future financially.

Sitting here writing, I'm reminded of the show Dr. Who. If the doctor showed up at your house and asked if you wanted to travel with him though all of time and space, but with the possibility of death, danger, and disaster at every pit spot -- would you go with him? I think we all would like to say "Hell yes I would!" But has our life reflected this sentiment?

I'm letting you know I've started walking towards the black hole door. I'm shaking in my boots, and it may be some time before I even attempt to jump across that canyon, but I can no longer let fear stop me from living the life I'm most meant to live.