My Own Boogie Men

I was doing some research about my boss who is a Micromanager, trying to learn how to best deal with him. At the bottom of the web page I was reading there was a note to micromanagers who might be reading. It asked, “What are you afraid of.” Oh boy! This is a can of worms I didn’t want to open but how can you make progress in self-discovery if you don’t examine your fears?

When I began work as editor of a small press magazine, I was doing everything myself, I didn’t have a choice. But as the magazine grew, I needed to get rid of my micromanagement tendencies. I had to learn to delegate and let go of some of the responsibility. I learned to hire people who knew what they were doing and who could meet deadlines then I’d back away and let them do their jobs.

In my personal life I’m still too much of a micromanager. Some people call it controlling. Just to set the record straight, I only want to control MY life, not yours. Unfortunately, we are not always able to control what happens in our lives. Those are the most frustrating times in my life. So I guess what I fear most is having someone strip away the power I have over my own life. I don’t have much and I want to keep what little I have. I feel the most helpless when someone I care about makes a decision that effects me and there is nothing I can do to stop it from happening. (Divorce is one of those situations, death might be another.) I’ve always been a can-do kind of gal. If I wanted something I went after it. I would break through any barriers I ran up against and figure a way around them. But accepting that some things are out of my control in my own life is a constant source of frustration.

I’m always thinking of ways to make other people happy. I love to see them smile. Doesn’t matter who it is; if I have something and it will make them happy, I give it to them. It drives me nuts being around people who don’t want or need anything I have. I need to be filling a need all the time. I fear the day when I can no longer be productive. I fear never hearing, “Oh, let’s call Baring My Soul in Public, she’ll know.”
I fear growing old alone more than anything I think. I’m already 50, I don’t have far to grow. I want someone to help me fill the lonely hours of old age. I want to spend days doing nothing but fishing. I want to go on long drives to nowhere. And I want to still be having sex when I’m 86 like my grandpa who remarried at that age. (His wife told me they were sexually active.) I want to have someone miss me when I’m away. I want to belong somewhere.


As long as parents are alive you can belong at their home. But when they are gone, home is where you and your spouse are. What of people like me? I have a house, but it’s not “home.” Home is knowing who you would run to if something bad happened. Home is knowing what to expect… a blissful routine of a couple who competes to top each other in keeping the routine not so routine.

(I harp on this a lot, but, if Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus were required reading for couples wanting to get married, there would be far less divorce.)
Being the can-do kind of gal I am, I will learn to adapt to being alone. I will be okay and I won’t die or anything. But knowing what I want in life and not being able to make it happen will fuel me until the day I die. When there is no longer anything left to aim for, I will simply die.

I am a goal driven person. I have to have a goal. It can be a short goal (remembering to pick up bread on the way home) or it can be more substantial (a new camera), but I need a goal. Every goal needs a reward at the end. I reward myself for coming to work each day with a trip to Starbucks. My reward for raising 4 children was supposed to be enjoying retirement years with my husband who had other plans for those years which didn’t include me. (I’m always the last to know and that drives me crazy too. If you’re getting divorced shouldn’t you get to have a few fights first?) Now I’m scrambling to come up with my own rewards. They just feel kind of hallow.

The last Boogie Man is my fear of rejection. Now I’m a writer/editor so I’ve been on both ends of professional rejection. It gets easier with time. But personal rejection is much harder to get used to. I am 50, I’ve had 4 kids and I used to be fat. Clothes hide a lot.  I fear no one will want to touch me again, kiss me, make love to me…

Okay, my boogie men need more boogers I think. Hehe

* Dying Alone
* Not Being Productive
* Not Experiencing Physical/Emotional Love again

I guess those aren’t too many fears to have to deal with. I’m sure I have more but those are the biggest ones. Everyone has their own crosses to bear.