Never underestimate the power of fear. Fear will keep you in relationships in which you don’t belong. Fear will keep you at jobs you hate. It will make you push the good people away. It will tell you those people were too good for you but if they really cared they would fight to come back no matter what you did.
It will keep you up all night mindlessly scrolling twit/face/insta/space. If you do sleep, fear will wake you up at 5:00 in the morning with a lump in your chest worried about something that is out of your control. Fear can also keep you in bed until noon because you feel like the world is too much, wants too much, and you aren’t good enough to get it back on track.
When this level of fear comes knocking - not the polite ‘are you home’ kind of knocking but ‘the pirate with a wooden leg, it’s time to walk the plank’ kind of knocking - there are three things I force myself to do:
- Get out of bed
- Take a shower
- Eat breakfast (this might just mean having a coffee)
These three actions chip away at the polarizing, self-sabotaging, thoughts that can derail the rest of the day. Each little accomplishment is a win. Each win is a step forward. Each step forward is a move away from where you were towards something else, hopefully a better direction.
I looked at Derich.
“It’s fear, man,” I started. “Fear will make you write the song you think they want to hear. It will make you take the photos you think they want to see and it will make you write the stories you think they want to read, BUT it won’t make people listen to, look at, or read what you’ve created.
“I tried to do things other people wanted and it was never enough. There was always something missing. When you are not doing things with your own best interests in mind you are doing yourself a disservice. If you are not the author of your own story you are a bit player in someone else’s.”
I looked at Derich and this time I tried, for the first time, to share my soul.
“Bullshit. You know what? I’m happy you have an office gig again,” he said, dismissively wiping his chin with a napkin. “That music thing? The acting thing? That writing thing? Those are all kid dreams. You’ve got a mortgage, a car payment, and credit cards. We aren’t getting any younger...or thinner.”
He was firing at close range with both barrels. The words weren’t fatal but they were solid body blows. The burger and the beer had lost their flavor and I had lost my appetite.
This wasn’t a tough love tactic. This was pain projection. There was something ugly going on but I just didn’t care enough to dig deeper. I felt my face wrinkle up as I reached for my wallet. It was my turn to throw a $20 bill on the bar and head for the door.
“I gotta go.” I heard myself mumble.
“Where?” He asked as though there was nowhere I had to be and no reason for me to be there.
Just then my phone rang.
“Oh, hey, look at that. It looks like somebody gives a fuck,” I said backing out the door.
It was Marrianne’s home number. Finally!!
“Hey, buddy! What’s up?!? I’ve been trying to catch you for the passed month!”
“What’s been so interesting this passed month?” Kyle’s voice was flat and cold. “Seriously? Why do you keep calling my wife?”
It was 5:00 in the afternoon and suddenly I had a lump in my chest because the world felt like it was spinning out of control and I wasn’t good enough to get it back on track.
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