Deal with that
Life is a funny thing. We all have hopes, dreams, and desires; Goals we would like to see ourselves achieve. For the longest time, I dreamt of being an Air Force fighter pilot, a la Will Smith in Independence Day. That dream was shattered when my Grandpa reminded me that I needed to be able to fit in a cockpit. I was a large young man. But for every lofty and high reaching “fighter pilot” sized goal I might have, there is also a slew of aspirations residing in my brain that are much more manageable and achievable. The internal dialogue that I have with myself throughout every day touches on several of these goals, usually out of nowhere, on a daily basis. I would love to lose more weight and get myself in a better physical shape. Beach body, GTL, swole patrol. I would love to write a book some day. I would love to have a job that allowed me to work in an interesting city, like San Francisco or Seattle. I would love to effectively learn to play a guitar or piano. I have this awesome vision of arriving at a dinner party, because I am invited to loads of dinner parties, where there is a piano regally adorning the living room and I can get all Chopin up in that piece. These are the things I fantasize about. I need crazier fantasies.
Now, I quite desperately wish for all those things. I have lost a tremendous amount of weight in my past and simply could utilize the super power of self-control to lose weight and work out regularly. If only my kryptonite wasn’t delicious calories. I have a computer that is, crazily enough, attached to a keyboard on which I can type words and write things. I love singing and have been greatly privileged to exercise that passion at my church, but I could be so much more effective in that ministry if I played an instrument. The way things are right now, I have the means to actually work towards these goals in my life. I have a decent amount of free time. I am mentally capable of handling these challenges and inching my way towards musical competence, physical prowess, and literary greatness. So why do I waste days off playing video games? Driving through Del Taco? Listening to music rather than creating music? Reading books instead of throwing words on to a page and seeing what I made? The only thing that I can point a finger at and pin down is the ever-present and unavoidable fear of failure. Also, laziness. But mostly being afraid.
Any time I entertain thoughts of starting something new or taking a risk on a new endeavor, the dialogue in my head changes. It’s no longer me pumping myself up with my usual, “Dudebro, you’re flippin’ awesome. You can do anything. Everyone loves you,” which is generally thought while winking at myself in the mirror. The locomotive of brainwaves changes to doubt. I can’t do that. Look at the people out there who are super fit, I could never get there. Listen to that song, no way I could be that good. Don’t write that, someone else could do it better. I don’t want to look foolish. I don’t want to get a mile down that road then realize that I am doing something wrong or discover my own shortcomings. It’s easier to just not try at all. These thoughts carefully lodge themselves into the cracks of my subconscious, rooting themselves. Eventually, I can’t even ponder my own hopes anymore and it takes three hours of focused thought while trying to write a blog just to rattle the hold this negativity has on me. The thing I am slowly realizing, mostly through the insanely therapeutic process of writing my thoughts out into a public space, is that if I don’t risk anything, I will gain absolutely nothing.
That is the cheesiest, most cliché thing I probably could say on this subject, and a google search could produce a hundred quotes on the riches lost through inaction and apathy, but it is the truest thing that I can tell myself in this situation. What am I afraid of? What horrible outcome is going to result from taking forty-five minutes in a day to sweat a little bit? I truly am my biggest threat to being unsuccessful. The worst case scenario for trying something new, and potentially failing, is that I have experienced a whole new side of life. If I write something and it turns out to be appallingly awful, that experience alone can reveal untold things about my character. Trying new things works your brain in ways that you are not used to, and are quite possibly not at all comfortable with, but it is this temporary discomfort that allows us to grow as people. The funny thing is, the only person that can really be disappointed in my own failure is me. I have been blessed with some incredible friendships and loving family members. These people are my biggest supporters and that is not in danger of changing because I put myself out there and try to lead a more well-rounded life.
This subject has been so prevalent in my mind as I have begun this blog. The comfort bubble of sticking to the familiar is an incredibly resilient one, and it will only burst when I am ready to apply enough force to break it. I am sick of telling myself I would be good at things. It is time to start doing. This is a time of action. I am at the point in my life where things will no longer just “happen”. I’ve been through school. I have a job. I am dating an amazing and wonderful girl. My life is here, now, current, present and accounted for. There isn’t a single thing left to wait on. I have dreams that my heart aches to fulfill, and it is time. I am my own worst enemy, but God is my greatest ally. Philippians 4:13 has become a bit of a life verse for me, mostly because it is just about the only scripture I ever memorized, but through Christ I truly can do all things. The only thing I have to actually be afraid of is not living up to my potential. Not being the great man I wish to be. I know who I am, I know what I am worth and I know what I have to contribute to this world. It is this moment that marks the time when I stare my own hesitations and apprehensions in their eyes and poke them on the nose.
Uncertainly Awesome 