Can fear teach you something about yourself?

I consider myself a lifelong learner. I don’t think you’re ever too old or it’s ever too late to try something new or learn and grow and become a new version of yourself. We have the opportunity for change until the day we take our last breath. I’ve tried so many things over the years just because they sounded fun. Take a semester of tap dancing, sure. Become an extra in the film industry and take a few acting classes, sure. Decide to learn piano in my thirties and start playing with a band, writing songs, and performing in small clubs, sure. Decide personal training is not my lifelong dream, and go back to school for photography, sure. Get a subscription to Duolingo during COVID and start to learn French, sure. 

Not everything I wanted to learn needed to be for a career change or completely change the direction of my life, but learning is fun to me. Ironic because I hate to be bad at anything, and being a beginner often means the first hundred attempts will not always be pretty. I’ve started and stopped many a hobby. Knitting, Hand Lettering, rock climbing, painting, making candles, and soap. I have a beautiful violin hanging on my wall that begs me to learn how to play, but I find her so intimidating, and I have this mean inner critic that says if you can’t play the opening riff of ‘To Love You More’ like Taro Hakase, then don’t play at all. Ridiculous, I KNOW. But I do keep showing up to the classroom. I think that’s the big takeaway. I’ve always been drawn to watercolor, and this year I put it on my vision board to just do it. Quiet the inner critic. There is a great road trip analogy by Liz Gilbert in Big Magic (love her or hate her, she does have some nuggets worth tucking in your back pocket) about how creativity and fear are connected, family, if you will. I think a big part of my inner critic is fear that I won’t be good enough. She likens fear and creativity to conjoined twins. You can’t have one without the other. But the part I love is that you get to choose who sits in the front seat. 

Gilbert writes, “Dearest Fear: Creativity and I are about to go on a road trip together. I understand you’ll be joining us, because you always do. I do acknowledge that you believe you have an important job to do in my life, and that your take your job seriously. Apparently, your job is to induce complete panic whenever I’m about to do anything interesting – and, may I say, you are superb at your job. So by all means, keep doing your job, if you feel you must. But I will also be doing my job on this road trip, which is to work hard and stay focused. And Creativity will be doing its job, which is to remain stimulating and inspiring. There’s plenty of room in this vehicle for all of us, so make yourself at home, but understand this: Creativity and I are the only ones who will be making any decisions along the way. I recognize and respect that you are part of this family, and I will never exclude you from our activities, but still – your suggestions will never be followed. You’re allowed to have a seat, and you’re allowed to have a voice, but you are not allowed to have a vote. You’re not allowed to touch the road maps; you’re not allowed to suggest detours; you’re not allowed to fiddle with the temperature. Dude, you’re not even allowed to touch the radio. But above all else, my dear old familiar friend, you are absolutely forbidden to drive.” Genius.

I think today I will write a letter to my own fear, and ask it to teach me something new.