The Paper Trail

A while back, I ranted. Not on here. Privately. To myself. On a LibreOffice doc similar to all the other docs full of my words that no one ever reads. For having a public blog, I’m extremely private about what I write.

But I digress. 

So, I ranted. I called the four page, 2,000 something word rant “The House is Falling”. I’m over dramatic like that. But only privately – I doubt anyone who knows me could ever imagine me having such a serious existential crisis in such a spectacular way. 

Sometimes, I feel like everything is falling apart. I feel like my friendships are breaking down. I feel like my emotional state is on the edge of a very deep, very dark trench and I can see myself falling in at any given moment. I feel like everything I do is meaningless. And I feel like I’ll perpetually be stuck in this moment, never achieving any of my dreams because everything is just too hard. 

Can you relate?

“The House is Falling” is an essay on why I can never become an author. I even wrote an outline before starting so my rant-y thoughts could be organized and concise. I had to cut out a few of my thoughts that didn’t fit anywhere in my structure – that is to say, I had a wealth of reasons I could never succeed as a writer. 

I can’t remember when exactly I wrote this (perhaps December?), but I had full intentions on going back and editing so my arguments could be even clearer. I have no idea what purpose this essay was going to serve. 

Perhaps I just wanted validation that all my worries were legitimate. 

Anyways, I still feel like I won’t succeed, but it’s not as strong a feeling because instead of all my doubts swirling inside my head, they’re now written down. Writing is how I cope with stress. 

Writing is like a hiding place for me. I have dozens of short stories I’ve never shown anyone – mostly because they reflect exactly what I was feeling with zero filter. I have several blog posts that are unfinished because I feel like they aren’t good ideas, or I’m scared of what people might think of them. Only two humans have ever read one of my novels in its entirety, and I have three full length novels on file. 

The thing is, I have a desperate fear of failing that I love to keep under wraps. Usually I wouldn’t reveal this to anyone, much less on an online blog anybody could find, but being vulnerable is good sometimes.

I’ve had a lot of time to consider why I fear failure so much. I see it as the worst possible outcome to any situation, and nothing in my mind can make peace with the possibility. I’m almost certain it’s my motive for studying psychology in college instead of solely focusing on creative writing. 

But there are downsides to fearing failure. And the biggest one I can think of is that it forces me to miss opportunities consistently. 

I’m not talking about personally beneficial opportunities. Sure, I miss those all the time. Just the other day, someone I didn’t think liked writing brought up the topic, and instead of jumping on the opportunity to get to know them better and find out what they’re working on, I let my introverted self take control. After all, I couldn’t possibly endure minimal discomfort if the interaction was awkward. 

What I’m talking about is the opportunities for other people. I don’t want to be judged, so I fail to speak my mind. I don’t give out compliments enough. I don’t talk about my writing. I don’t open any avenues for anyone to possibly relate to me in case they don’t relate at all. 

I’m taking away other people’s opportunities when I take away my own. 

I write to tell stories. But no one ever sees them. I write to get my emotions down on paper, but no one else ever gets to feel them. I have so much in my brain, but no one could ever know because I don’t want one person to hate them. 

The thing is, how can I serve others if I’m too afraid to even try? How is anyone going to be impacted by what I say… if I never say anything at all?

We all have something we fear. Something like fear of failure. Sure, I’m afraid of spiders too, but those aren’t going to paralyze my entire future career, are they?

So what do we do? I can’t just go out and be unafraid. I can’t just tell my fear “Nope, I’m tired.” Resolves like that are unsteady and dead before they even begin. 

I don’t have any steps because it’s not like I’ve conquered all my fears. But there are some vague and familiar solutions to consider:

• Go outside your comfort zone
• Understand why your fear exists
• Do one thing a day that combats your fear
• Think logically about possible outcomes of succumbing or facing fear

Vague enough for you? Thank you, I came up with them myself. 

Everyone loves some good, vague advice to make us feel like we learned something. 

How exactly am I supposed to step outside my comfort zone? Is my fear supposed to stem from one origin, and after I figure it out, it goes away? What exactly qualifies as “combating fear”? Am I a fortune teller now?

Fear is inevitable. We aren’t gods. Life can hurt us. People can hurt us. Being brave isn’t easy – and what exactly does it mean to be “brave”?

My fears are crippling. But I don’t dwell on them everyday. That’ll take away too much time from being an actual person. 

My fears are real, but I only consider them a concern when they directly conflict with what I know I have to do next in my sequence of steps to being a successful person. 

Considering fear as the situation is harmful. It’s better to consider fear as a factor in certain situations. And I suppose fear’s power really only comes from one judgement: Is the thing I’m giving up less important than the looming shadow of my fear? 

In a few days, I’m going to send my draft of my NaNoWriMo novel to several beta readers. They are going to give me feedback. They are going to read what I wrote. There’s no more hiding. 

But that feedback is more important to me than my fear of failure. Sure, there’s a possibility everyone I give the story to will hate it. But they’ll probably be nice about it if they do. 

Fear does serve a purpose. For instance, I am desperately afraid of failure, so I won’t be sending my rough draft to sixty of my closest acquaintances. In some circles, maybe doing something crazy like that means “facing my fear”, but to me, it sounds stupid.

I’m afraid of failure because it’s an actual possibility in my life. I don’t want to set myself up for failure by trying to face it, but I don’t want fear to control my every move. Fear serves a purpose: It tells us what’s reasonable. 

My fear is not an option here. If I want “The House is Falling” to actually become a legitimate rant, I should start listening to my fear on every big step I take towards my writing goals. But I want to be a good writer too much. I also want to grow as a writer in a wise way.

Fear guides my decisions and ultimately helps me make the best ones. All I have to do is take a moment to relax and realize fear is a tool, not a crutch.