Fear

This post is sort of... historical.  Anyone who came here from my alter-ego's livejournal page *cough-cough* will probably recognize it, with a few tweaks, but I wanted to share it with those of you on this blog, too.  Because I'm sure that fear is a very familiar feeling to everyone:

There is absolutely nothing more frightening than having to fence (in a weapon that isn't your weapon of choice) against a guy about double your height and weight... oh, and don't forget that you're a little bit shaky thanks to the fact that you only ate a rice cake for lunch because you're a dysfuntional eater with an intense fear of being fat.
Not that the above has ever happened to me, noooo. (the bruises weren't pretty.  And yes, I do eat now.)

Or that first second of stepping onto the ice (or right before a new jump like, say, a flip or a lutz), when you're sure that you are a complete idiot, have no skating ability whatsoever, OH! and realize that you still have to go to work to pay the bills whether or not you fall and break yourself.

Or hitting the send button to get the first draft of your "book" to your friends (who naievely agreed to be beta readers), even though you're absolutely convinced that you have no talent and that they're going to laugh at your attempt. I had to keep from throwing up after that first send button was hit and my stomach still turns a little bit at the thought of this story being out for critique.

Or stepping onto the stage when you're a thirty something dancing with teenagers who are more flexible and more talented than you by FAR.

Fear is-- paralysing. Nauseating. Nightmare-inducing. Scary.

But, it's also exhilarating when you manage to push past it and accomplish amazing things.   Sometimes, that means holding my nose and jumping in feet first. It means stating my intentions in a public forum (like this blog or signup sheets for something, or spoken aloud to friends/aquaintances) so that I can't back out.

I like to push myself, to scare myself a little bit every now and again. Even failure (like the fencing bruises, the stitches on my chin from a skating fall, being rejected story-wise or by "guy who has a crush on me but won't ask me out") can be good. I actually work fairly well with failure. I don't like it, but it can make me mad enough to try harder-- if I really care about whatever it is I was trying for in the first place.

Still, I'm so stealing back my mini-socks one of these days.