There’s a particular kind of fear that arrives just before something important. Not the fear of crossing a busy road or checking your blood test results. This one has more gravity. It usually shows up when you’re standing at the edge of something new—arms crossed, breath held, already rehearsing how you’ll explain your failure if things go sideways.
I used to think the brave were the ones who didn’t feel this fear. I know better now. The brave are simply the ones who keep showing up with it.
I’ve said yes to a lot of things that scared the hell out of me: walking away from comfort, starting things I had no idea how to finish, saying things out loud that I’d only whispered to myself before. Each time, the same twin thoughts circled like vultures: “You’re going to screw this up,” followed immediately by, “And everyone will see it.”
But I’ve learned that sometimes, the only way out is through—and the only way through is by saying yes before you feel ready.
Readiness is overrated. We treat it like a prerequisite, when really, it’s often a reward. It shows up quietly, weeks or months after you’ve taken the plunge. Sometimes it never shows up at all—and that’s okay too. Not everything that matters will make you feel confident. Some things will just make you feel alive.
And aliveness has always been a better compass than confidence.
I’ve also learned that fear doesn’t mean stop. It means pay attention. It means this matters. It means growth is close. Fear is a sign that you’re standing somewhere important, like the last step before a cliff, or the first note in a song you’re not sure you can sing. It’s not the enemy. It’s the cost of being someone who risks.
What has surprised me most, though, is how contagious courage can be. You say yes once—and someone else sees it. They say yes next time. And the next person after that. Suddenly, you’re not just building a life. You’re building a ripple.
We forget that our decisions don’t happen in isolation. The permission you give yourself today could be the nudge someone else needs tomorrow. That small act—saying yes when every part of you wants to run—is a quiet revolution. And revolutions rarely feel brave in the moment. They usually feel like nausea.
I’ve made peace with that. I’ve stopped waiting for certainty and started chasing the thing that makes my heart race. Even if it means I might mess up. Even if I don’t get it right. Because playing small never protected me the way I hoped it would. It just made me quieter in rooms where I should have taken up space.
So if you’re standing at the edge of something—whether it’s a decision, a dream, or a door you’re afraid to knock on—let me say this: fear doesn’t mean no. Sometimes it means you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.
Run towards it. Run fast. You’ll be terrified. And you’ll be changed.
And that’s the whole point.
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