Fear of Flying

I think I'm afraid of success. That's a really strange thing to be afraid of, isn't it? But something about it rings true...deep in my heart, I think that I am deathly afraid of success. Not that I don't long for it...I do, fervently. But what am I doing to really pursue it? I convince myself that one rehearsal a week learning cover songs so that we can fund the album and merchandise is the best I can do...is it really? Am I pursuing my dreams with a rabid, wreckless passion or am I casually strolling after them, playing a game of chase with no real concern for winning? I have this nagging suspicion it's the latter. And what's more frustrating than this realization is the sense of powerlessness to do anything about it.

I remember in college, my band at the time (Some Heard Silence...lol) had just played our very first show out at this coffee joint across the street from the University (I forget its name, but it had one of those typical psuedo-clever coffeehouse names...The Ground Floor...It's a Grind...Espresso Express...something like that). After the show, a friend's (much older) boyfriend came up to us and told us how impressed he was with the show and that he was very interested in passing us off to his brother, who was looking for new acts to represent. He met with me and Alex (my room mate/keyboard player/co-conspirator) at said friend's apartment the next night and just basically fast-talked and BSed the night away in typical manger fashion. But one thing he said stuck out to me...he told me about an artist he had known who just had gobs of talent and could have done amazing things if not for his crippling fear of success. That really struck a chord in me...at first I was confused. How could someone be afraid of every dream they've ever had coming true? How could someone put in all the hard work that comes with this career and avert themselves from its fulfillment? My confusion quickly gave way to understanding as I, on some small level, recognized that same fear in myself (of course I denied it to my own face as people at that age...or any age, really...are apt to do) and I realized that it's not so much a fear of success itself as it is a fear of the sacrifice success requires.

I'll admit it. I'm scared to death of throwing myself headlong into this crazy dream of mine. I hate my job, but if I were to quit in order to pursue music, how would I pay the rent? If I were to give up on some side projects and immerse myself in rehearsing, recording, and gigging out, what of the people I've made commitments to? And the thoughts keep coming back to me that these things I perceive as safety nets are really just distractions...hinderances...nets. Because I'm not falling. I'm not even walking on the high wire. I'm just wrapped up in these nets...these tangled, twisted nets of obligation and so-called responsibility that keep me from running headlong into the unknown. Maybe in that respect, they are safety nets. But...maybe I don't need to be safe anymore.

Where do I draw the line between responsibility and plain old fear? Between what's a faithful pursuit of my life's calling and what's simply safe? I can feel the weight of the days going by. It's true that as you get older, time moves you faster and faster towards the grave. More and more I'm realizing that many windows of opportunity that are only open during the years of my youth are rapidly closing. The possibility of a marital relationship and the chance to do the work I was made for...these are both slipping away with each second I go on living in fear. What am I afraid of? What am I really, really afraid of? Why can't I bring myself to stop being so distracted and face the sting of risk associated with the embrace of passion?

I would rather die than become old. And I'm not talking about aging. I'm fine with aging. I'm talking about becoming set in my ways. Boring and pale...in the words of Eowyn, "to stay behind bars, until use and old age accept them, and all chance of doing great deeds is gone beyond recall or desire." I keep wishing and hoping that something will pull me out; that God will send a record exec to one of my shows and he'll recognize my potential and pull me out of this drab existence and on to fame and influence. Or that I'll, by chance or divine inspiration, write a song so powerful, so mesmerizing that everyone who hears it falls in love with it and it becomes the next ballad of our generation. And these are such foolish things to hope for. Because it's not something external that can save me. Even if something amazing did come from an outside source, what does that do to fix the damaged person I am? What good does it do anyone if I gain the position to influence and inspire the world, but I don't have the character to do so? I know I need fixing. I just don't know where to start.