I’d like to think that I’m adventurous. I’d like to think that I am effortless, that I am wild, that I am unscripted. I’d like to be considered bold and daring. But if I’m being honest, fear is always a short distance away. Sometimes I let fear make my decisions for me. Sometimes I miss out on things because I let fear perch itself on my shoulder and I listen when it whispers for me to turn away and go back the way I came. And worst of all, sometimes, I believe the fear. I believe its cautionary words of repression, and slowly I let it weaken me.
But other times, I choose not to listen to fear. I hear fear’s words but I keep going. I feel it try to settle onto my shoulders, and I push it off, and I make decisions despite the fear.
Living on the road can be scary, and fear is weird and dumb, and a LIAR. When I hear it creep in I have to plug my ears, and sing “LALALA!” At the top of my lungs. Because I can’t and I won’t let it dull the adventure, the wild and the unscripted.