how to Do The Thing when you're afraid of becoming who you're meant to be

on fear and love

i just finished an hour long facetime call with a friend who just moved to korea to Do The Thing.

when i say Do The Thing, i mean it to be whatever path or purpose that deeply resonates with someone’s authentic self.

it takes so much damn courage to Do The Thing – to turn possibility into reality. to say no to an offer that looks perfect on paper because you know deep down in your heart that you’ll forever be in search of who you really are if you choose to say yes.

today, i’ve been struggling to Do The Thing – for me, it looks like completing and submitting an essay that would check off a big bottlenecking task. it looks like tackling 300 emails in my inbox while building a CRM in conjunction. it looks like finally confronting the manifesto for my Very Secret Project and the feelings that come with it. of the fact that maybe what i’m nurturing is stupid, or already exists, or the idea isn’t good enough, or that i’m not actually good at articulating it, or nobody is going to fund it, yadayadayada.

it is now 10:25pm and i feel stuck. it feels too late to start now. i went to a cafe earlier today with the intention of doing it but came home shortly after drinking my $6 chai latte because i started to feel unwell, partly physically, partly emotionally. i rested the rest of the day (with The Thing bouncing around in the back of my head like an annoying ping pong ball).

i know that it’s saturday and it’s okay. i know that i can get it done tomorrow and there’s nothing to be shameful about. and for what it’s worth, i don’t ever actually have issues with “bias toward action”.

but this feels bigger than that. these tasks feel vulnerable in a way because after i finish them, i won’t have any hedges anymore. i’m all in. this essay and manifesto i am avoiding will be read by thousands of people i respect, some of whom i will want to engage with. i want these artifacts to be as true to my heart as possible. i want them to be well researched and not look like they are written by a novice, even though i am one. i want them to be worthy of the future self i’m trying to become.

these tasks are not just demanding will power, discipline, and focus - they’re demanding an identity shift. to step into a version of myself that i’m worried i’m not capable of becoming. the version of me that is self assured, actually knows what she’s talking about, can articulate things well and defend her viewpoint. she has an unshakeable vision and tremendous will to power. she steps into rooms already knowing the money will come, her wholeness non-negotiable, and her power intact. she’s got utter intensity and is the version of me that my True Thing has been calling me to Become all along.

this new adult¹ version is one who will, without missing a beat, transform fear into love at every instance. she will nurture the work with so much love in service of the service that she knows, bone-deep, she was meant to give to the world. she's the one who understands that every email, every word of the manifesto, every moment of doubt – they're all sacred steps of Becoming. and maybe the most loving thing she can do right now is to hold both versions of me: the one who's afraid to start, and the one who's already changed the world.

and so tomorrow, i will sit down with both of them – young me who's scared and adult me who's ready. we'll set a timer for 25 minutes. we'll write one messy word after another. we'll send one imperfect email at a time. because Doing The Thing isn't about doing it perfectly – it's about doing it while holding all parts of ourselves with love. this too is part of Becoming.

1. i call her my adult version because she knows how to hold young me with care. she recognizes that part of me is anxious and part of me doesn't want to be anxious. and both parts are trying to keep us safe in their own ways. she's gently telling young me: you don't have to carry this weight anymore. you don't have to be the protector. adult me is here now, and she's so grateful for how young me kept us going all this time. you did what you needed to do then. but now adult me can be the guardian you never had. she's got it. she knows how to transform all that old fear into fuel for our dreams, how to take all that protective energy and channel it into creating something beautiful. she knows that young me's hypervigilance wasn't a flaw – it was love doing its best with the tools it had. and now we have new tools, better tools, gentler tools.

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