There’s a moment right before I do something terrifying when my pulse quickens, my palms turn to Tennessee summer humidity, and my inner dialogue sounds like a bad Dolly Parton impersonator whispering, “You sure about this, sugar?” Fear, in all its fluorescent-orange, hazard-sign glory, takes the wheel. But life, as I've come to learn, is less about avoiding fear and more about figuring out how to ride shotgun with it.

I’ve gotten cozy with fear over the years—not because I’m particularly brave or blissfully unaware of consequences, but because I know fear is often the signpost pointing me exactly where I need to go. Whether it’s hitting send on a vulnerable text, stepping onto a stage, or saying yes to a third date when the internet tells you he's “too into Drake” (and maybe that's a red flag), my life has been a love/hate square dance with fear. So, pour yourself a glass of sweet tea and pull up a chair—I’m about to tell you why I chase the things that scare me most.

Section One: Fear as a Frenemy

They say, “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.” Whoever "they" are clearly haven’t met my anxiety. Fear isn’t just an enemy; it’s the overly dramatic cousin showing up unannounced to the party, demanding everyone's attention. It blares worst-case scenarios like a late-night infomercial: heartbreak! Public humiliation! A spiral into eternal singledom! But if I’ve learned anything as a Nashville native, it’s that even the most annoying kin have something to teach you.

I used to avoid fear like some people avoid karaoke after too many margaritas. I played it safe in relationships, career moves, and everything in between. My early 20s were spent like a songwriter afraid to perform—scribbling verses in the margins but never stepping up to the mic. But eventually, fear’s persistence wore me down.

Here’s the trick: I stopped treating fear as an obstacle and started treating it as a compass. I realized the things I was scared to do—putting my stories out there, admitting my feelings, traveling solo—weren’t stop signs. They were mile markers. It’s like Johnny Cash growling, “Walk the Line,” but the line is a tightrope suspended over the Grand Ole Opry, and down below is every awkward middle school memory you wish you could forget. Terrifying? Sure. Worth it? Absolutely.

Section Two: Learning to Dance with Nerves (Even If You Step on Their Toes)

So, how do you confront fear without feeling like you’re about to have an out-of-body experience? It starts small—baby steps, really. Fear, much like trying hot chicken for the first time, is best handled in manageable doses. Here are a few tricks I’ve picked up:

  • Talk Back to Your Inner Alarmist: Fear loves to exaggerate. (Remember when you thought the world would end if that crush left you on read? Spoiler alert: it didn’t.) Separate facts from freak-outs. Write down your worry, and then counter it with a practical response.
  • Borrow Confidence from a Past Victory: When I’m about to do something daunting, I remind myself of all the other “firsts” I’ve survived. The first time I sang solo at a family barbecue. The first time I stood in front of a crowd at a writers’ event, hands shaking but words steady. Once you’ve made it through some fires, it’s easier to trust you’ll handle the next blaze.
  • Let the Worst-Case Scenario Play Through: Sometimes I humor my fear. “Okay, brain, run the tape. What’s the absolute worst that could happen?” Nine times out of ten, the big bad “what ifs” look smaller outside my head. Embarrassment? Temporary. Messing up? Fixable. That realization is strangely liberating.

Conquering fear doesn’t mean the nerves go away. It means learning to groove to fear’s rhythm without letting it lead the whole dance. Think of it this way: you're the main act, and fear is just part of the backup band. (It’s not even the lead guitarist.)

Section Three: Fear and Dating—A Sweaty-Palmed Adventure

Nothing brings out my inner scarecrow quite like dating. There’s a vulnerability to connection: walking into the unknown and hoping someone will meet you halfway. Honestly, it feels a little like singing harmonies with a stranger on stage—you don’t know if they’re going to hit their notes or leave you hanging.

My first real dose of courage in the dating department hit years ago after a show in Nashville. I'd spent the evening chatting with someone I’d noticed at a couple of other events—a tall guy with a scruffy beard and a talent for making strangers laugh. But when he left, I heard that familiar whisper of regret: What if you’d just gone for it? So I did what any rational human would do—I ran after him. (Okay, more like “politely speed-walked.”) It was a blur of first-date jitters and new-relationship highs after that, but the point is, one act of bravery snowballed into connection.

That relationship didn’t last forever, but it was worth every ounce of fear. Because with every risk I take, I learn to listen less to fear’s doubts and more to my own wants. Courage isn’t about being fear-free; it’s about wanting something more than you fear it.

Section Four: The Power of Saying Yes (When it Matters)

The thrill of life—and love—is about what you say yes to despite the static of self-doubt. Fear has tried to talk me out of so many things over the years: moving forward after heartbreak, publishing my first essay, singing backup for a local band even though I wasn’t sure my voice was good enough. For each yes, I felt my inner critic throwing a tantrum in the wings, but here’s the thing: every yes made me more certain that fear’s job isn’t to stop me—it’s to spotlight the things I care about most.

Will you fail sometimes? Of course. But the sting of failure fades faster than time wasted wondering, “What if?” Life’s sweetest moments—like stumbling into the arms of a love that feels like harmony—don’t show up because you avoided risk. They show up because you stepped forward shaking and did it anyway.

Conclusion: Fear Isn’t the Enemy, Sitting Still Is

Here’s what I know after all my run-ins with fear: it never really disappears. Every stage I step onto, every vulnerable conversation I initiate, and every leap I take has me hearing that same whisper: You sure about this, sugar? And every single time, I smile, nod, and say, “Yes.”

Because fear, for all of its terrifying tantrums, is also proof I’m still alive, still trying, still reaching. And that, I’ve decided, is worth the sweaty palms. So if you’re staring down something scary right now—whether it’s a first date, a job change, or calling someone you didn’t think you’d miss—consider this your nudge to go for it. Trust me—fear may take the wheel, but the ride is always worth it.