doing it scared

and other lies we tell ourselves

Elizabethtown (2005)

“You have five minutes to wallow in the delicious misery. Enjoy it, embrace it, discard it, and proceed”

- Claire Colburn

I literally just finished ‘The Courage to be Disliked’ by Ichiro Kishimi and Fumitake Koga after social media made it seem like I’d feel differently about life if I read it. I think it helped (?) but I’m also slightly afraid to say it didn’t in case I’m admitting that a global bestseller went totally over my head. It explores themes on how to be happy, new ways to approach everyday stumbling blocks and also why we feel better when we know we have a role to play in the lives of others… which yeah… I guess was interesting (??? *nervous glancing*) 

I can now go onto my Goodreads and mark it as read, but while turning through the pages I had no urge to highlight specific segments or add sticky notes to phrases that leapt out at me, but maybe the effects still need a little time to sink in. What did stand out to me though was the chapter on having the courage to be happy and honestly, I’d never really thought about it that way and often assumed the elusive emotion was reserved for those who had chosen to live in blissful ignorance or had somehow masterfully gotten over everything that had happened, ever.

While finishing the last few pages, I placed the book in my lap on a train back to London and stared out the window as the greenery blurred past. I then realised (and a brief pause to laugh because big emotions are difficult) that fuck, I’m absolutely terrified, and I don’t know if I have (or have ever had) the courage to be happy. I think I might be the most scared I’ve ever been in my entire life.

Let’s do a quick (but not exhaustive) list:

I’m scared of the future. I’m scared of the past. I’m scared of turning 30. I’m scared I’ll never get married. I’m scared to buy the clothes I like. I’m scared to tell people what I really think. I’m scared to take dance lessons. I’m scared to make mistakes. I’m scared that all my takes on Substack/TikTok are the same thoughts of a generation that’s consumed too much online media. I’m scared of spending money. I’m scared I’ll never make it. I’m scared to use ingredients on a dinner that tastes bad, that I’m unoriginal, to trip over a slab in public, the mole on my back, of my parents getting old, that my skirt is tucked into my pants when I leave the bathroom and no one’s told me…

I’m scared, I’m scared, I’m scared. 

And I carry all this around with me too, along with my lip balm and headphones, it’s right there clanging in my head as I jog up the stairs or run after a train or overly apologise for something I didn’t need to be sorry about - and sure maybe I’m doing it all scared (whatever it all is), but I’m scared before, during, after, above, below, and 10 years later as well. The fear doesn’t stop. They all say everything you want is on the other side of fear, but on the other side of my fear is just more fear. Unexpected fear. A fear smorgasbord. A fear sandwich skewered by a cocktail stick and an olive. A fear buffet.

I want to be brilliant, and good and brave and amazing but I’m also constantly aware of my faults and always question if I’m even a deserving person. And before it seems obvious, I’ve done therapy, cried, laughed, journaled, exercised, taken up hobbies, learned languages, travelled, sat in a cinema at 11 am by myself, put my thoughts on a leaf and sent them down a river, cut my hair, got tattoos, processed emotions, baked cakes, listened to podcasts, read self-help books. I’ve plunged into the depths of my soul for treasure and pulled out a soggy boot every time. 

(Sometimes I’m scared that I’ve spent so long being SCARED that I don’t know how to stop being scared).

“This is it” I yell as I grab my own metaphorical lapels “This is not a dress rehearsal, this is LIFE” and yet I crawl through a graveyard of all my dead dreams every day. Here lies the watercolour paints you loved but gave up. RIP to the holiday in Oslo you never booked. Gone but not forgotten to the book you wrote four chapters of but didn’t finish because you thought it wouldn’t be good enough. Is my future doomed to be just one long haunting of everything I was always too scared to commit to?

I feel slightly pulverised by social media lately (don’t we all?) especially as we enter October, November and December, which apparently is the ultimate time to make radical self-change. The new New Year, before the actual New Year. Everyone is in their ‘Winter Arc’ (another way to say it’s time to look inwards and refocus on goals) and eating steak and eggs or giving out advice such as “there’s only X amount of days be the best VERSION OF YOU but if you start now you’ll be super skinny by January, yay!”

(The people who said that exercising and getting outside helps your mental health were correct though).

I’m not writing this as a sob post (I’m scared this sounds like I’m whining), or some giant admittance that I’m chronically miserable, I’m just trying to work it all out (life), and I think perhaps this particular book just didn’t help - and also sent me off the deep end a little bit. I sometimes want to be one of those people who goes into a supermarket and then eats a whole cake covered in 4 inches of bright blue icing alone by themselves in their car. But then I think - do I?? Do I really want that? Will. That. Really. Make. Me. Happy? The biggest things occupying my mind are just painfully arbitrary problems - such as the sudden urge to know where my passport is or if I still have the chance to be social media famous? AGAIN IF I EVEN WANT THAT?

So - what’s the solution? Because we all want solutions. That’s why we watch the tarot card videos and go looking for glow-up content (present company included) and read these poignant books and hope someone, somewhere will tell us how to live. If I were absolutely forced to give advice it would be to just, even for a split second, care less (which is actually very hard), half-arse it for a change, flop, fail and draw up a list of what and who is important and stick with that. Also, challenge your thoughts - it’s definitely not as bad as you tell yourself it is and who knows, maybe it’ll collapse and the wheels fall off and the sun explodes and the nightmares grow wings or maybe, just maybe, it’ll be okay. More than okay. 

Don’t ask me seriously though, I’m still at the all-you-can-eat fear buffet and my plate is piled very high. 

Until the next one,

Lory x