For much of my life, I have been afraid of failure. I know that probably doesn’t make me different from most people. We are all afraid of failing at something. But for me, there were times when that fear became more than just being nervous or unsure. It stopped me from doing things I really wanted to do, things that might have actually made me happy.
When you hear enough times that you aren’t smart enough, talented enough, educated enough or just plain good enough, eventually you start believing it yourself. And once that happens, people don’t have to close doors on you anymore. You start closing them on yourself.
There were things throughout my life that I wanted to try. Sometimes I even got close enough that I could almost reach out and grab them. Then those same old questions would start. What if I fail? What if I’m not good enough? What if everybody who doubted me was right? Instead of taking the chance and finding out, sometimes I just walked away.
Then life changed me in a way I never could have expected.
During my years driving a truck, I was involved in two separate accidents where two people lost their lives. Law enforcement determined that I had done nothing wrong. According to them, there was nothing I could have done differently. I understand that, and I know I wasn’t responsible for what happened. But there is a big difference between knowing something in your head and convincing your heart to believe it.
Those two days will always be a part of me. I don’t think you ever completely walk away from something like that. You learn to live with it, but you don’t erase it.
Somewhere along the way, while trying to deal with everything I was carrying around inside me, I started writing. I don’t think I understood at first what writing was doing for me. I just knew that putting my thoughts into words gave those thoughts somewhere else to live besides inside my head. Then I realized something. I loved writing.
I loved taking something I was thinking or feeling and trying to put it into words that might make another person stop and think. Maybe I could make somebody feel something. Maybe I could get someone to look at an issue from a different direction. Maybe something I wrote could touch somebody I would never even meet.
For the first time in a long time, I had found something that made me think not only about who I was, but who I might still be able to become. Then that old fear came back.
I have been a Miami Dolphins fan for most of my life, and I wanted to write about them for a sports publication. I reached out and ended up talking with someone there about my writing. He was great to me. He took the time to help me improve what I was doing and explained some of the things I needed to work on so my writing would be more useful and interesting to the fans. I listened to him. I learned from him, and I took what he told me seriously.
Then he offered me a position.
It should have been one of those moments when everything finally seemed to be coming together. Somebody wasn’t telling me I wasn’t good enough. Somebody was telling me that I was.
But at almost the same time, my wife was diagnosed with cancer.
Suddenly, something that should have been one of the most exciting opportunities I had ever been given was happening while my family was facing one of the most frightening times of our lives. Writing about football didn’t seem nearly as important anymore. My wife and my family needed me, and my attention was where it needed to be.
But I also have to be honest with myself.
Her cancer wasn’t the only reason I walked away.
The old fears were still there. Now people were actually going to read my opinions. What if the fans didn’t like what I had to say? What if I got criticized? I knew I would have to use more statistics, and anyone who knows me knows statistics aren’t exactly my favorite thing. What if I got one wrong? Yes, I could correct it. I could print an apology or a retraction. That’s what publications do when they make mistakes. But none of that mattered to the fear running around in my head.
With everything happening in my life, walking away was easy to justify. And part of that justification was absolutely real. But somewhere inside me, I knew something else was happening too.
I was scared.
Looking back at it now, there is something almost painful about admitting that. I wasn’t afraid because somebody wouldn’t give me a chance. I became afraid when somebody finally did. The door was open, and for reasons that were both very real and very personal, I couldn’t make myself walk through it.
Now, years later, I’m standing in front of another door. Only this time, I’m building part of the doorway myself.
I’m starting my own publication, Voices Power of Words. I don’t know exactly where it’s going to go. I don’t know how many people will read it. I don’t know whether it will become everything I hope it can become, and I certainly don’t know how many mistakes I’m going to make along the way.
And for once in my life, I’m okay not knowing.
Maybe it will become something bigger than I ever imagined. Maybe it won’t. Of course I want it to succeed, and I’m going to do everything I can to make that happen. But I’ve finally realized that failing at something isn’t always the worst thing that can happen. Sometimes never finding out what you could have done is worse.
If this door doesn’t take me where I hope it will, then I’ll find another door. If that one closes, I’ll look for the next one. What I don’t want to do anymore is spend my life letting fear decide which doors I’m allowed to open.
That’s really why I’m writing this.
Somewhere there is another person standing in front of a door of their own. Maybe somebody spent years telling you that you weren’t smart enough. Maybe someone convinced you that your dream was foolish. Maybe you’ve already failed once and you’re terrified of failing again. Or maybe you’re just scared of what people will think if you try.
I can’t tell you which door you should walk through, because your door probably looks nothing like mine. Maybe yours is going back to school. Maybe it’s starting a business, writing a book, changing careers, picking up a paintbrush, learning an instrument, repairing a relationship or finally trying that one thing you’ve quietly dreamed about while always telling yourself you’ll do it someday.
I don’t know where your door is, but I do know what fear can do when we give it the key. At this point in my life, I’m taking mine back.
I’m still afraid. Starting this publication hasn’t magically changed that. I still wonder sometimes if I’m good enough. I wonder if people will read what I write. I wonder if I’m getting myself into something bigger than I know how to handle.
The difference now is that fear doesn’t get to steer. It can ride along. It can sit in the back seat and tell me everything that might go wrong. I’m sure sometimes it will be screaming loud enough that I’ll want to listen.
But I’m not giving it the wheel again.
I’m going through my door.
And if you’ve spent years standing in front of yours, wondering whether you’re good enough to turn that handle, maybe you don’t need to know exactly what’s waiting for you on the other side. Maybe you just need to open it and find out.
Don’t let fear lock your door.
Let inspiration open it.
J Jones
Editorial note: The author uses AI-assisted editing for grammar, clarity, and structure. The Ideas experiences, opinions, and original direction of this work are the author’s own.