Manifesto XX: If You Don’t Do It Now
“If you don’t do it now, you will never do it.”
This is what I tell myself every time I try something new and the fear threatens to stop me.
When I was a child, I was often asked to perform in public. I would act, sing, declaim, orate, compete in academic competitions. I was out of the classroom practicing or preparing more often than I was in it. I would have to be judged by a crowd.
Unfortunately, I was also a painfully shy child. I could barely stand talking to one stranger, let alone dozens, or even hundreds. I was an introvert, still largely am in that I actually like spending time alone with my thoughts. I was a loner who would be pressed into performing for crowds.
Fear would grip me the moments before I was about to go on stage or at the mic or before a panel of judges. I was afraid of what they would think of me. I was afraid they wouldn’t like me. I was afraid I wasn’t any good.
I was afraid they would laugh. Sometimes, they did.
So, yawning uncontrollably (for some reason, yawning was my fear reflex as a child), frozen to the spot, I would brace for the moment like a swimmer about to dive in ice-cold water. It would get worse and worse, until finally I would grit my teeth and tell myself:
What are you waiting for?
Nothing.
Then if you don’t do it now, you will never do it.
Then I’d take a deep breath, and dive in.
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It was the same for anything new. Riding a bike. Driving a car. Asking for directions in a foreign country. Attending my first court hearing. Skateboarding downhill. Dating (and everything that comes with the package). Part of me wanted to retreat, every time, stay on certain ground, don’t wander too far fro what you know. But where would I be if I hadn’t pushed myself out of my shell, all those times?
Not married, for starters. Never mind getting her to say yes (another emotional bungee jump), how would I pick her up from her place for dates?
Same went for my writing, too: The first time I submitted my stories for workshop was nerve-wracking. What if it sucked? What if they laughed at me? Well, the story was funny, but that’s not what I meant. What if it was terrible? What if I just wasn’t any good?
Oh well. Take the plunge.
I found out that I was a pretty entertaining writer. Sometimes I would lay an egg, but my friends would simply tell me and I would make the adjustment. My ego might smart for a while especially if I was particularly proud of the work, but then I would be over it.
What was wrong with bombing? What was wrong with people laughing at you? It happens! We all need it sometimes. Life goes on. We all suck at the beginning of anything new.
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Project Otaking is a ridiculous idea. It is my attempt to make an impact on the otaku world by being a producer instead of a consumer. It is my attempt to prove that through vision and determination coupled with action I can turn my delusions of geek grandeur into reality. I see comics and anime and video games figured into my future. I see travel to places I’ve never been, places I’ve always wanted to go. I hear myself speaking fluently in Japanese.
But I have never done anything like this before. No one I know ever has. I already have it made if I stick to the rails, a nice, comfortable, stable life I’ve earned for myself. I don’t have to risk failure. I don’t have to risk getting laughed at. I don’t have to risk not being good enough.
But if I don’t do it now, I’ll never do it.
“If you don’t do it now, you will never do it.”
This is what I tell myself every time I try something new and the fear threatens to stop me.
When I was a child, I was often asked to perform in public. I would act, sing, declaim, orate, compete in academic competitions. I was out of the classroom practicing or preparing more often than I was in it. I would have to be judged by a crowd.
Unfortunately, I was also a painfully shy child. I could barely stand talking to one stranger, let alone dozens, or even hundreds. I was an introvert, still largely am in that I actually like spending time alone with my thoughts. I was a loner who would be pressed into performing for crowds.
Fear would grip me the moments before I was about to go on stage or at the mic or before a panel of judges. I was afraid of what they would think of me. I was afraid they wouldn’t like me. I was afraid I wasn’t any good.
(more…)
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