Atychiphobia – Fear of Failure

We all to a greater or lesser degree indulge in a version of this phobia – and why wouldn’t we, it keeps us safe. 

We don’t jump from tall buildings, wrestle giants, or speak our mind in public because of this phobia. 

Okay not the best or most relevant examples, but a fear of falling short, of being beaten in public or sounding stupid halts a great many of us from trying – and it shouldn’t (sensible caveats notwithstanding).

We hold back, and then because we’ve lived so long with our passion on hold, we tend to mutter something along the lines of ‘our time has passed’ or ‘oh, well possibly not for us’. 

Life just being itself gets the blame for many a timid soul.

Now I may fail, I may indeed fall with all the grace of a middle-aged man tumbling down the side of a mountain (I tend to do that), or indeed maybe I won’t.

Option B can never come to fruition unless I give it a go

Nobody knows me, I am an anonymous soul in the ether of the web, and any shortcomings will pass without as much of a ripple of acknowledgement – I have no public to please.

So, any embarrassment will only ever be mine to publicise. 

To say I have no fear would be a lie, I do.  But I’m willing to live with it to see just what happens now that I’ve jumped off the diving board. 

In October 2017 I wrote this –

You climb to the top, drag your body up the millions of vertigo inducing steps, to stand looking down at the tiny chlorine filled puddle of water – now what? 

You want to jump, you really do. 

Yet, fear of so many things keeps you firmly away from the edge. 

You swing your arms back and forth, rocking from left foot to right, trying to create momentum to take you forward to the concrete edge, past it, and into the abyss of the known unknown.  

But, despite all the deep breathing, arm swinging, foot swapping, you are as far from the edge as you’ve ever been. 

Friends, confidants, little sayings on calendars, they all tell you to do it, that you’ll be okay – that you should jump.

Ignoring your passion is slow suicide!

Burying your talents in a field for fear of failure – you can recall a parable about that; you are sure you can…

Swinging arms, hopping feet, deep breathing…

You ask for signs, look for totems of assurances from the gods, from karma, the cosmos; then you seek second opinions, validation of the first sign, and the second – maybe you should just make sure, to be sure, after all what if you are wrong, what if you fail?!?! 

Swinging arms, hopping feet, deep breathing…

You know it’s not the critic that counts, that it is all about the doer of the deeds, you love that Roosevelt ‘Man in the Arena’ quote, yet…

If you never jump…  well, you know how that plays out. 

Swinging arms, hopping feet, deep breathing…

You are currently living the foot hopping life – you’ve always been living the left right foot hop. 

So, why do you want to jump, what is it you are looking for, what are you trying to achieve?

It can’t be fame or fortune, they are transient whims so easily lost, if you are to gamble what is it you are trying to win? 

And, despite your lifelong love of words you cannot dig from your lexicon words to articulate the hunger, the need, the primal desire to jump. 

Yet fear is easy to describe, swinging arms, hopping feet, deep breathing…

And then…

You fall forward, legs almost buckling under your weight, the concrete disappears, and the air rushes past your body as you plummet downwards.

But you are not falling, you are flying.  Flying down towards your fear, towards your dream.

Chlorine smells strong, the water warm, the splash painful, the joy exhilarating, the euphoria of jumping intoxicating.

You are climbing before the water has fallen from your body, jumping again and again, the thrill never diminishing, never changing from one jump to the next.

You don’t need validation, witnesses, scores held on cards above heads – your glory is personal, maybe shared with friends, but held next to a pumping heart, not a cold and timid soul who knows neither victory or defeat!

Love the ones you are with – stay safe and sane!

ALEA IACTA EST

Indeed, it is.

We have put our money where our heart is.

Some will see it as an act of complete folly, some as pandering to the ego, and some, a small group will see it with through compassionate eyes as the act of a man allowing his heart to truly beat.

Money – the love of such a thing, well we all know how that phrase goes.  It is many things, but it is indeed the lubricant that allows a life to exist in a modicum of comfort – and I’ve just taken a whole chunk of it to follow a dream.

“Happy talk, keep talkin’ happy talk, talk about things you’d like to do.  You gotta have a dream; If you don’t have a dream, how you gonna have a dream come true?” – Rodgers & Hammerstein take a bow.

Will I fall flat on my face, has my money gone to a complex and intricate scam artist?

I don’t know.

I can control what I can control – nothing more.

I NEED to publish, and this I am now going to do.

Life is the poorer for a lack of risk.

So, successful top ten paperback or not, my dream is in process.

Love those you can, tell them often that you do, and stay as safe and sane as life will allow.

Put Up – Or Shut Up!

Or back yourself or back down or… and so it goes on, we all know the premise being discussed.

At some point the music stops and you MUST act.

For me such a time is now.

Is it the ultimate and expensive folly – or a justified exercise in creative expression?

Both, neither?

Only time and participation in the process will tell.

I know the statistics, the possibility of my book, my debut novel, making me untold millions are somewhere in the range between slim to nil.

I get that, I do.

So, I’ve engaged an editor – splashed the cash.

My first foray will be Amy Grace: Payne – a book I started writing in 2017, and now a tale that sits in four volumes and some 500,000 words.

Book one is a standalone tale – it has a beginning, middle and a definite ending. 

It introduces the world to the red-haired wonder that is all 5’2” of Miss Amy Grace of County Leitrim in Ireland.

We take the reader into the world of Celtic mysticism and the warrior priestess that is Babd – we take that same reader on an emotional roller coaster of pain suffering and the struggle to recover from trauma.

We offer up a genuinely bad man (Thomas Payne), but we also allow our nemesis to have depth, to grow, to find true love and to evolve…

We anchor our story around a Cairo brothel – The Dove House, and we spin it around the Anglo centric man’s world of 1884. 

We have the failed relief of Khartoum, fighting in isolated forts in the Noth West Frontier and we end with Cowboy’s in Missoula in Montanna USA.    

Is the world ready, am I?

Never met the editor (IRL) and now I’m trusting him with all those hours of my blood sweat and tears.

Terrified I indeed am.

But the die has been cast- so we must follow through.

Hug those you love – stay sane, and if you can say a little prayer for me.