On Doing Things That Scare Us

I feel like there's no point in life during which people like to tell you how to live, more than during your twenties. It seems like every time I open up Facebook, someone else has posted yet another Buzzfeed or Jezebel "list" of things one must do in one's twenties: places to travel, cities in which to live, things to do, books to read, movies to watch, things about which to be nostalgic. I suppose the digital era magnifies society's desire to tell us twenty-somethings what to do, but it still seems as if this urge to guide the lives of young adults has always been there.

"Do something every day that scares you" is an urging that makes an appearance in all of these "lists" in various forms. Either it's written verbatim as one of the items, it's reworded in some clever, themed way, or it underscores the entire list itself ("7 war-torn regions worth visiting in your twenties." I'm kidding. Or am I?). 

Now, most of the items on such lists kind of confound and mildly annoy me. I think it's up to me to decide how I'm going to live my twenties, and more often than not, reading about how others wish they had lived theirs doesn't really change my behavior or ideas. As John Mayer sings, "Is there anyone who really recalls ever breaking rank at all for something someone yelled real loud one time?" And to be perfectly honest, I think people who tout traveling at a young age sometimes just sound really entitled--not everyone has that kind of money to spend, or the freedom (literally or figuratively) to just drop their lives and go gallivanting across the world.

However, I've always liked the idea of doing something every day that scares you. It's a simple concept, it doesn't have to cost anything, and it leaves a lot of room for interpretation. Different things scare different people. Hell, I'm scared of birds and fish, and doing something that scares me could be as silly as staring at a fish tank for a while. [I've done it. It's unpleasant.]

But the truth is, I'm a pretty fearful person. I am terrified of rollercoasters. I am so entrenched in my fear and aversion that when I went to Universal Studios earlier this year, I literally brought a book to read while my friends went on their joyrides. When I was in dance performances in college and the choreographers wanted us to do flips, I point-blank refused to participate in such shenanigans, cause I just didn't like being upside-down, suspended in the air and at the mercy of both gravity and some random guy who was just as frightened of dropping me as I was. I have tried a rollercoaster once or twice. I even tried a flip a couple times. After the rollercoaster, I promptly decided that the fear and knee-knocking and trembling and anticipation weren't worth the 10-second euphoric high afterward. When I tried flips, I ended up dropped on my head. On more than one occasion. So, that was a no as well. 

And so trying to do things that scare me, things that REALLY scare me, often hasn't yielded the best results. Or at least, not the sort of results those lists would have me believe I'd get. Doing something that scares you should lead you to unexpected places, both literally and figuratively. It should expose you to unexpected vistas, set up that perfect photograph for your Facebook cover photo. So far, doing something that REALLY scares me has only shown me that I had good reason to be afraid, and I'll continue to live in fearfulness, thank you very much. 

Still, I guess fear is unavoidable. After all, the unknown is at the heart of life. No one knows what will happen tomorrow, or a year from now. No one knows how we'll look or who we'll be or where we'll work when we're in our thirties, giving advice to those twenty-something whippersnappers. And let's be real: that's scary, whether we feel like it is, or not. Because not all of it is in our control. And perhaps that's the real reason we are afraid. There's no way to mend that. There's no way to control it all. So we keep living. And we keep scaring ourselves. And we keep learning which fears are worth holding onto, and which we can let go. That's what I'm trying to do, anyway.

The Pros of a Con

Fact: I'm often at my most productive when I'm also at my most dejected. During medical school, all the new projects and initiatives I've taken on have been in the wake of a break-up. Indeed, these projects might never have gotten off the ground without the catalyst of my heartbreaks. When all I want to do is curl up in bed and cry, I instead end up seeking out challenges and pushing myself to the brink in strictly unemotional realms. How organized can I be? How many things can I juggle at once? What things can I focus my energies upon, and exhaust myself with, so that I'm left with as little time and emotion as possible in which to brood upon the state of my personal affairs?
People often tell me I'm a perfectionist, a Type A personality, and I always disagree with them pretty heartily. But I suppose this impulse of mine is as good evidence as any of what is perhaps my true nature. When things suck for me, I just try to keep myself busy so that I don't have time to wallow.
Not that it really works, exactly. Like most people, (I assume so, anyway; I suppose I have no idea what other people have in their heads) I have a lively inner dialogue, a tempestuous sea, if you will, that is constantly running, whatever I'm doing on the outside. So I still find time to wallow. Time to come up with new iterations of my pain, new metaphors and catchphrases and mental images and sounds. I guess you can't really run away from your problems, no matter how hard you try.
But at least I'm doing useful things in the meantime. I've found that when one is in a crummy place emotionally, (and, incidentally, when one is in general not where one wants to be) the idea of "fake it till you make it" is a pretty useful one to apply. Eventually, the person you're trying to be becomes the person you are.