Fear sustains me. I am an anxious mess of convoluted worries and scattered priorities, sprinkled on a heaping mound of tangled nerves, and plated beside a trauma en cocotte. Fear has been the guiding motivator in my life for several years now, and my nervous system is requesting a sabbatical. Fortunately, I’ve been lucky enough to travel to magnificent places, try outlandish foods, and participate in inspiring spectacles that changed the lives of hundreds. I’ve eaten sun-dried river shrimp in an isolated village in Nicaragua, infiltrated the gated aquifer in Oaxaca wherein Nacho Libre first encountered his sidekick, Eskeleto, and slurped down raw quail eggs on the banks of the Payette Lake. I’ve fled from javelina and law enforcement while riding a bike, been held-up at gunpoint, rode in a malfunctioning plane over a mountain to the only lake on the planet with fresh water sharks, and buried myself alive.

I imagine you and I drinking our favorite coffees and talking at a table with our favorite song bumping lightly in the background. We’ve been discussing our dreams and goals for 2026. I just rattled off the bonkers list above, and you’d shake your head at me.

“How, Nate?” you would ask. “How do I put aside my fear and do the hard thing?” I’d snort and shrug. My face would twist into an expression of comical uncertainty.

“I don’t know,” I’d confess. “I just do it afraid.” Ultimately, you’d be unsatisfied with that answer, but it’s the truth.

Hot take: fear is underrated. Fear is the great innate motivator for all self-care decisions. We fill up our gas tank before a trip, so we aren’t stranded in the high desert in July. We pack an extra change of clothes “just in case” we are delayed a day or drop ceviche on our white linen pants. We pay for better insurance, pursue preventative care, and even choose to watch the news, all in the name of being prepared for “the worst” in all its ambiguity. Fear keeps us from high-fiving rattlesnakes and from sitting on splintery logs. Unfortunately, fear also prevents us from progressing.

Since I was a tiny Tucson tyke, I’d always dreamed of writing a book and becoming a published author. I’d started a bajillion stories and some even got shut down. In August 2023, I began typing up the draft of a manuscript that I had every intention of publishing. It was a vulnerable and dramatic tale of families struggling to survive the Wild West, and I poured my soul into the characters. Some weeks, when I couldn’t think of what to write, I felt it: fear. What if I’m actually a bad writer? What if this story makes people angry? What if I never finish and just quit? What if I never achieve my dream? It was sobering and paralyzing. In the fight-flight-or-freeze scenario, I had become a fainting goat, bouncing down a flight of stairs.

I believe that every creature on Earth is born with their most important survival skill; minutes after birth, giraffes can stand and run; baby vipers can kill a man with a single bite; baby turtles complete an epic race to the sea moments after they’ve hatched. Human beings are no different. While we may lack flippers, venom, and those little knobby-things giraffes have, infant humans have their single most important survival skill at their disposal: they can call for help. Humans are social beasts, and our greatest power is each other. When I was afraid, I asked someone to help.

I asked my brother to help me edit my manuscript. I told him my fears, gave him context, and he agreed to do his best. When I was in Nicaragua, I had my traveler-guru sister with me. When I was breaking rules in Mexico, I had my local besties pressuring me the whole time. I never would have taken those quail egg shots unless I was sharing one with my wife. I’ve often heard how fear always precedes bravery, and how bravery is accomplished by the overcoming of fear, but maybe the bravest thing you can muster is to tell someone you’re afraid. There’s something empowering about being afraid with someone else.

If you’re waiting for the moment you feel ready or postponing a milestone for fear of failure, you’ve chosen the path of the popsicle. Find a fearful friend to carry you, like a frightened Scooby and Shaggy. Reach out a clammy, trembling hand and tell someone how afraid you are of not taking the next step. Don’t wait to feel brave; do it afraid.

What does “doing it afraid” look like for you? Share your thoughts in the comments below and support writing like this through Buy Me a Coffee.