Part 3 of the series, “The long road to internet success” Read Part 2 here.
Last week we said that part 3 of this long journey would be about content, but a universal theme kept coming up: fear. Maybe not fear like horror movie jump scares, but something even more terrifying: the fear of failure. The fear, in my case, of getting on stage … and failing. So we’re going to veer here a bit and talk to some amazing entrepreneurs and/or comedians about overcoming the obstacles in your head.
Here’s my deal. I’m an extrovert for a living. All the money that I’ve ever made had something to do with my being a gregarious (or some might say impetuous) fellow who takes hold of any opportunity to entertain. The rub is that I’m not much of an extrovert at all. I really, really like to be at home. I would pay a thousand dollars not to have to do a gig that pays $500. But I can’t not do it. It’s been a semi-lucrative habit, but every step towards the stage is a terrifying ordeal. I often hope for a lightning strike or a seizure or maybe a mild heart attack. Something that very visibly demonstrates to the organizer that I wanted to do it but, because of a million volts of sky fire soldering me to the floor, I need to postpone.
But I must. Persevere. And. do. it.
Here’s how I motivate myself. For one, people are doing way scarier things every day. I mean I’m not getting shot at or risking intestinal worms just to get a drink of water. Secondly, let’s dig deep and speak primal. Because no matter who you are or where you came from, we’re all descendants of same primordial ooze. We’re all linked by hopes and fears and this evolved upright thing that has your head popping out like a periscope in whatever murk you still wade. There are despots everywhere. There are obstacles that some of us can’t even imagine. I know I’m on the winning end of elevated opportunity and I grew up with an outhouse for god’s sake. Compared to 99% of the world, I’m privileged little prick. And you can’t believe the kind of comedy you get when you had to walk through three feet of snow to go poo.
So, I tell myself, in the vein of the throbbing, pulsating people who mire themselves in a sewer of dreams, all you can do is crawl out and do it. Hate it. Curse it. Burden your loved ones with it. But stop thinking. Stop thinking you have trouble with fear. Or life. And do it.
Next week. Actual content.