View of Sandpoint from the trail

Fear of Failure Bites Again

Two weeks ago, at the World Domination Summit, I realized that I’ve been a bit stuck lately, as I’ve given in to my fear of failure around developing my business.  It wasn’t sudden, or it would have been more obvious.  But slowly, I’d stopped engaging in the playfulness of life, my energy shrunk, and work was not progressing.

I wasn’t Tapas Living – and that needed to change.

When I got home, I began a deliberate quest to try new things, to find new and interesting ways to say yes and awaken that sense of curiosity and openness again, even if it was only in small ways.  I also recommitted to stay more present so that I didn’t miss the joys right in front of me.

The Call of the Trail

First stop: the hiking trail.  I love hiking more than just about everything else, and last Saturday was a picture-perfect Sandpoint day to hit the trail.

Another view of Sandpoint

As I opened myself up to the beauty and magic of nature all around me, my fear of failure faded into the distance.  I watched butterflies dance, pocketed striped rocks, and breathed in the scent of dark, rich earth (and pollen – lots of pollen…).  I felt my energy system come back online, tingling with the reconnection to nature.

About half a mile in, my inner voice whispered “Oooooh, let’s run!”

I haven’t run on stable ground in years, and I’ve never done so on uneven, rocky trails.  I got a Grade 5 ankle sprain and endured a cast for eight weeks just because I stood up wrong.

I shut that shit down.  “Nope.  Not happening.  I’ll fall and break my neck – and on this busy trail, I’d have an audience.”

I kept hiking, enjoying the view.

“You’re letting fear of failure stop you – out here in the woods?”

Mother Nature on My Side

I gulped, as this gave me pause.  Nature is my church, and there’s nowhere I feel more safe, supported, and alive.

“Run,” the voice urged.  “It’s time.”

I looked around, ensuring I was alone.  It’s one thing to try something new.  It’s another thing to do it with witnesses.

I started to trot, then jog, and finally moved into what a very kind-sighted person might recognize as a run but that my unflinchingly honest nephew would say was flailing.  I figured I’d just run for a little bit to test it out.

But I kept going.  And going.  And going.

Runner’s High

When I needed to rest or the incline got steep, I’d walk.  When I recovered, I’d run again.  Bonus: the volume of my heaving gasps warded off resident bears.

Sandpoint has great clouds

Fear of failure receded to the background and then vanished as my steps fell into a rhythm.  I soaked in the deliciousness of what Mother Nature provided and felt strong, powerful, and free.

Six-and-a-half miles later, I was done.

When I awoke the next day not feeling too stiff and sore, I did the same thing again.

I hit the trail again the next day, and I have to admit that I felt pretty damn good about myself.  I greeted the mountain bikers who crossed my path as if I owned the place.

I was a freakin’ trail runner.

The Mighty Fall

This thought soaked in as I moved through a deeply shaded section of dense pines.  All at once, I felt my left foot catch a root. Even though I was moving in slow motion, I couldn’t stop.

I was falling.  And there wasn’t a damn thing I could do, except go with it.

Laying in the dirt, I went straight to fear while the know-it-all in my head chastised me for even attempting to run the trail, since it knew all along I’d fall and break my neck.

As I picked gravel out of my bloody shin, I tried to work out why I had fallen.

A wood carving someone kindly left in the woods

Had I become too full of myself, thinking I was some fantastic runner, and gotten knocked down a peg?  (Nope – weird religious residue.) Was this a cautionary tale, warning me that the world is a dangerous place?  (Nope – just silly.) Or were my ankles too weak or eyesight too poor?  (Maybe, and no.)

One thing was certain: my fear of failure had just been realized.

Getting Up Again

I took a few wobbly steps and assessed the damage.   All four limbs were caked in dirt and my knee throbbed, but I could hobble.  I kept breathing and walked a bit, my panic easing as I knew I’d at least be able to get myself home.

“Try to run again,” my inner voice whispered.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” screamed my head.  “Did you not just see her face-plant in the dirt?  She probably broke something and will need surgery!”

“Run.”  This time louder, more emphatic.

I took a few running steps.  At first my knee hurt, but then, as I worked it through, my steps became easier.  I felt myself loosen up a bit and was back in the flow.

As my eyes darted from the trail (which I monitored with hawk-like precision) to my bloody knee, I laughed at how hard I’d been working to make meaning out of this little tumble.

Falling Up

Suddenly, it was crystal clear what I’d take away from this experience.

On the return to Sandpoint

I needed to fail – and to fail in a very concrete way.  (Concrete is an effective teacher.)

I needed to see that I can mess up royally, and even have my worst fears come true.  I can fail – and choose to keep going.

I didn’t fall down.  I fell UP.

Sure, I looked like a dirty, sweaty, bloody mess, but I was running.  I didn’t give a damn who saw me or what they thought.  I raised my arms, crossing an imaginary marathon finishing line.

I was Captain Badass – and it felt amazing.

See you on the trail.