F.E.A.R. — False Evidence Appearing Real.

Let’s be real: fear isn’t polite. It doesn’t knock. It doesn’t ask permission or announce itself gently. It just shows up—fully caffeinated, uninvited, and usually wearing Crocs with socks—bold, irrational, and a little bit embarrassing. Fear creeps into your chest at 3am. It whispers worst-case scenarios in traffic. It throws fake facts at you like a drunk friend in a group chat who’s just lucid enough to sound believable. And here’s the kicker: we listen. We absorb. We give fear a name, a lease, a place at the table. We make it familiar, even when it’s feeding us lies. We convince ourselves that fear must be real because it feels real.

But feelings aren’t facts. And fear? Fear is the best liar I’ve ever known.

I was terrified to walk across the country solo. Let’s not dress it up. I wasn’t fearless. I wasn’t spiritually transcending anything. I was not dancing barefoot through the desert with a flower crown and a vague sense of purpose. I was scared. Scared of rattlesnakes and truck stops. Of dehydration and the crushing loneliness that can settle in after five straight hours of your own thoughts. I was scared of wrong turns. Scared of failure. Scared of being judged. Scared of not making it. Scared of making it and still feeling like I hadn’t gone far enough. I was scared of ghosts, both the kind that haunted me from the past and the kind that showed up wearing familiar faces in unfamiliar places.

Fear was loud. It had a lot to say. And I carried it with me.

But so did something else.

Every morning, before I stepped into the unknown, I pressed play. A playlist—a gift from someone who knew I’d need a little bit of home on the days the world felt too wide. It wasn’t just songs. It was an anchor. A heartbeat. A hand on my back when everything else felt far away. Each track was laced with memory, intention, and love. The kind of love that doesn’t shout but shows up consistently. The kind that keeps you tethered when your courage starts to fray.

Some mornings, that playlist saved me. It reminded me who I was. Not the scared version. Not the overthinking version. But the version of me who kept walking anyway.

That’s the thing about fear—it thrives in silence. In stillness. In the absence of forward motion. But fear isn’t built for endurance. It can’t keep pace with momentum. It starts strong, no doubt, but give it a few miles—literal or metaphorical—and it gets winded. It gets petty. It sulks. It throws one last insult over its shoulder, hoping you’ll turn back. But if you keep moving, something shifts. Not out there. In you.

Fear didn’t disappear. I didn’t wake up one day magically fearless. That’s not how it works. Fear didn’t vanish—I just stopped letting it lead. I stopped making decisions from that place. I stopped mistaking fear for instinct. I started recognizing it for what it was: a signal. A flare. Not to stop—but to pay attention.

Fear wants to be in control. It wants the front seat. But you get to decide who drives.

I let fear ride in the back for a while. It mumbled. It complained. It tried to change the playlist. But I kept the volume up and my feet moving. I walked through heat and hurt and doubt. I walked through memories I hadn’t planned on confronting. I walked through days where the road was flat but the weight on my back was not.

And slowly, I realized something no one ever tells you:

You don’t have to conquer fear.

You just have to outgrow it.

Fear stays the same size.

You don’t.

You expand. You adapt. You build calluses and muscle and a knowing that no one can give you—you have to earn it. You walk through your own becoming. And suddenly, the fear that once felt enormous feels… small. Manageable. Background noise.

So if you’re in it right now—if fear is pitching you worst-case scenarios and selling them like gospel—please hear this:

You’re not broken. You’re not weak. You’re not lost.

You’re standing at the edge of something sacred.

Something that matters.

That’s why it’s scary.

Press play anyway.

Tie your laces.

Take the step.

Let the fear come with you if it must, but don’t let it lead.

Because fear might feel real—but your courage? Your instinct? Your movement?

That’s what’s real.

Walk this way.

And don’t look back.