The perception of fear

It's getting harder to just say fuck it.

I used to say it all the time. Brush my teeth before bed? Fuck it, just didn't feel like it. Wipe my feet before I entered the house? Fuck it, it's only mud. Have homework due tomorrow? Fuck it, I'll turn it in late. Teacher doesn't take late assignments? Fuck it, was going to happen anyways. Didn't feel like going to class? Fuck it.

Fuck it, that's what tomorrow is for.

I wanted to seize life by the reins and enjoy what I had for the moment. Responsibilities were reminders of what tomorrow might and tomorrow's concerns were none of mine. I thought of myself as young, unafraid, fearless to how many tomorrow I had left.

Yet, when I think about the fearless bravado that I painted for myself; I'm realizing more and more that it was just bravado. False pretenses. Assumptions. Yeah, the words fuck it frequently left my mouth, but they weren't typically in some form of rebellion and carpe diem flourish of transcendentalism. They were said out of convenience in response to peer pressure. Or out of laziness because I didn't want to put an effort forth. Or out of fear of what the outcome might be.

I want to imagine myself as fearless, rebellious child that acted out, instead of a selfish, imprudent person that I've become. I want to think I failed in school out of defiance against some system, defiance for the pressures that my parents put on me academically, defiance against a major that I chose and stubbornly chose to stay in. I want to. But I can't. I failed in school because I didn't do work. I didn't go to class. It is always infinitely easier to be content with what you have and do nothing, than it is to want and strive for something that you may or may not achieve.

And one of the first lessons in life that I learned, is no matter how much you want or dream of it, you cannot simple achieve everything you put your mind to. If that were the case, there would be far more millionaires and far fewer fat people. (myself included, of course)

As I stare listlessly at this blinking cursor, I wonder if this is all for naught; my desire to be a writer is nothing more than just false bravado, a fake march against paper walls. Or worse, I am just unwilling to put forth the effort to give myself a chance of success. Regardless, I find myself full of insecurity and apprehension fueled by self doubt.

So what do you do when you no longer find comfort or security in doing nothing? What do you do when it is no longer easy to not act?