Y’all, I just did something real crazypants. Not but a moment ago did I buy a plane ticket to Switzerland. I’m not sure if you know this but Switzerland is not in America. In fact, it’s not even on this continent. I just bought a ticket for a plane ride that will take me to another continent. No one panic. I will return (maybe). This flight is roundtrip. 

Buying that flight was an act of defiance. I was rebelling against fear. Sure, there are lots of reasons to be nervous about buying a flight to Switzerland. This will be my first major solo trip. Could I manage the logistics of getting myself there in one piece? What if I lose my passport? What if I miss a train? There are also financial considerations. Do I have the money for this? Do I have any money at all? Will I, at any point in my life, actually have money? What is money? Will I look like a tourist? I absolutely abhor the idea of looking like a tourist. What if war breaks out while I’m gone, and I get stuck in Switzerland because I can’t get back into America because of the rebel forces? You know, the usual travel fears. 

The thing about these fears is that they’re small. In the scheme of things, these hesitations, these trepidations, are mundane. They’re downright boring. They pop up as involuntary reactions. They require no thought. They’re ubiquitous. Most everyone, I think, would have some variation of these thoughts upon booking a flight to Switzerland for a solo trip. 

There are other, deeper fears lurking behind the small ones. Those are the fears I really have to watch out for. They’re insidious and far more destructive. You see, I booked this flight to Switzerland because I’m going away for two weeks to work on a one-man show I’m writing. When I return, I will put up a production of this one-man show in a few cities around the country. Currently, I plan to take it to Atlanta, Los Angeles, Chicago, and Austin. I have no earthly idea how to do this. I’ve never produced a show on my own. I’m scared. This scares me. 

Buying this ticket has taught me about fear. Or I should say, me and my fear. In most scary things I’ve done, there’s two levels of fear. There’s that initial fear, the small, gut-reaction fear. I call that fear Big Scary. Big Scary (or BS if you like) stands at 7 feet tall. Its mouth is always open, hungry to sink its fangs into my tender flesh. Big Scary makes a lot of noise. It barks and thrashes around, banging its claws on a table. There is no thrill quite like looking at Big Scary dead in its demon-yellow eyes and saying, “I will destroy you.” 

All my life, I’ve leaned into Big Scary. In some ways, I love Big Scary. It’s that moment right before you step on stage. Fighting with Big Scary means a delicious surge of adrenaline. It’s nearly addictive. The disappointing thing is that Big Scary is relatively easy to conquer. Lots of bark, very little bite. It’s always annihilated by action. Buy the flight. Move across the country. Make the phone call. Write the words. Take that step out on stage. Once Big Scary sees that you’re a person of action, it’s rendered inert. 

There’s another fear, though. I call this one Quiet Man. While Big Scary is making a spectacle of itself, flailing about, Quiet Man sits back in the corner, staring at you, through you. Quiet Man lurks in dark spaces, cloaked in blackness, its face obscured. Quiet Man never talks above a whisper. It doesn’t have to. While you’re busy patting yourself on the back for thrusting a sword into Big Scary’s gut, Quiet Man simply says, “this won’t work.” You stop, frozen in your tracks. You were celebrating your victory over Big Scary with a death cry, when all of the sudden Quiet Man’s soft whispering renders you incapacitated. 

In some ways, Big Scary is like an annoying kid sibling (sidenote: I myself am an annoying kid sibling, a badge I wear proudly). It gets up in your face and asks silly, asinine questions. It asks these questions over and over again in the hopes that you’ll doubt yourself. Quiet Man, however, makes statements. These statements have such magnitude that they don’t require repetition.

Imagine that you’re standing on stage about to sing in front of a large crowd. This may be a nightmare scenario for a majority of people. I, in fact, sing in front of large crowds regularly and that shit is still a nightmare scenario. 

The curtain rises and your heart rate quickens. You assess the crowd. They look up amiable at you. It’s only a couple hundred people. You and the maestro make eye contact. It’s go time. He brings in the orchestra. There’s a bit of an intro, giving you time to breathe. The music swells. The last few notes dwindle in the air. It’s your time. You load up your lungs when all of the sudden you hear a voice. 

Big Scary: What if you miss the E-flat? 

You: Um, hi, excuse me, I’m about to sing stuff. 

Big Scary: But seriously, what about that E-flat?

You: Dude, it’s fine. I hit it a bunch in rehearsal.

Big Scary: Yeah but what if you miss it this time? Isn’t that kinda high for you? 

You: It’s not a big deal. I only have to sing it once on the third verse. It’ll be fine. Go away. 

Big Scary: What if you forget the lyrics?

You: Okay, seriously? Stop this. I’ve already started. I’m actively singing this song right now. 

Big Scary: Do you remember that one time you forgot those lyrics?

You: Dude, chill! I know this music. Go away. 

Big Scary: Are you sure this is how you should stand? 

You: What?! That’s crazy. This is just how I stand. Stop making me think about how I stand. 

You manage to sing the entire song. It wasn’t nearly as perfect as in rehearsal (it never is) but it was pretty damn good. Big Scary was forced to chill out around the second verse, once he saw that you were in a state of action. Thank goodness. He looked pitiful actually, slumped over in his chair, pouting. Your body returns to your possession as you move to exit the stage. Bravo you. 

That’s the moment you see him. Quiet Man had been in the audience the whole time, but you hadn’t noticed. What, with the singing and telling Big Scary to hush, you were a little preoccupied. But he was there, tucked away in middle of the crowd. He takes a long drag off a cigarette dangling from his dry lips. That’s when he speaks up. 

Quiet Man: You can’t sing. 

You: But…I…shut up.

Quiet Man: There are people who can sing way better than you.

You: Stop it, please. I thought I did fine. 

Quiet Man: You’re an embarrassment. 

Later that night, you can’t shake Quiet Man’s words. They reverberate around inside you like an echo chamber. He doesn’t need to repeat them because he knew you will do that for him. He will, however, show up again and again and again. You can almost guarantee he’ll make an appearance every time you sing from now on. They both will, Big Scary and Quiet Man. At least you know Big Scary will hit the dust once you start singing. It’s just Quiet Man. He’s so menacing.  

That was the nature of buying this plane ticket. I heard all of Big Scary’s rantings. They were annoying, filling me with little doubts. Once he saw that I was about to purchase the flight, he had to chill. Then Quiet Man got involved. He didn’t give much of a shit about Switzerland or the trip. He had one thing and one thing only on his mind: my unworthiness. He didn’t think I was worthy or legitimate enough to make such a big artistic move. He doesn’t think I’m worthy enough, let alone talented enough, to call myself an artist in such a bold fashion. He went after my worthiness with savagery. 

I wish I could tell you that my response led to a profound revelation. I wish I had done or said something that made it all “click” and helped to, once and for all, settle this whole fear thing. That would have been so rad. It also would have made for an amazing story if I had turned to Quiet Man and said, “Nah motherfuker, have a seat. Stop being a dick. I’m an artist. We’ve had this conversation before and I’m sick and tired of your shit! I’ve had enough!!” And then I cut off his head. 

That didn’t happen though. Nothing profound or even particularly interesting happened. I just bought the ticket. Having done so, I’m filled with equal parts excitement and fear. Big Scary will be there, as will Quiet Man. That much I know. Beyond that, I’ve got nothing. I’m just going to put one foot in front of the other, feel the fear, fight it out with those assholes when I need to, and go try to make art.

I guess. 

Check out this week’s photo contributors:

Rakicevic Nenad

Benjamin Lehman