Fear, Doubt, and a Blank Page

Because every path worth taking begins with uncertainty

Walking Path in Marin, CA

I’m scared.

There it is.

My first Substack post.

An admission.

Not exactly the triumphant opening I imagined, but here we are.

I’ve stared at this blank page long enough to start seeing patterns in the pixels, like some kind of existential autostereogram. Maybe I was hoping the words would arrange themselves, but no — turns out, they require participation.

And that’s the scary part, isn’t it? The participation.

The act of sharing something real, something honest — without knowing how it will land. Without the safety net of perceived “certainty.”

I could tell you I’m writing this because I believe in the power of words, in the beauty of shared inquiry, in the necessity of curiosity. And that’s all true. But it’s also true that I’m writing this because I’ve run out of reasons not to.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, my own voice whispers: “Fear is the prerequisite to courage.”

I want to believe it. I almost do. But doubt lingers, patient as ever.

Suzy Kassem warns that, “Doubt kills more dreams than failure ever will.” She’s absolutely right.

Another stanza from her poetry rings in my mind — a quiet challenge to the way I’ve always seen myself:

I really came into being
The day I no longer cared about
What the world thought of me,
Only on my thoughts for
Changing the world.

I’m not sure I’m fully there yet — this whole not caring what others think thing still trips me up. And as for changing the world? I’d settle for sparking a brief moment of joy or reflection. But her bravery is inspiring — it encourages me to take a step forward, despite the fear.

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Why Am I Writing?

First and foremost, I’m writing for myself.

To untangle thoughts that won’t sit still. To try, in words, to articulate the shape of something just beyond reach. To turn over questions like stones, seeing what shifts when they are placed in the light.

I write because clarity is fleeting — but in the attempt, I sometimes catch glimpses of something that feels more real than the rest of existence.

I write because uncertainty humbles me. Because if I resist the pull to define, I sometimes find something truer than answers.

I write because words are imperfect, yet they are the best signposts I have.

That’s what you’ll find here. Not conclusions, but a space for unfolding. A place where thoughts will emerge, take shape, and be examined freely — not to be resolved, but to be seen more clearly.

Through poetry, memoir, and personal reflections, I’ll share what I find along the path — fragments of thought, moments of clarity, and the occasional reminder that I still have no idea what I’m doing.

You might enjoy my writing if:

• You think about the nature of consciousness and wonder what hides beneath the surface of our perception of ‘self.’

• You long for connection, not through agreement, but through shared wonder.

• You believe curiosity is more valuable than certainty.

• You see beauty in stillness, even if you are still learning how to sit with it.

• You find comfort in knowing that some questions are too big to be answered — but they are still worth asking.

If any of that resonates, welcome!

Pull up a chair — or better yet, leave it behind.

Subscribe for a steady supply of curiosity, a total lack of certainty, and the nagging suspicion that we might just be asking all the wrong questions.

Let’s see where this goes.