Hey there, friend. I’m glad you’re here, just sitting with me for a while. Let’s take a breath together, yeah? I’ve got a story to share tonight, something that’s been on my mind lately. It’s about a young man I heard about, someone who felt stuck in a way I think a lot of us can relate to. So, grab a cozy spot, maybe a warm drink, and let’s walk through this together.
There was this guy, just a regular young man from a small village, full of dreams like anyone else. But he carried something heavy with him, something invisible but so real. Fear. Not the kind of fear you feel when you hear a strange noise at night, but a deeper one—the fear of failing, of being rejected, of not being enough. It was like a shadow that followed him everywhere. Every time he thought of trying something new, starting a project, or even speaking up, this fear would creep in. “What if I mess up?” he’d think. “What if people laugh at me? What if I’m just not good enough?” And more often than not, that fear would stop him cold. He’d either give up before even starting, or if he did try, the worry would weigh him down so much that he’d stumble and fall.
I can almost see him, sitting alone sometimes, replaying those moments of failure from his childhood. You know how that feels, don’t you? Those old memories that sting, the words someone said years ago that still echo in your head. For him, it was taunts from people when he didn’t get something right as a kid. Those words carved a deep mark in him, and even now, as a grown man, they stood in front of him like a wall every time he wanted to move forward. He started to believe it himself—that he was useless, a coward, someone who just couldn’t do anything big. It’s heartbreaking, isn’t it, how we can convince ourselves of things that aren’t even true?
But here’s the thing—he wasn’t alone. He had a friend, someone who saw him struggling, who noticed how hard he tried, even if the results didn’t show it. This friend understood that it wasn’t a lack of effort holding him back, but that old, stubborn fear rooted deep from childhood. He’d tried talking to him about it, saying things like, “Hey, it’s okay to fail. Everyone does sometimes. Don’t let fear stop you.” But those words, as kind as they were, didn’t seem to reach the place where the fear lived.
One day, though, something shifted. The young man was sitting by the river near his village, just watching the water flow, lost in his thoughts. I can picture him there, the sound of the current, the weight of his worries sitting on his chest. And then, out of nowhere, his friend shows up, all excited. “Brother, I’ve got something for you,” he says, practically bouncing. The young man, feeling low, just sighs. “Yeah, I know, you’re gonna tell me the same old thing—don’t be scared, failure isn’t the end. I’m tired of hearing it. Please, no more advice.” But his friend shakes his head. “No, no, I’m not here to lecture. Just listen to me for a second.”
He tells him about a wise old sage who’d come to their village. People were saying this man was different, someone who could really help with the deepest troubles. Everyone was going to him with their problems, and his friend thought, “Why not take you there too? Maybe he can help with this fear that’s holding you back.” The young man’s skeptical, but there’s a tiny flicker of hope in him. “Are you sure this sage is for real?” he asks. His friend nods, “That’s what everyone’s saying. They feel peace just being near him. Come on, let’s go.”
So, they head to where the sage is staying. There’s a crowd, people waiting their turn to speak with him, but they wait patiently. When it’s finally just the two of them in front of the sage, the old man looks at them with a gentle smile. “Tell me, children, what troubles you?” he asks in a voice that feels like a warm blanket. The friend speaks up first, “It’s not me, Maharaj. It’s my friend here. He’s got a problem, a big one, something that’s been with him for years.” The sage turns to the young man, his eyes kind but piercing, like he can see right through to the heart of things. “Speak, son. What is it?”
With a shaky voice, the young man pours it out. “Maharaj, I’m scared. Scared of failing. Every time I try to do something new, this fear grabs me. I think, ‘What if I don’t make it? What will people say?’ And because of that, I either don’t start, or I fail anyway. I can’t shake it. Please, tell me how to get rid of this fear.” The sage listens quietly, then says something unexpected. “You can’t get rid of something that doesn’t truly exist.” The young man blinks, confused. The sage asks, “Are you afraid right now, sitting here, that I might say something to make your fear worse?” Hesitant, he nods. “A little. I’m worried you might confirm that I’ll never get over this.”
The sage chuckles softly. “See, that’s the root of it. You think too much about ‘what if.’ What if this happens, what if that happens. Tell me, do you feel fear every moment of your life?” The young man shakes his head. “No, only when I try to do something important.” “And why is that?” the sage presses. “Because… because I keep thinking about failing. I see all my past mistakes in my mind, hear the things people said when I didn’t succeed. It makes me feel like I’ll fail again.”
The sage smiles again, a knowing kind of smile. “So, you’ve figured it out without realizing. It’s not the fear itself that’s the problem. It’s how much you think about it. When you’re not thinking of fear, it’s not there, is it? Fear doesn’t just appear on its own—you build it with your thoughts, imagining things that haven’t even happened. Tell me, of all the terrible things you’ve imagined, how many have actually come true?” The young man thinks for a moment, then admits, “Hardly any. Maybe one out of a hundred.”
“Exactly,” the sage says. “You’ve been troubling yourself over shadows, things that aren’t real. Fear isn’t outside you—it’s something you’ve created in your mind by thinking about it so much. Stop feeding it, and it will fade.” The young man looks at him, a bit lost but curious. “How, Maharaj? How do I stop?” The sage’s voice softens even more. “Next time you feel that fear, don’t fight it. Don’t run from it. Just watch it. See the thoughts that come with it, like waves rising and falling in a river. Don’t grab onto them, don’t push them away. Just let them be. Do this every time, and slowly, you’ll see the fear lose its power over you.”
I think about that a lot, you know. How often do we make our fears bigger by wrestling with them, replaying them over and over? I’ve done it myself—lying awake at night, worrying about something that, in the end, never even happened. It’s like we’re carrying a weight we don’t need to. The young man, sitting there with the sage, felt something click. He bowed, thanked him, and walked away with his friend, a little lighter. He understood now that it’s not about banishing fear—it’s about not letting your mind build it into a monster.
So, friend, if you’re carrying a fear like that, maybe just try watching it for a bit, like the sage said. See what happens. I’m right here with you, figuring it out too. Let’s take it one step at a time, okay? We’ve got this.