I have never really been a person who struggles with self-doubt. Whatever I choose to take on, I go all in, giving it the absolute best of my ability with the quiet confidence that things will work out just fine. And if they don’t? It isn’t the end of the world. More likely than not, it just means I am about to learn something valuable.
To me, doubt isn’t an obstacle to overcome; it’s a signal. If I feel a deep sense of hesitation about a choice, I treat it as a natural warning flag telling me not to walk down that path. Because I listen to that instinct immediately, doubt has never played a role in my day-to-day thought process.
Fear, on the other hand, is a matter of definition. If we are talking about the purely physical, I absolutely hate heights—so you won’t catch me on a roller coaster, and I don’t go out of my way to invite dangerous situations into my life. Like anyone else, the abstract thought of a serious illness will occasionally cross my mind. While it certainly doesn’t consume me, I hope I never face a challenge like that.
But when it comes to the general, existential fear that seems to paralyze so many people in life? Beyond a healthy respect for high places, I just don’t have room for it.
Maybe I’m just the next great Stoic philosopher?
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