Fear Leads Me Too Often - Kevin A. Thompson

I called an editor. It’s been a year. I told him I had a book idea and wanted to know how much it would cost for him to give me some advice. He gave me a price. I balked.

It was expensive. It was fair, but expensive. I’m not sure what I was expecting—probably half. Isn’t that what we always expect. No matter what price someone gives, we also thought it was worth half that price. Unless we own it, of course, then we think it was worth double of what they said.

He gave a price and I balked. I told him I might call him when I was further down the road.

Truth be told, I didn’t balk at the price; I balked at the commitment. To sign a contract, send a manuscript, and write a check would be a real action. Accountability would come. My wife would gladly spend the money, but it would irritate her if I just wasted it. She’s willing to ignore home upgrades if I’m chasing my dreams, but if I don’t have any follow through, skip the editor and let her buy some new furniture.

I wasn’t ready to commit. (See: Clowns in the Closet–an antidote to fear)

People ask all the time if I’m writing a book. I think they are hoping, not so they can read it, but maybe in hopes that if I wrote a book, these articles wouldn’t be slammed into their inboxes or on their social media pages every day. I’ve written five books in the past two years; I’ve just done it 750 words at a time, five days a week.

Starting a website was intimidating enough. It actually happened by accident, but that’s another story for another time. I’ve grown comfortable in putting my ideas and words out on a daily basis. I’ve gotten over my need for perfectionism in order to accomplish production. Every post has mistakes, but people point them out, I correct them and we move on. At least I am writing.

But a book is another concept. It’s a mountain I haven’t learned to hike. I’m trying. Manuscripts are started. Many of these articles are written with the future in mind. Marriage, parenting, and leadership are all topics I would like in book form one day.

It won’t happen if I keep balking. (See: Why Are We Afraid of Change?)

Last year it was the price of editing; this year it’s the busyness of the pastorate. Next year it will be something else.

Too often we are led by fear. We excuse it. We justify it. We never admit it is fear, but fear is the real reason.

What if I fail?

What if people don’t like it?

What if people don’t like me?

The excuses are endless. And they are universal. (See: You Always Have an Excuse)

At what are you balking?

What are the excuses preventing you from doing what needs to be done?