Day 74: Fear Factor

I know that somewhere, somehow, a dormant Lady Gaga lurks deep within me.

A real warrior wouldn't think twice about taking on a karaoke challenge. Pffft, piece of cake. Which is why I found myself crooning Amy Winehouse's "Rehab" last night at Buffalo Wild Wings. After a hearty repast of mango-habanero wings (noshing BEFORE 9 p.m.—still within the Warrior Housewife guidelines), my husband and cousin belted out "Bust a Move" and "Don't Stop Believing," respectively. Both were real crowd-pleasers, so I knew the bar was high as I downed the rest of my Hurricane and took the mike.

The truth is, while I can (somewhat) sing, I hate actually performing in front of people. I'm a deer in the headlights on the stage, counting down the seconds until I can dash off into the darkness and take refuge behind my stein. This is in contrast to my gregarious, charismatic husband, who bounds around the stage like a jackrabbit, freestyling his way through his four minutes in the limelight by masterfully interacting with the crowd and inserting his own lyrics into Paris Hilton and Eminem covers.

Part of my problem with channeling my inner Lady Gaga is that I don't like being the center of attention. My wedding shower, while a very lovely event, was pure torture for me. I can think of nothing more nerve-wracking than an adoring crowd analyzing my spontaneous reactions to every Wamsutta towel, All-Clad saucepan, melon baller, and shrimp deveiner. While I'm very comfortable talking one-on-one with someone (or even in small groups), if I'm in a crowd of people, I prefer to listen, not blather on and have all those many creepy eyeballs on me.

But I know there's something deeper going on. I used to never understand when, during an interview with some celebrity or other hotshot, he/she would blab on about all of his/her failures before he/she hit the big time and how it was all due to his/her inner fears: fear of the unknown, fear of failure, fear of success. Fear of success? I didn't get it: How can anyone be afraid of succeeding?

I realize now, however, that a good portion of my life has, indeed, been dictated by fear. I've made lists and set goals for myself, and even started the baby steps necessary to accomplish said goals. Yet more often than not, thanks to FEAR (I type the word in all caps because it's SO FUCKING SCARY), and supplemented by perfectionist tendencies that require I perform at a usually unattainably high level, I end up crapping out before I finish what I set out to do. I get to a bump in the road and just ... stop. Even when I'm insanely close to the finish line.

I don't know yet how or why this fear has become so deeply ingrained in me (a therapist would probably have a field day with me), but I've acquired enough self-awareness over the years to realize that this dislike of feeling vulnerable has been holding me back. So, I occasionally take risks and push myself out of my comfort zone to break the cycle, to boost my self-confidence, to prove to myself that there really is nothing to hold me back except for myself. It's all mental, and I know that. I wish I had embraced this plucky philosophy when I was, say, 19, but better late than never.

Which is why, the next time you're at your local karaoke bar, you might witness me nervously taking on a Fiona Apple song. And why you'll see me on September 19 waiting anxiously for the starting gun, hiding under my Viking helmet to mask my vulnerability as I attempt to vanquish yet another of my deep-seated doubts about my abilities.