How to get the fear – By @JoeySare

Marc lewis | May 30, 2018

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By Joe Sare

 

How to get the fear

 

I owe a lot of scabs. Like, a lot. Maybe 5, maybe 10. Maybe more. Who knows? Marc does. So please tell me how many I owe. Or, if you hadn’t realised, this is just a practical joke. Haha. I’m writing extra because I love reflecting.

 

I don’t often write reflections as I don’t feel like I’ve got much to reflect on, but I’m now currently sitting on a balcony on the Isle of Wight with a glass of rose just about to have dinner. Everything is purple. I’m brown, and I can smell salt and fish. I still have a boat head. I can feel the tide in my shoulders and knees.

 

I feel like I’ve got something to write, so here goes. It may sound a little derived, but I’m just going to write what comes into my head.

 

I don’t have the fear. And I miss him. Oh, you don’t know what the fear is? He’s great. He’s a bastard, but he’s great. He keeps you up late at night thinking about work. he makes you run out of bed in the morning and makes you run noon and night. Push ups and headphones. He’s a tailwind. He’s a consistent mode of wanting nothing but to work and improve.

 

I no longer have him with me. I’m happier for it. I’ve never been so happy. I don’t feel the end of the world comes with not working. I actually enjoy sitting around and talking. Not talking as in making plans or having discussions about ideas or debating the world, but just talking. It’s no longer a waste of time. I don’t feel uneasy about life being easy. I’m just enjoying the sun and the sand and salt.

 

But I do miss him.

 

I miss the absolute drive and determination of work. I miss not sleeping, I miss not giving every waking moment to being better. Maybe because it’s what’s expected of creative people, or maybe because high functioning makes me feel like I’m driving towards a higher goal.

 

I guess I feel I have a duty, perhaps bound by my own upbringing of plenty and security, to give something back to those who don’t have what I have. Maybe it’s a guilt. It makes me want to solve problems and build things for others, not myself. I guess my mother has donated that to me; she gives her life to everyone around her and takes less than she deserves.

 

That’s not to say I don’t want to create things still. I want to have ideas that move, change, twist, fuck, ruin or rain change down on those so stubborn to move. We’ve all got the tools to make a change on a mass scale, and what a waste it would be not to utilise those. I just don’t feel like the nos is turned on.

 

I’m guessing the fear is an addiction to work. Or a creative drive that puts work in front of everything. It’s a life or death working mode. It’s better, bigger, stronger, next, sooner, fast, all right fucking now.