On Becoming Fearless

I’m a treadmill reader and when the black lines smear into each other and all different prism-like directions, or I start thinking cut the crap, where’s the beef, I either toss the book into the “maybe later in the bubble bath” pile, or the “give to thrift store,” pile. On occasion if the book and I keep pace together and we become running partners, I consider it a stellar read – not because I have cheetah-like strides, but because I’m so lost in this new world, I forget that my thighs are burning, and my cheeks jiggling (both sets).

The latest book that has survived the treadmill test – On Becoming Fearless by Arianna Huffington. It kept me so involved, it rivaled running to the song “Holiday” by Green Day or “Holding out for a Hero” Bonnie Tyler – two goodies that nearly jolt me from fat burning speed to aerobic in less than 15 seconds.


After lapping up On Becoming Fearless over a five day treadmill stint, it became decorated with post-it flag markers in all the Crayola crayon colors, and a few ripped up gum wrappers after I ran out of flags and had to scrounge up whatever I could find within reach.

Fearful by nature, but with a temper that can be ignited by only a mere spark, I was the little girl who trembled if anyone raised their voice. When my fourth grade teacher, a giraffe-necked guy with red hair and a mustache, threw me in front of the class and said, “Leeann, I know you can talk louder than that. Now, pretend your horse is down there and you’re yelling its name. What’s its name? Barron? Okay, come on. Like you mean it now. Yell it. You can do it.” I just stood there in my pink Ricks College sweatshirt that I wore every other day. My cheeks burning as the kids in my class stared at me and laughed.

I couldn’t do it.

So this book was written for me two decades too late. For the one who didn’t try out for the basketball team in high school because I was afraid I wouldn’t make it. Then when the coach who was also my P.E. teacher saw me shooting hoops one day, she screamed, “Holgate!” loud enough I almost jumped out of my shorts. “Why, girl, didn’t you try out for the team!”

“I didn’t think I would make it.” I told her. She punched my shoulder and rolled her eyes. “Geez, Holgate. I didn’t think you were that stupid.”

Where was this book during those hormone inducing acne, mean girls suck days?

Why do we as a collective “body of women” worry so much about what others think? Why are we afraid of having a different opinion? Offending someone? Why do we live our lives wondering if we’re failing to measure up? To what? Is the fear of rejection so great, we can’t even try? Why do we feel we need to acquiesce? In order to be a leader we’re going to piss off; we’re going to have to go against what is generally accepted as “appropriate behavior”; we’re going to have to live our lives like this is the only chance we get – because it is!

Today, our fearless days begin as we stand in the mirror and imagine ourselves in our elasti-girl under-roos with a tiara on our heads, and a make believe sword in our sheaths ready for the draw. We’ll do our hair to The Gladiator soundtrack and worry more about what we’re living for than who we are disappointing – since the most important person not to disappoint is ourselves!

Fear swallows our passion and quiets our inner voice. By overcoming our insecurities and deepest fears, our passion and inner voice align, and it is then we know our true purpose and mission.

It is only then we are truly…fearless.