Fear is your friend...
What if the work that scares you most is exactly the work you should be doing?
Every time I sit down to write this newsletter, I keep thinking: “Will anyone care about this? Am I wasting people’s time?” Even after writing this newsletter for almost 2 years now, I still feel anxious about scheduling and hitting the send button.
What I’ve come to realize is that this anxiety isn’t telling me to stop writing. It’s simply showing me that I deeply care about connecting with you, my reader.
So, when I feel inspired, I send it out anyway—accepting that the fear is part of the process, part of the journey, not a reason to stop it.
What fear really means
Mark Manson, author of The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck, recently pointed out something that resonated with me: “It’s not the fear of failure, it’s the fear of what the failure means.”
This perspective shifted something for me.
Think about it. When you hesitate to share what you have created—your music, your art, or your writing, what’s really holding you back? It’s rarely the act itself. It’s what you think a negative response might say about you as a person or as an artist.
But here’s what I now realize… the things we’re most afraid to share are usually the ones that matter most to us. Fear is often pointing directly at our most important work.
You’re not alone
You know that moment when you’re about to share something you’ve created and your inner critic suddenly screams so loudly you can barely think? Or when you look at your nearly-finished project and all you can see are the flaws? When you compare your behind-the-scenes to everyone else’s highlight reel and wonder why you even bother?
We’ve all been there. That’s not just my experience, it’s the universal condition of making things that matter.
I’ve watched artists hesitate before sharing their work. I’ve felt my own fears before hitting publish on articles I really care about.
These reactions are not signs of weakness—they are reminders that we’re human. They’re proof that we’re investing something of ourselves in our work. They’re simply part of what it means to create work that matters to us.
The power of vulnerability
Brené Brown’s research on vulnerability changed how I think about creative fear. She discovered something counterintuitive: what makes us feel most vulnerable is often what creates our deepest connections with others.
“Vulnerability is the birthplace of innovation, creativity, and change,” Brown says. When we risk showing our authentic work—the pieces that truly matter to us, that might be rejected, that reveal our deepest concerns—we create openings for genuine connection.
Think about your favorite artists. What moves you most about their work? Chances are it’s not technical perfection, but the moments where they revealed something true, something human, something that made you feel less alone in your own experience.
Leonard Cohen captured this beautifully…
“There is a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.”
Our imperfections and vulnerabilities aren’t flaws to be hidden—they’re often the very elements that allow our work to touch others.
Creating without permission
As artists, as creators, our real job is not pleasing others. Our work is to create the most honest thing we can in this moment and express what we need to express—whether anyone applauds or not.
When Bob Dylan went electric at the Newport Folk Festival in 1965, the audience booed. He knew they wanted his acoustic folk sound, but he followed his artistic instinct anyway. That decision—to create without seeking permission—changed music history.
There’s a strange magic here… when we create primarily to please others, we often make our weakest work. But when we create from that honest place inside us, from the heart—that place that isn’t concerned with likes or follows or sales—we often connect most deeply with people, even though that wasn’t our goal.
The gap between taste and skill
“You can’t get good at something unless you suck at it first,” Manson says.
Ira Glass articulates something profound about this struggle:
“All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap. For the first couple years you make stuff, it’s just not that good. It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not. But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you.”
This insight shifted my perspective… the very reason we feel dissatisfied with our work—our good taste—is the same reason we began creating in the first place.
Glass continues with perhaps the most important advice: “Most people I know who do interesting, creative work went through years of this... It is only by going through a volume of work that you will close that gap, and your work will be as good as your ambitions.”
That gap between what we envision and what we can currently execute isn’t a sign that we should quit. It’s simply a phase every creative person moves through, and the only way past it is through it—by continuing to create.
Every artist you admire went through this phase. Before becoming the Beatles, John Lennon and Paul McCartney performed as the Quarrymen, playing cover songs in Liverpool pubs. They weren’t born musical revolutionaries, they had to work through the awkward phase first.
The only people who never experience the discomfort of creating mediocre work are those who never create anything at all.
Practical ways through fear
So how do we keep moving when fear shows up?
Take small steps: Stephen King started by selling short stories to fanzines/magazines like Cavalier and Dude before attempting his first novel. Each small publication built his confidence for the bigger swings that would come later, selling his first novel to Doubleday.
Find side doors: Filmmaker Ava DuVernay didn’t go to film school or work her way up through traditional Hollywood channels. She started making documentaries with a small camera and crew, teaching herself the craft through projects she could manage, before tackling feature films. She trusted her instincts, fed her creativity, and believed in her vision.
Keep it playful: When Julia Child first appeared on television, she embraced her mistakes. When she famously flipped a potato pancake and missed the pan, landing it on the stovetop, she simply picked it up, put it back in the pan and said, “Remember, you’re alone in the kitchen.” She continues, “I didn’t have the courage to do it the way I should have. The only way to learn how to flip things, is just to flip them”. Her willingness to be imperfect made her relatable and authentic. Here’s the segment on YouTube.
We all have problems
Life gives everyone problems. The question isn’t whether you’ll face challenges—it’s what kind of challenges you want.
Would you rather face the challenges that come from putting yourself out there—handling feedback, improving your craft, finding your audience? Or would you prefer the problems that come from playing it safe—regret, wondering “what if,” watching others live the creative life you wanted?
As Elizabeth Gilbert puts it: “I’ve never seen any life transformation that didn’t begin with the person in question finally getting tired of their own bullshit.”
Sometimes we simply get tired of being ruled by fear.
A quieter kind of courage
When I started The Intentional Artist, I wanted every issue to be brilliant, perfect. I kept on revising and revising, and revising. The first few issues took forever because I was trying to make each new issue perfect rather than just connect.
Gradually, I found a different approach. Just show up regularly with whatever I have to offer that day, that week. The courage to be imperfect in public.
Now when I feel that sense of uncertainty, I don’t try to fight it. I simply acknowledge it as a signal that I’m doing something that matters to me. The fear becomes less of an obstacle and more of a compass—pointing toward what’s worth doing, not away from what might hurt.
“What creative fear are you facing right now? What might it be trying to show you? I’d love to hear about it. Tell me in the comments below.
Remember, that sense of uncertainty isn’t telling you to stop—it’s highlighting what matters most to you. In the end, fear isn’t something to be feared or avoided. Fear, when properly understood, is actually your friend.
That’s it for today. As always, I hope you found this content helpful, and if so, I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments below.
Artfully yours,
Chris
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Absolutely brilliant article, Chris! I LOVED waking up to this—thank you!
For the past two and a half years, I’ve been creating a show about what it means to be human in a world bombarded with fear-driven messages. These messages often leave us paralyzed, divided, and disconnected from the true work of living. But what if we’ve got it all wrong? What if the individual could transform their relationship with fear? I believe fear is not the enemy—it’s a fierce ally. When understood and harnessed, it can be a source of strength.
We worked together some time ago—I had an art show in your loft in downtown LA. It’s wonderful to see you thriving.
Thank you for your courage.
Emma
Hi Chris, Per your March 14 The Intentional Artist, I believe you are on to something and, no, I don’t believe you are waisting anyone’s time. Doing work that may not necessarily please others is important for a number of reasons. As a professional photographer, I learned, early on, that pleasing my clients was important but pleasing myself was even more important. Now, that I am semi-retired, my transition to pleasing myself, with no other agenda, has been easy. It took many years to learn the balance between making my clients happy while remaining true to myself. What you have touched on is, perhaps, the most important aspect of living a creative life, i.e. leaning into our personal vision while meeting our client's needs. I loved when my clients said to me: “Go out and make your images.” I was always amazed how editors actually recognized what I was doing photographically and visualized how my approach could meet their requirements. I was surprised how so many of my photographic colleagues had little, if any, understanding of who they were as creative people, choosing to only to produce images they imagined their clients wanted. I have always tried to please myself and, In the end, my clients rewarded me for my unique approach.