It was almost noon, on a grey Sunday, the kind where raincoats come out. I dressed my daughter and our little poodle, both in their tiny waterproofs. They looked so funny and so confused that I couldn’t help myself but laugh out loud.
But the laughter wasn’t only about their raincoats. It was about what had happened inside me earlier that morning; I had finally listed my unused Canon lens for sale! A small action, but a decisive one. By doing so, I committed myself to a project I’d been circling for weeks: purchasing woodworking tools, building a dining table, documenting the process, letting woodworking become the next chapter of my story.
The instant I acted, something shifted!
Tension drained out of me, anxiety loosened its grip, and then came that familiar, almost involuntary laughter — the body’s own release valve.
Fear, Then Action, Then Release
I’ve seen this pattern before. In college, when I had to give my first seminar lecture, I was convinced I couldn’t do it. My fear was so strong I remember thinking: “If this is really required, and without it I cannot complete the course, I’ll just quit college. For real, I don’t care! There’s just no fucking way I’m standing in front of all these people.”
Action really is the only antidote to anxiety and uncertainty.
But when the day arrived, I walked into the room early, papers in hand. I paced the floor, looking at the faces of people I knew. And somehow, just by being in the space, by touching the stage, by preparing to speak, my fear began to dissolve. It didn’t disappear entirely, but it transformed. The panic became nervous energy, then concentration, then even pride after it was all done.
Now, years later, it’s the same story with woodworking, with this website, with my dreams of building something new. Action turns the lock; it unlocks the energy that overthinking keeps chained.
That line came to me as I pushed the swing with my daughter in it. And I think it’s worth sitting with. Because anxiety thrives in the gap between thought and action. It multiplies in the waiting, in the “what if” spiral, in the endless rehearsals in your head. But the moment you do something — anything, even a tiny step — you puncture the cycle. The fear doesn’t vanish, but it changes shape. You can breathe again. You might even laugh.
Small Steps, Big Shifts
Listing a lens on eBay isn’t world-changing. Neither was walking into that seminar room early, or stepping on stage. But these small steps did change my world. They taught me that the way forward isn’t always about building a flawless plan but rather, it’s about committing to one brick at a time.
- Place the ad;
- Buy the tool;
- Walk onto the stage;
- Say the first line;
Each move creates momentum. Each move tells your nervous system: “See? You’re not powerless. You’re not frozen. You can do this!”
The Release of Laughter
That laughter in the park wasn’t random; it was the echo of my body recognizing safety again. Like a child after a storm, I laughed because the tension had finally broken. And maybe that’s the hidden reward of action: not only progress, but relief.
We don’t laugh our way into courage, we act our way into laughter, it seems.
Life will always hand us reasons to freeze—a lecture hall, a workshop full of new tools, … But freezing is just the first reflex. The second reflex is ours to choose. And if I’ve learned anything, it’s this:
Do something. Anything.
Fold the futon.
List the lens.
Pick up the saw.
Step onto the stage.
Action is the antidote.
