“I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear.”

–Nelson Mandela (1918-2013; a towering figure in the fight against apartheid in South Africa and a symbol of resilience, reconciliation, and forgiveness worldwide.)

Have you ever found yourself sitting in front of your computer, fingers poised over the keyboard, eyes locked on the blank screen? The cursor blinks, mocking your indecision. The room holds its breath, waiting for your next move. 

Of course you have. We all have. I have, too.

Actually, I had that happen not long ago. I was sitting in front of my computer, enveloped in a curious trance as I looked at my PowerPoint options. Each was a digital beacon of possibilities, beckoning me into a realm where creativity and innovation might dance hand in hand.

My seasoned fingers, once adept at coaxing brilliance from the keys, hovered hesitantly over the mouse, betraying the uncertainty that clouded my thoughts. The screen gazed back at me with patient anticipation, as if urging me to breathe life into the blankness into which I stared.

But as I peered into the depths of the display, my mind became a whirlwind of memories. How many lectures had I crafted with this very tool? How many minds had I ignited with the flicker of a well-placed slide or the resonance of a perfectly timed transition?

And yet, despite my seasoned expertise, I found myself transfixed, caught in the labyrinth of my own imagination. The cursor blinked mockingly, a silent reminder of the silence that echoed through my mind.

I sat there, staring, waiting, realizing that in the digital world of ones and zeros, the true magic lies not in the tools we wield, but in the stories we choose to tell.

Indeed, I had a story to tell. Gina Byrd, Executive Director of the Friends of Handley Library System, had invited me for an “Author Talk” at Bowman Library (Stephens City, VA). My topic? “Reinventing Yourself: Writing Your Next Chapter.”

Several weeks before my talk, Gina and I met at the library so that we could go over logistics.

“Will you be using PowerPoint?”

“No, I don’t think so. I like to walk around the room while I talk.”

It was settled. No PowerPoint.

But when I got back home, the notion swept over me that perhaps I should use PowerPoint. I hesitated for a moment before deciding to reach out to Gina. After all, I had initially dismissed the idea, preferring the freedom of movement without slides. But as I mulled it over, I realized that visual aids could enhance the audience’s understanding of my topic. With a sense of uncertainty If I can keep from it, I fired off an email to Gina:

It occurs to me that I might want to use PowerPoint after all, especially if you all have a remote clicker that I could use as I walk around.

Gina’s prompt reply reassured me:

That’s fine! We have the Clear Touch Panel (it’s basically a huge iPad) and a clicker you can use. If you can bring your presentation on a thumb drive, that would be easiest.

The next day, I talked myself into tackling the PowerPoint presentation.

“Piece of cake. You’re an expert on reinvention. After all, you’ve been reinventing yourself for a lifetime. You’ve got this.”

Sure. Right. Self-talk works most of the time. However, this seemed to be one of those times when it wasn’t working. There I sat, once again, staring at my blank computer screen while PowerPoint stared back at me. Even though I had more than a week to complete the PowerPoint, my mantra was immediate:

“Go on. Just do it. Get it out of the way.”

The glow of the PowerPoint screen beckoned, but I found myself lured instead into chasing the indoor tasks awaiting my attention. The dust bunnies, like mischievous gremlins, taunted me from their hiding places, my laundry begged to be folded and sorted, and my houseplants drooped in silent protest against neglect. As I tackled each chore, a siren call steered me further away from the digital abyss.

The next day, I faced the blank screen once more. It was then that my fear looked back at me. I realized that I had not developed a PowerPoint presentation in more than two years. I realized that I was fearful simply because I was no longer familiar with a task that, in reality, was simple and straightforward.

That settled it. I sat down in front of my computer, determined to develop the presentation, slide by slide. I had no expectation that I would finish it that day, but I resolved to complete a draft. I knew that I had to get past my fear.

The next thing I knew, I found myself ensnared by the choices at my fingertips. Each transition, a delicate balance between subtlety and spectacle, whispered promises of visual delight. Each animation added movement and meaning to static slides. Each carefully selected photograph added depth and resonance to my narrative. The bullets, like soldiers marching in formation, stood ready to deliver their payload of information with precision and clarity. Every click held power, and I was in charge.

I finished my PowerPoint presentation the next day, and I was delighted with it. Actually, I was ecstatic because I had as much fun developing it as I had ever enjoyed in the past.

When I gave my talk at Bowman Library, I realized that my decision to use PowerPoint was a wise one. It helped me navigate my talk smoothly, and, more importantly, it kept everyone engaged. Afterward, several people commented on its effectiveness, with special praise for the transitions, which they felt reinforced the content.

As I drove back home, I started thinking about the PowerPoint battle that I had fought and nearly lost. It would have been so easy for me to have aborted my plan. After all, I hadn’t planned to use PowerPoint initially. But I had changed my mind. What a pity it would have been for me to have lost the battle to the dis-ease that I was experiencing simply because I had not used PowerPoint in more than two years.

Don’t get me wrong. If I were rating the level of my fear, I’d probably give it a 4 on a scale of 10, with 10 being the greatest fear. Actually, that’s not that bad at all, yet it was bad enough to lure me away from the task, not once, not twice, but multiple times.

Without a doubt, I’ve experienced far greater fears in my life. How well I recall getting back on a bicycle after several decades of not riding a bike. There I stood, at the trailhead to the Virginia Creeper Trail, nostalgia tugging at my muscles. The trail stretched downhill before me. I glanced at the path, comforted that Allen–my late partner, who also hadn’t ridden a bike in several decades–was facing the challenge with me. But as I considered the downhill descent, I could neither hide nor disguise my fear. With trembling legs, I pushed off, the wind carrying whispers of both fear and exhilaration. The trail unfolded. I pedaled. I kept on pedaling until I made it to Damascus, 34 miles later, safely past my fear.

More recently, I had a more frightening encounter with a chainsaw. I was finishing a day’s work of taking down some small trees behind my home. I decided to end the job by cutting a sapling. There I stood—a weekend warrior in faded jeans and work boots. The sapling seemed to know exactly how to make the saw bounce back, cut through denim, and rip through flesh, all the way down to but not through my patella—the hinge of leg movement, the guardian of joints. It took twelve stitches and nearly as many weeks to heal my knee.

It took me far longer to bounce back from the deep-seated fear that the chainsaw had instilled. Months passed. Every trip to my basement found me staring at the saw, wondering whether I would ever have the courage to use it again. Determined to conquer the fear, I ordered protective chainsaw chaps. When they arrived, I put them on hesitantly, started the Stihl, and cautiously but triumphantly took down a small tree. I tossed the wood and my fear into the stack for winter fires.

Experiencing fear, especially in certain situations or after a prolonged period of inactivity or after an accident, is a common and normal human response. Fear is a natural part of the human experience.

As a seasoned educator and as a man in his seventies, I’ve seen fear kick ass over and over again as people faced:

● Technology
● Change
● Failure
● Medical Procedures
● Public Speaking
● Rejection
● Regret
● Success
● Letting Go
● Driving
● Aging

The list is endless. But here’s the caution that we all need to hear regardless of who we are or where we are in life. As we navigate life, fear can often stand as a formidable barrier between us and our aspirations. Yet, as I’ve learned through my own experiences, it’s in confronting these fears head-on that we find the true essence of courage and resilience.

I urge you to take a moment to reflect on the fears that may be holding you back—whether it’s the fear of trying something new, the fear of failure, or the fear of the unknown. Embrace these fears not as obstacles but as opportunities for growth and self-discovery.

Just as I conquered my hesitation with PowerPoint, rode a bike after decades, and faced down a chainsaw, you too can overcome the fears that threaten to immobilize you. Step by step, challenge by challenge, you have the power to rewrite your story and embark on a journey of transformation.

I encourage you to take that first step today. Identify one fear that’s lingering in the shadows of your mind and make a commitment to confront it. Whether it’s signing up for that class you’ve been eyeing, reaching out to mend a broken relationship, or simply daring to dream a little bigger—embrace the discomfort, for it’s in pushing past our boundaries that we discover our true potential.

Remember: you are capable of far more than you know. Let’s rise above our fears, embrace the adventure of life, and write the next chapter of our story with courage, resilience, and unwavering determination. The blank page of possibility awaits. Let’s fill it with the triumphs of our bravery.