How to Kill that Fear of Putting Your Creative Work on the Internet

Repetition. That’s it. You can move on now.

Want to know more? You’re not alone. This is one of the most common questions I get at parties, the beach, my house, anywhere people hear what I do for a living — hosting a podcast.

The thing is, I’m still new to this. And like you, I hard to start somewhere. Somewhere was watching and dreaming for about a year. Each day, I would study the best interview podcast hosts around. Their studios became cathedrals. Their introductions were sermons. Their guests were like the risen lord, come to share with the congregation. And among that congregation, I took notes.

My favorites were video podcast hosts like Rich Roll, Tom Bilyeu, Joe Rogan, and Lewis Howes. Tom was surprisingly accessible and it wasn’t long before I was in-person at his recordings. I’d listen, he’d wow the audience and his esteemed guests, and afterwards we’d share a little small talk. It was like watching your sensei compete then chatting in the dojo after. I would even sit in Tom’s chair on the stage. It was my throne and visions of distinguished guests popped into my mind as the crew began to turn off the lights. Wow, those studio lights are hot. Scorching.

A year of this went by. How much work was done on putting out my own work? Zero.

Then summer came. Tom Bilyeu had launched a new show, recorded at his home studio in Beverly Hills. It was a cool blue sanctuary for deep conversation. The place looked like Captain America had taken over for Ellen DeGeneres. I moved to a new house, but it was the ultimate sabotage of my talk show dreams. My dream house would never fit the quiet sanctuary ideal because it was on the beach. On the sand. Literally leaning over the sand on stilts. The waves broke underneath my bedroom. A perpetually flushing urinal would be better for recording.

So, I put it off. I read books and conversed with the authors in my mind. Still no action.

Then I met Lewis Howes, host of The School of Greatness. Lewis is an old school podcaster. Old school for a form of new media that didn’t exist prior to the iPod.

Lewis was hosting an event in Hollywood to promote his newest book. It was a quiet Sunday night and I thought it would be fun to drop in solo and see the master on stage. I even took the opportunity to ask him a question during a very generous Q&A session with the audience. It was a brush with podcasting royalty.

To my surprise, a man approached me after the event to discuss my question. He’s a famous professional athlete and a generous soul. We went out for sushi and talked about life, work, relationships, our fathers and our grandfathers. The athlete is a close personal friend of Lewis and he introduced us. No man has ever hugged me more sincerely than Lewis Howes hugged me that night.

When I woke up the next day, memories of the night before came back to me. I had been among the people I wanted to emulate. They were flesh and blood too. I could do this.

So, I put it off. I read more books. I moved away from the beach. Still no action.

As an officer in the Navy, I wasn’t sure if I could express myself publicly like my podcasting heroes. I wasn’t sure if I’d end up in a military prison. I wasn’t sure how much of my free speech I’d actually signed away when I joined. And I was afraid anyway.

So, I put it off.

Then, an opportunity came. People asked me a lot of questions in the Navy. It was my job to answer questions and consult on people’s problems. The thing is, many people ask the same few questions. We needed a repository of answers that I could refer people to. And these people love one thing — YouTube. It would shock you to learn how much time the typical military member will spend watching YouTube videos at work when given the chance. So, I would create a repository of answers on YouTube. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it was a perfect start.

Naturally, a con-conspirator emerged. A colleague of mine was uploading his own videos to YouTube and trying to keep it on the down low. He began to show me the technical side.

The first video to come out with my name on it, my face on it, my words in it, was a challenge. Unfamiliar. Exposed. Maybe breaking some rule.

A few weeks later, the next one felt just as uneasy. Maybe worse. Now it was a pattern too. Not an isolated incident.

This was the fence I stood on. Create the videos and wonder, or play it safe. There was pain from being exposed to something that was really more than I could handle. Like a never-ending sunburn. Those studio lights are hot.

Another question comes. Another video goes. This will get better. Does anyone have some aloe vera cream?

Maybe it’s human nature, maybe it’s my nature, but gray areas and half commitments just don’t work for me. I needed to go all in.

Have you heard that you can build a habit in 30 days of repetition? That’s probably a safe bet. Have you heard that you can build a habit in 45 days of repetition? That’s a very safe bet. I was looking for certainty to ensure my podcast dreams and crush my fear of putting words on the internet. Have you heard that you can build a habit in 100 days of repetition? Yea, that’s probably nuclear overkill. Again, gray areas and half commitments just don’t work for me. All in baby.

Thus began my 100 days of making daily YouTube videos. Did it hurt at first? You bet. Scorching. Where is that aloe vera?

Did it hurt at the end? Not a bit. Hello leathery-hard tanned skin.

Do you need to go this far to get comfortable with putting your stuff on the internet? Maybe. Does it give you a good chance to kill that fear? Yes.

Now compared to making video, writing is a whole different kettle of fish. It’s a high level of thinking. It’s demanding. It’s easily duplicated, critiqued, shared, or taken out of context. And personally, I’m a trained public speaker, not a trained public writer. I write silly phrases like, “whole different kettle of fish.” I would never say that in front of an audience. Gotta leave that to Mark Mason and his bags of burritos.

Writing is different, but it may also be similar. I suspect that 30 days of daily blogging would make a habit. And 45 days? Very likely. So what am I proposing here? You guessed it. 100 days of summer blogging. Starting here at #1

If you want to join in and kill your fear, you can follow me here on Medium.