Fear of Success

By Heath Worley

Fear can be a catalyst for good and bad. How can someone be afraid of success? I explore the concept of fearing success of the perceived accolades of society, money, relationships, career advancement, etc. Reviewing and sharing moments from my life where the mind feared the success but my heart desires the outcome leading to life changing forks

• Language: English
• Publisher: Heath Worley
• Release date: Apr 19, 2021
• ISBN: 9780578893686

Book preview

1

Saddle him, my father proclaimed with a sense of urgency. He’s your horse you break him.

My mind raced, flashes of the limited memories I accumulated during my brief years flashed in my mind. The horse stood dancing in anticipation, hoofs kicking up dust with each step. Beads of sweat highlighted the grey hair, darkening the horse from a pale grey to a dark grey.

Star I named him, a young two year colt born with dark hair, a white patch graced his forehead forming almost a perfect star, hence the name. We grew up together, he chased me around the pasture, gleefully taking pride in staying beyond the reach of my ten year old hands. Hours were spent playing this game, when I turned to walk away from the obnoxious animal, Star raced up behind me nudging me (not gentle might I add) to continue the game. Being ten my attention span never endured the game for long. Today meant taking our relationship to a different level, a level increasing my risk of harm.

I cleared my head, grabbed for the blanket and pad to adorn the back of the horse before placing the saddle. When the game of avoid finally ended, I would pet his back putting my limited weight upon. The technique I employed preparing Star for the SADDLE! Knowing full well the weight of the saddle not the problem, excitement would arise when the cinch tightened around his chest. Being just a young lad the horse seemed the size of a semi truck, with as much power harnessed waiting for the release, waiting to be released in a flurry of kicks the moment the cinch compacted the mighty breath of the beast.

Speaking gentle words of calm, more for me than the horse, Star recognized the voice, ears pricked, searching for the meaning of the words captured. I inched closer with the pad, each step I took the horse seemed to grow. Finally my lumbering feet positioned me next to the horse. His nostrils flared catching the whiff of tension emitted from my body. I put the pad on him before, each time becoming easier, but today the horse sensed a different game. Usually I put the pad on him while he devoured a bucket of grain, not a care in the world other than finding the bottom of the bucket, anxiously pleading for more. The bucket remained untouched today. A process we practiced time and time again should have been mundane, uneventful.

The pad went flying after placing it in the valley of his back. Hoofs which earlier pranced with the delicate touch of a ballerina now became weapons like that of a tank, no finesse, sheer power looking to destroy. My father looked on becoming agitated with my hesitant hand. Star looked over his shoulder, a devilish grin plastered to his muzzle. Knowing the game started he won now time to eat. Little did he know I hated losing, the battle just begun.

Walking to the pad gave me time to reflect on the game. Growing up on a farm, animals never intimidated me. The sheer size of the cows and horses should of scared the smile right off my mug. Not the case though, I suppose one of the gifts or curse (I did a lot of crazy stuff around the animals that should have resulted in scars that the chicks dig; maybe why I never had the knack around the ladies) I never feared the animals, patience, overcame petrifying fear. I thought to myself, horse (my tender nickname for him, I know to creative) I played your game of avoideness, now time to play mine and you ain’t gonna win.

I picked up the pad with a purpose, hand grasped firmly, sweeping the cloth off the ground in a cloud of dust. Star swung his head around looking for the cause of the dust storm. Our eyes met, the devilish grin from earlier now replaced with the pout of a child being caught with their hand in the cookie jar. I meant business, horse sensed the fun ended, head hanging a little lower, lips slightly parted quivering just a little. The tough semi now became meek and timid. A shameless ploy to lure me into the mental game he played. The game of how quickly I would feel sorry for him, pet him gently and release the rope which held him. Usually a master of the game, my heart would soften leading to freedom. Not today, my mental purpose far outweighed the meeker attempt of sympathy.

The blanket firmly in my grasp, I set a direct line, no soft touch this time, no soft talk just a purpose of obeyance from the giant animal. I forcefully placed the pad upon the back, spewing dust which enveloped the animal. No flying pad this time, horse knew the battle lost, but preparing for the war. Touching the animal all energies were being gathered, harnessed for the next stage. Muscles tightened, tensed, hoofs stood perfectly still as if cemented to the ground.

I stood admiring my victory. Sweat rolled down my flushed, dust filled face. The victory sweet, but reality slapped me into the real world as I turned and viewed the saddle glimmering like a star in the heavens. Turning elation into despair, awe crap this battle just begun.

Chapter 1

Memories spin the fabric of the soul, meshing accomplishments, pitfalls, happiness, sorrow, love and hate, the good, bad, and unthinkable. The blanket woven shelters the mind from outside influence, binding experiences into emotions. Whether conscience or unaware each moment is collected into the web being sorted by sight, smell, taste, audible, and touch; creating a kaleidoscope of emotional knowledge shaping our very being.

To a school lad summer meant freedom from the daily rigors of filling the mind with educational jargon. Time to build real life memories from experiences; not books. For me the change meant long days of isolation.

Our home located west of town, provided endless outdoor activities. Everything from scrounging at the local dump, to fishing, to riding horses, plenty of fun to fill a young boys desire to explore. A few neighbors dotted the landscape