The Voice Just Changes Subjects

Written and Narrated by Coach Lee

Fear rarely disappears as we grow older. It simply changes subjects. In this Trail Journal entry, I reflect on the fears that shaped my life—from Little League baseball to skydiving—and the lessons learned about moving forward despite uncertainty.

This Trail Journal entry is also available as a narrated recording below.

Whether you're on a walk, driving to the trailhead, or simply taking a break, I hope it gives you something to think about.

When I was eleven years old, I found myself standing at home plate trembling and sweating, bracing myself for impact before every pitch.

Images of being hauled off the diamond on a gurney while EMTs frantically worked to revive me plastered themselves across my mind.

In my eleven-year-old mind, I wasn't just afraid the ball would hurt.

I was afraid it might put me in the hospital.

Maybe even kill me.

Up until then, I loved going up to bat.

I was going to play in the big leagues someday.

I'd picture myself turning every pitch into a towering fly ball over center field.

But that year, my love for the game slowly became overshadowed by fear.

I finished the season.

And then I stopped playing baseball.

Not because I stopped loving the game.

Looking back, I've realized that fear has a way of doing that.

It has a way of interfering with our passions and the things we love.

Not just in sports.

In relationships.

In dreams.

In fitness.

In life.

And the funny thing is, fear rarely announces itself.

Sometimes it disguises itself as "being realistic."

Sometimes it sounds like:

"What if you're having a freak heart attack?"

"What if the parachute doesn't open?"

"What if they say no?"

"What if I sound stupid?"

"What if you embarrass yourself?"

"What if somebody else already did it better?"

"What if you fail?"

I've discovered that fear doesn't necessarily stop talking as we get older.

The scenarios change.

The doubts remain.

The voice just changes subjects.

The morning of my first tandem skydive, my shoulder was stiff and I wondered if I was getting a cold.

I thought,

"Should I call the drop zone and cancel my jump? Just to be on the safe side?"

My mind immediately went searching for reasons to retreat.

A short run loosened up my shoulder and proved I wasn't sick.

I made the one-hour drive to the drop zone.

I was determined to finally do this thing.

I'd dreamed of having the courage to jump out of an airplane since elementary school.

But fear wasn't finished trying to deny me that dream.

Even in the plane I thought,

"This is really going to happen. I'm doing it."

My heart thudded inside my chest.

My body felt heavy as the plane climbed for altitude.

Then another thought appeared.

"Does my chest hurt? I think my chest might be hurting."

Suddenly I wondered if I should call off the jump because maybe I was having a heart attack.

After all, I was born with a heart defect and underwent surgery before I was two years old.

Maybe the surgery hadn't really fixed it.

Maybe I'd believed the wrong thing all these years.

Seemingly healthy people have heart attacks all the time.

What was I thinking voluntarily jumping out of an airplane?

I had two young boys who needed me alive.

As fear waged its war inside my head, my dream of jumping out of that plane still refused to give up. The instructor connected my harness to theirs. 

My mind continued to race.

"Skydiving is for those cool, calm, collected people. Not an anxious, neurotic Little League washout like me. This is a foolish risk. I'll panic. I'll kill myself...and maybe even my instructor."

Fear's voice had simply changed the subject.

It grappled with the part of me that wanted to do this, digging deeper, clinging to scraps of logic mixed with deep-seated insecurities that might—just might—keep me locked into comfort.

My instructor opened the airplane door.

The loud howl of the wind mixed with the roar of the engine filled my ears, and the cold made my teeth chatter.

I wondered if comfort really meant safety.

And if it did...

Was safety worth the price of missing out on opportunity?

How much had I already missed because I'd let fear keep me "safe" from baseball?

What had that cost me in confidence?

In self-esteem?

In my willingness to pursue difficult things?

I couldn't let this end like baseball.

I realized that all I could do was everything within my power to make things go right.

And then continue anyway.

I swung my shaking legs over the edge of the airplane.

We rocked back.

One.

Two.

Three.

I tumbled from the aircraft with my instructor directly behind me.

Within seconds I was surfing the sky, belly-first.

The wind roared so loudly I almost mistook it for silence.

We turned left.

We turned right.

We spun in circles.

The earth rushed toward us, every detail growing larger by the second.

It was like zooming in on a photograph.

Only this was real life.

The parachute opened.

I didn't even realize it at first.

I simply noticed I wasn't lying flat anymore.

My feet dangled beneath me.

I took a moment to appreciate how rare it is for a human being to be upright, feet in the air, without being attached to a solid structure.

My instructor pulled down on the right toggle, and we banked gently to the right.

The same familiar heaviness I'd felt during the climb to altitude returned each time we descended through another turn.

This time, it barely phased me.

For some reason, my mind was no longer trying to convince me that I was about to leave this world.

Perhaps it had already spent its strongest argument the moment I stepped out of the airplane.

The canopy ride was smooth, and before I knew it we were making our final descent into a grassy pasture.

My instructor told me to lift my feet.

We slid across the grass almost like sliding safely into home plate before coming to an unexpectedly uneventful stop.

She disconnected our harnesses.

I stood up on solid ground for the first time since falling ten thousand feet.

I was completely unscathed.

My heart hadn't stopped.

The equipment hadn't failed.

Not only did I feel physically well...

I remember feeling invigorated and accomplished in a way I'm not sure I'd ever experienced before.

I had unlocked a confidence I'd only dreamed of having.

Not because I had conquered fear.

But because I hadn't surrendered to it.

For perhaps the first time, I found myself reveling in possibility.

Not the possibility of everything that could go wrong.

But the possibility of everything that could go right.

Now, I could have called off that jump at numerous points.

Had I done that, few people—if any—would have argued that I'd made the wrong choice.

Except for me.

I would've known that I'd once again allowed fear to deceive me.

Just as I had when I walked away from baseball so many years earlier.

Sometimes I wonder about all the experiences I may have missed because I allowed fear to dictate my decisions.

Maybe I would've played baseball through high school.

Maybe even in college.

Maybe not.

I'll never know.

And that's okay.

All I can do is continue moving forward.

Fear will always have something to say.

It will question my health.

It will question my abilities.

It will question how other people see me.

It will question whether I'm good enough.

I can't make that voice disappear.

I just have to remember that I don't need to let it change my direction.

Reflection

Looking back, I don't think this piece is really about baseball, or skydiving.

It's about something I've discovered over the years: Fear never stops talking to us.

The voice doesn't disappear. The scenarios don't stop. The doubts don't vanish. The voice simply changes subjects. It finds a vulnerable part of us, and loudly magnifies it.

At this point, my goal isn't to win an argument with my mind.

My goal isn't even to eliminate doubt, anxiety, or self-criticism.

My goal is to recognize that fear’s voice exists, and it often just changes subjects.

If I solve one problem, it will offer another. If I answer one fear, it invents a new fear.

Freedom doesn't come from finally saying the perfect thing back.

It comes from realizing that you don't have to attend every conversation your mind invites you to.

Perhaps courage isn't eliminating fear.

Perhaps it's learning that fear doesn't have to make every decision.

And perhaps that's true whether you're starting a workout program, pursuing a dream, rebuilding your life, or simply trying to continue through a difficult season.

Questions From The Trail

Why do fears seem to change as we get older?

Fear doesn't necessarily disappear. In my experience, the voice simply changes subjects. The things we worry about at forty aren't the same things we worried about at eleven, but fear still speaks.

How do you move forward despite fear?

Not by waiting for fear to disappear.

All we can do is everything within our power to make things go right—and then continue anyway.

Is courage the absence of fear?

I don't believe so.

Fear is part of being human.

The question isn't whether fear speaks.

The question is whether we allow it to make the final decision.

Can you act even when you're afraid?

Absolutely.

My first skydive taught me that fear and action can coexist.

Sometimes confidence comes after the experience, not before it.

What if I'm afraid to start over?

Perhaps you're more normal than you think.

Fear has a way of interfering with the things we love.

But it doesn't have to decide how we live.

Why do negative thoughts keep coming back?

Negative thoughts often return because the mind is designed to identify potential problems. Trying to force those thoughts away usually makes them louder. Instead of treating every thought as an emergency, it can help to notice the thought, acknowledge it, and return your attention to what matters most in the present moment. Thoughts may come and go, but you don't have to follow all of them.

Can you stop intrusive thoughts?

Most people cannot completely stop intrusive thoughts, and trying to eliminate them often makes them more persistent. The goal isn't to achieve a perfectly quiet mind. It's to develop the ability to recognize thoughts without automatically believing them or reacting to them. Over time, intrusive thoughts often lose much of their power when they are no longer treated as threats.

Do I have to believe every thought I think?

No. Thoughts are mental events, not necessarily facts. Everyone experiences thoughts that are exaggerated, inaccurate, or simply unhelpful. Learning to question and observe your thoughts instead of immediately accepting them can create space for wiser decisions and healthier responses.

How do you quiet your inner critic?

The inner critic often becomes quieter when you stop arguing with it and stop treating it as an authority. Rather than trying to silence the voice completely, you can learn to recognize it for what it is—a stream of thoughts, memories, fears, and judgments. Many people find that self-compassion, mindfulness, and focusing on meaningful actions are more effective than fighting the voice directly.

Why does my mind always find something new to worry about?

The mind is a remarkable problem-solving machine. Once one worry is resolved, it often searches for another issue to focus on. That's normal. Many people discover that lasting peace doesn't come from solving every possible concern but from learning how to relate differently to the constant stream of thoughts and worries.

Is mindfulness about controlling your thoughts?

No. Mindfulness isn't about forcing thoughts to stop or achieving perfect calm. It's about learning to notice thoughts, emotions, and sensations without becoming completely consumed by them. The goal is awareness, not control. Thoughts may continue to appear, but they no longer have to dictate your actions.

What should you do when anxious thoughts won't go away?

When anxious thoughts persist, it can help to stop trying to win an argument with them. Instead, acknowledge that anxiety is present, ground yourself in what you can control, and focus on the next meaningful step in front of you. You don't have to wait until anxiety disappears before continuing with your life.

Can you learn to respond differently to negative self-talk?

Yes. While you may not be able to prevent negative thoughts from appearing, you can learn to respond to them differently. With practice, many people become less reactive and more capable of choosing actions based on their values instead of their fears. The voice may still speak, but it doesn't have to be in charge.