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How To Get Over Fear: 28 Quotes That Will Set You Free

How To Get Over Fear

If fear and I were a couple, our Facebook relationship status would be “It’s complicated.”

There have been times in my life where I have been daring and fearless, ready to take on the unknown. During those times, I didn’t even consider failure was an option. Other times I’ve cuddled myself in the fetal position and listed all of the reasons I shouldn’t do something. That is the most fucked up feeling because it’s restricting and limiting.

One area of my life where I’m scared shitless is my writing. At some point I became very insecure about my words and the order in which I placed them. Also the topics, which remain mostly the same: completely random. I still have no idea what i’m too fancy means or what it is about.

But what I do know is when and why this fear nonsense happened. The truth is that I just got stuck in my own head. Nobody but me stopped me from writing. Admitting this makes me want to kick myself in the vagine because accepting responsibility for my own actions is painful. I rather blame someone else, you know? You know. 

But that is the past! And we are now in the present. And I have no fear of failure! Just kidding. I’m totally scared of failure but it won’t stop be from trying. Usually. 

This is where quotes come in. I love quotes because they are shorter than a book. I figure if I read enough quotes it’s kind of like I read a self-help book. Right? Right.

If you’re the same, enjoy these short sentences and I hope they inspire you and give you the feels necessary to not be a scaredy cat. Follow your dreams, people! You’ll be dead soon anyway. 

  1. “Success is often achieved by those who don’t know that failure is inevitable.” – Coco Chanel
  2. “Defeat is not the worst of failures. Not to have tried is the true failure.” – George Edward Woodberry
  3.  “I can accept failure, everyone fails at something. But I can’t accept not trying.” – Michael Jordan
  4.  “Remembering that I’ll be dead soon is the most important tool I’ve ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything – all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure – these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important.” – Steve Jobs
  5.  “He who fears being conquered is sure of defeat.” ― Napoléon Bonaparte
  6.  “Only those who dare to fail greatly can ever achieve greatly.” – Robert F. Kennedy
  7.  “It’s failure that gives you the proper perspective on success.” – Ellen DeGeneres
  8.  “Pain is temporary. Quitting lasts forever.” – Lance Armstrong
  9.  “We are all failures – at least the best of us are.” – J.M. Barrie
  10.  “What is the point of being alive if you don’t at least try to do something remarkable?” – John Green
  11.  “I failed my way to success” – Thomas Edison
  12.  “Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt” – William Shakespeare
  13.  “Every failure brings with it the seed of an equivalent success.” – Napoleon Hill
  14.  “The greatest men sometimes overshoot themselves, but then their very mistakes are so many lessons of instruction.”  -Tom Browne
  15.  “Success represents the 1% of your work which results from the 99% that is called failure.” – Soichiro Honda
  16.  “I’ve come to believe that all my past failure and frustration were actually laying the foundation for the understandings that have created the new level of living I now enjoy.” – Tony Robbins
  17.  “If you learn from defeat, you haven’t really lost.” – Zig Ziglar
  18.  “If you’re not failing every now and again, it’s a sign you’re not doing anything very innovative.” – Woody Allen
  19.  “There is no impossibility to him who stands prepared to conquer every hazard. The fearful are the failing.” Sarah J. Hale
  20.  “Fear of failure must never be a reason not to try something.” – Frederick Smith
  21.  “If you are not big enough to lose, you are not big enough to win.” – Walter Reuther
  22.  “I’m intimidated by the fear of being average.” – Taylor Swift
  23.  “Don’t be afraid to fail. Don’t waste energy tryingto cover up failure. Learn from your failures and go on to the next challenge. It’s OK to fail. If you’re not failing, you’re not growing.” – H. Stanley Judd
  24.  “Many of life’s failures are people who did not realize how close they were to success when they gave up” – Thomas Edision
  25.  “The greatest mistake you can make in life is to continually be afraid you will make one.” – Elbert Hubbard
  26.  “We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light.” – Plato
  27.  “The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown.” – H. P. Lovecraft
  28.  “Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear – not absence of fear.” – Mark Twain

Now go do that thing you were scared to do.

If you fail, it’s only your first lesson. You have WAY more to go.

Good luck and cheers to getting unstuck from the prison that is your mind.

Things That Concern Me

i'm too fancy lifestyle blog

These are the things that keep me up at night.

  • My hump, my lovely lady lump. On my back. I really need to improve my posture.
  • The fact that I bought a 3-blade razor because it was on sale. My legs look like I got into a scuffle with a feral cat.
  • La Yogurt.
  • When you google US Soccer Team only the men’s team shows up, even though they fucking suck and the women are champions.
  • Stella. She just won’t go away. Stella is the pimple living on my face. Bitch.
  • Habits. Specifically: why it’s so easy to have bad habits and so hard to form good habits. 21 days is a long ass time.
  • My memory. I’m always forgetting that I’m trying to form new positive habits.
  • The distress I feel when I’m reading a book, don’t know what a word means and I try to highlight said word but the definition doesn’t pop up and it takes me too long to realize I’m reading an old school paper book that isn’t as advanced as my Kindle.
  • Instagram popularity. Follow me and help me feel like a more popular human. Because we all know that is what’s really matters in life.
  • My obsession with using ! and 🙂 when corresponding online with others because I don’t want to sound rude even though I shouldn’t really care. WHY DO I CARE?
  • The fact that Michael Jackson wrote a song especially for me and it’s perfect. Stay tuned for a post about that.

That’s all, folks.

Clearly a slow writing week for me. But fret not, there will be more substance shortly.

xo,
D

The Dreams I Used To Have

Flying Squirrel on i'm too fancy

I: The Flying Dream

I’ve turned right out of my building and I’m trying to fly to the corner. But I can’t fly. I use every ounce of my energy to lift off but I never make it anywhere. I’m basically jumping and then flying two inches.

Other people are able to fly high. I don’t see them but I know flying is a thing and others are doing it better.

I wake up defeated. Angry. Upset. I hate this dream.

II: The Quicksand Dream

I’ve turned a right out of my building but I can’t walk. I am in quicksand. I lift my legs but I barely move forward.

Other people are not in quicksand. I don’t see them but I know walking on asphalt is a thing and others are walking freely.

I wake up feeling defeated. Angry. Upset. I hate this dream more.

The frustrating part is that I’m trying to go the right way. Do you know how hard it is to walk in quicksand when you have somewhere to be? Like trying to walk around tourists in Time Square during winter break when you have an interview in five minutes but you’re four blocks away. The struggle is real.

Theses dreams plagued me for years. YEARS. I’ve had them for so long that I don’t know when they started.

But I do know when they stopped.

After I was diagnosed with MS. I shit thee not. While I still have flying dreams, I am able to lift off and fly a longer distance before gravity pulls me back to earth. Now I feel semi-accomplished when I wake.

I think it’s pretty fucking awesome that my brain knew something was wrong before my body caught up with a symptom. It’s like my brain was trying to tell me something but my body laughed and said “Haha! Not yet, grasshopper. Not yet.”

That’s all.

Sleep tight, lovelies. May you dream only of gold glitter, rainbows and unicorns.

About Pam, From The (Neurologist’s) Office

Pam From The Office
Pam’s voice is like crisp white sheets on laundry day.

Soothing. Warm. Inviting.

And yet, all she does is deliver bad news.

Pam is the social worker at the NYU Langone Medical Center in Brooklyn. It’s her job to make sure I get my medicine. I like her and the fancy office. For instance, they took my picture and scanned my fingerprints so now I feel safe knowing that if someone wants to steal my identity and become a sick person with shitty insurance, NYU will thwart their efforts.

But I know Pam would never let that happen to me because she cares.

I know she cares because a week after my appointment, she called to see if I, and not some hooligan imposter Diana, had MRIs done. I hadn’t – my appointment was the following Thursday.

“Good,” she says. “Give me a call on Friday and let me know how it goes.” They’re eager to get me started on Tecfidera and so I decide I will call her. I’m committed this time. I will call. I won’t disappear again. I promised. 

I get my MRIs done on Thursday. I am responsible and call Pam on Friday to let her know I’ve done my part. A Russian receptionist transfers me to her office but the line rings and rings and rings and rings. I call again a few hours later. The lines rings and rings and rings and rings. Pam doesn’t pick up. No one does.

I stop calling. I enjoy the weekend thinking about my MRIs. I call back on Monday. It rings and rings and rings and rings. I feel like throwing my phone against the wall. This is what I get for being responsible and keeping my word.

I am nervous. I am also angry with Pam. How could she do this to me? Keep me hanging on like this? With not even a reassuring prompt asking me to leave a message or, at the very least, to kindly stop calling.

I plan all the things I’m going to say to Pam when I finally reach her. “You told me to call you but then you didn’t pick up! The diagnostics facility said they already sent you my MRI results! THE SAME DAY. I did everything I said I would but you didn’t! Why, Pam, whyyyyyy?”

But then she calls me and I forget why I was mad at her; I’m just glad she’s calling me. I don’t care if it’s to let me know my insurance denied the medicine because they deem it medically unnecessary.

Great! Thanks. Always a pleasure.

“We’ll file an appeal. They’ll probably deny that too and then we’ll figure it out with Biogen. They’re pretty good with assistance.”

Did she just sing me a lullaby? I’m lost in the fibers of her voice and I wonder if maybe she is a vampire. Probably is. How could she not be?

“Okay, Pam. I trust you. Can’t wait to get denied again. Fingers crossed for Biogen!”

I hang up. I think about how much easier it was when I didn’t know Pam, when I didn’t care about keeping my word to my neurologist, when I just didn’t care about scientifically proven treatment.

Like the feeling of love and hate, it’s simply not quantifiable.

An Open Letter To Dan Bilzerian

Dan B

Dear Dan Bilzerian,

I was so excited to see you as a guest on the show “The Comments Section” on E! I was watching the tube while I waited for my laundry to be done swirling in heat (your clothes probably just show up clean, right?), and I clapped when your hairy face walked on stage.

For one, I sometimes want to be you. When I’m having a particularly bad woman day full of emotion, feelings and cramps, I say to myself “I wish I were a man! Dan Bilzerian to be exact.” I put this thought out into the universe because that is The Secret and my hope is that one day I’ll wake up and be you. I wouldn’t even question it or act horrified like they do in the movies. I’d just yank my new wank, walk on to my deck, jump off the yacht and go for a morning swim around the Riviera as a bevy of babes prepared my breakfast.

I was also excited to see you because I have a question for you. I was hoping the host, Michael Kosta, would ask and lucky me, he did!

After showing a video of a yacht party with a bunch of gyrating hot girls that are about to age out, Michael asked if you ever get bored of that. 

You looked at the video, then the camera, smirked, and said “That doesn’t look boring to me.”

It doesn’t! I know a bunch of men who’d love to watch (touch, and do the sex with) girls licking champagne off each others firm bodies. My husband is one of those mens. Like, duh. No fucking kidding your yacht party is the most non-boring male playground in existence.

But you didn’t answer the question.

No, it doesn’t look boring but does it ever bore you? DOES IT? I think it might. The same thing all the time gets boring, in marriage and in the single life. So, as I examined your eyes and your bashful smile, I determined that yes, you do get bored by that scene.

His next question was about love. Have you ever been in love?

You said yes. Once or twice. You blushed. It was cute! A hairy-faced man in love always tickles my lady pickle.

But then you said the only pussy you’re in love with nowadays is your cat, the sexy feline sensation known as Smushball.

I saw the sadness in your eyes. (Do you need a hug? OK!) I also saw that what you really want in life is a nice girl with a banging body, her own bank account, and someone who can hold an interesting conversation, and not just on her ass cheeks. Maybe she even has a career of her own that doesn’t involve being naked. Imagine that!

Since the girls you surround yourself with look like they collectively have the IQ of a kakapo, I see why you’re having difficulty finding real true love. Fret not, I have a solution!

Because I am a kind and giving woman, I’d like to offer myself for your love. (For your consideration: I have abs, a bi-coastal accent, cook really well sometimes, am exceptional at beard petting, and have the IQ of a goat.) With this love, I allow you to send drones to my neighborhood to check up on me, invite me to your yacht parties, and throw me off a roof. I won’t sue!

Of course, my husband might be jealous because he has been trying to throw me off a roof for years. But whatever, enough about him, let’s talk about US. Even though I’m not quite available, that is the most intense sort of love. Something to work hard for. A challenge, if you will.

Think about it, won’t you? It will be more fun this way.

Dan, I hope you find that special someone to take to Applebee’s on a Friday night even if it’s not me. I think you’re  a cuddle bear with a sweet and gentle heart and deserve the embrace of someone who truly cares about you and Smushball. The type of care that will still be felt if your millions and sexy ass beard are long gone. Don’t shave. Ever. 

Until then, keep calm and party on.

Best,
Dan Diana

Go Away, MS. You Can’t Sit With Us

Blogging About Multiple Sclerosis

I recently saw my old pal Gary and he asked me why I wasn’t blogging. “I will,” I said. “You always say that,” he responded.

And he’s right. I am always saying I will start blogging again but I never do. But it’s not like it’s intentional. It’s not like I’m lying. I really do want to blog and write and collect all the likes.

The truth is that I just don’t want to write about my MS.

“So don’t write about your MS,” I hear you say.

And to that I say BAH! MS is my life. And I’ve always written about my life. But it’s become exhausting denying that MS is the elephant in my crowded room.

Here’s the truth.

There is something in me that simply does not want MS to be my life or my calling or the reason I bring my pen to the pad.

I fucking hate it.

I hate MS. I hate feeling fatigued. I hate having brain fog. I hate feeling depressed. I hate forgetting things. I hate inflammation. I hate pain. I hate not being able to drink alcohol without feeling like an army of tap dancing ants are having a parade underneath my skin. I hate having to pee all the time. And not just regular pee. More like “find a bathroom RIGHT NOW or it’s another puddle in your pants” pee.

I hate that MS is not my cause. It would be so much easier if it were. I’d just be like “Give me all your monies so that we can cure MS. YAY!”

I hate that I don’t think we will find a cure in my lifetime or ever.

Most of all, I hate hating. That shit isn’t good for your well-being and I know this, but alas, I continue to keep calm and hate on.

I just want to be normal like everyone else. Except really, I know everyone else isn’t really that normal. I know this because when I complain about things, whoever hears me says things like “ME TOO!” Apparently we’re all the same. Except we’re not. So fuck you, healthy person who also gets tired. IT’S NOT THE SAME THING.

This is the part where acceptance comes in. If I just accepted that this is my new normal, I would be able to cope better. Right? I guess. I wouldn’t know because I haven’t done it yet. I don’t even like the saying “My new normal.” I know it’s a good mantra to have because acceptance, but fuck it. I don’t like it and so I will have to find another saying that sooths my aching soul.

I’ll let you know when I figure it out.

I think I just MSed all over the place. It felt good. And I think I might do it again.

Clean up in aisle FANCY, please.

I Accidentally Worked Out And Almost Passed Out

I ran errands on Sunday. By my last errand, I had to pee. Luckily, I wasn’t far from home. I have an internal pee meter so I knew that I could make it.

I sped home. By the time I parked in front of my building, my pee situation was dire. I HAD to go. I grabbed my groceries and walked into my building. When I reached the elevator, of course it was on the fifth floor. I decided that I had no time for that and so I ran up the stairs. I live on the fifth floor. There were a lot of steps involved.

I was out of breathe by the 4th floor and by the time I reached the fifth, I was feeling dizzy and cross-eyed. It felt as though my brain just had a dance party and I had trouble focusing my eyes. I wobbled my way to the bathroom and had the most glorious pee since the last time I had to really go and made it home without an accident.

Afterwards I told Vinny about what happened. He said it was a sign I should work out more. I think it’s a sign that I’m allergic to excessive physical activity and should never do it again.

This can’t happen again. But it probably will.

dizzy girl

I’d Rather Be Luigi

Vinny grew out a beard because his facial hair sexes me up. But one day he decided he had enough. “Babe, I’m shaving this thing!” he told me. At first I was offended that he referred to my form of foreplay as “this thing.” But it wasn’t worth the fight (because hair grows) and so I just said ok.

I let him shave in peace but then I walked by and noticed he had shaved off everything except a mustache. It was so cute! “You should keep it!” I clapped in delight.

“No.”

“You look like Mario! Can I be your Luigi?”

“Luigi? That’s a guy. They’re BROTHERS! You’re the princess, weirdo.”

Oh. No. He. Didn’t.

Yes, Luigi is a boy. And yes, Princess Peach is a girl. But here’s the thing: Mario and Luigi have all the fun. They get to go on exciting adventures that include mushrooms and capes that enable them to fly. They get to ride a dinosaur named T. Yoshisaur Munchakoopas! They are motivated and despite their failures, keep on keeping on. And the princess? She is stuck in some lair yelling all the time about how she needs to be rescued.

“Help me! Help me!” over and over again.

And it’s not like once Mario rescues the Princess that they live happily ever after. They don’t go off on a sexy, exotic vacation where they feed each other  organic grapes and sip champagne. No, the game ends and before we know it, there is another game where the stupid princess has been kidnapped again. You would think she would consider getting a better security team. And honestly, it seems like Mario cares more about the adventure than the rescue. Maybe Mario and Luigi aren’t even brothers. Maybe they’re “brothers.” Wink wink.

I’ve thought a great deal about this (clearly) and have found a solution. If Vinny is uncomfortable with me being the Luigi to his Mario, I will be the Luigiana to his Mario. Problem. Solved.

Source: drawception.com

 

 

I Am George Clooney

I had the saddest dream the other night.

It started with me at a holiday party. The major details are hazy. I don’t know whose party it was or the location. I do know I am on the lower level of a restaurant. I immediately decide to go upstairs. I see people I know but they don’t see me.

Upstairs, I walk by a mini bar and towards the front of the room. On my way there, I see them, sitting towards the right. Jared Leto and George Clooney. Jared looks adorable and George looks older than I thought.

After I spot them, I look ahead and that is when I see my friend Susanna, surrounded by a group of girls I don’t know. I am SO excited to see Jared Leto and George Clooney but I don’t want to be a crazy stalker fan girl so all I do is mouth “OMG” to Susanna. She too wants to stay classy and so she mouths “I KNOW!” back. Our eyes look wild with excitement over the celebrities grazing near us.

It is at this point that I realize Vinny is not with me. I have to contact him and let him know of my celebrity sighting and also to see where he is. I take out my phone and attempt to text him. I’m having trouble pressing the numbers (because for some reason I can’t text in my dreams) and so I decide to try to get George Clooney’s attention instead. Not in a creepy way but more of a “Omg, George looked in my direction and now he knows I exist” kind of way.

I approach the bar that is 5 five feet away. George is now being his charming self and is flirting with the bartender. I make a comment about their flirtation, hoping he will pay attention to me. Does he? No. No he doesn’t.

I try again but it’s as if I’m not even there.  He doesn’t even look past me. Nothing. Nada. Zilch attention from George.  I am offended.

Dejected, I walk back to Susanna and think about how I’m going to get home. Suddenly, I know I am on the Upper East Side. I think about York Street (Is that where I am?!) and wonder how much an Uber would cost to get home. I think about how much I don’t want to take the train at this hour. All logical thinking.

Then I wake. The first thought I have is about how ok I am with George dissing me. It’s not like we’d have much to talk about anyway. He is about to marry a smart lady, one that I could never compete with, not even in my dreams.

How fucking unfair is that?

I have a status call with my boss first thing in the AM. I tell her about how George Clooney dissed me and  how distraught I am about it. She feels bad for me and mentions Carl Jung, former professional dream interpreter. This Jung fella believes that we are all characters in our dreams. In other words,  I AM GEORGE CLOONEY.

I wonder why bougie me (George) doesn’t like peasant me (Me)? Then I wonder why my subconscious won’t leave me alone. Then I wonder why I can’t just be normal and have dreams that are more like this?

Amy Poehler George Clooney

Am I A Hater?

haterade

So, there’s this blogger. She is one of the most popular female humor bloggers on the internet. She gets A LOT (700!) of likes on her posts and has like, some sort of New York Times best seller book thing going on. Here’s the thing: I don’t always think she is THAT funny. That’s all. She is funny but I’m just over that whole “I’m so crazy, look at all my meds!” humor. She also writes about cocaine. GASP. I think that is so very edgy, but also so very 5 years ago.

Now, to put things into perspective, she is like Beyonce of blogging and I am Nina Taylor, the girl who didn’t make the cut into Destiny’s Child. So it’s kinda like Nina walking around saying Beyonce can’t dance. I GET IT. But here’s my question: am I a hater for not thinking she is as awesome as other people think she is or do I just have refined taste? 

I just want to know what you think. And here are some additional facts: I NEVER, ever leave negative anonymous comments. I have dignity and will not succumb to the troll brotherhood.

And, as I was writing this, Vinny walked in, read the title outloud and answered yes. I hope that doesn’t influence your answer.

Bottom line: AM I A HATER? Circle yes or no. Or leave a comment because wouldn’t want you circling your computer screen.

 

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