Epic Musings

"Being inexorably drawn towards my doom." I mouthed the words, weighing their effect against my turmoil of emotion. They had a dramatic ring to them, but did they describe me? Almost.... The feeling of being drawn somehow was definitely there, being drawn, mile after mile, minute after minute, nearer and nearer to something that my entire being wanted to run from.

This must be how one would feel riding into battle I thought. Rohanic parallels flowed fast from my excitable imagination as epic scenes of armored riders charged across the road in front of me. Their doom ahead, and yet riding steadfastly on. Why? Then I realized. It was not their doom they were riding towards, it was a battle. A battle where they would be weighed and found wanting, or emerge victorious; a battle that they would win or loose; that would show them to be either a man, or dead.

I realized that my fear was not of the thing itself at all, it was of being not enough, not clever enough, not fast enough, not man enough, and losing. for a despairing moment the actualization of my fear struck me. Putting it into words had given it new potency. but I realized again, that I must defeat that too, for the only way to not fail, was to face my fear of failure, and fight this battle anyway. My friends could cheer for my all they liked but this was something I must do alone. Me against it. My courage rose as I accelerated, this time of my own choosing.

Half an hour later, when the time was come, I could almost hear the epic music as I strode resolutely through those doors, into my maths exam.