Fear Is Really Good at Sounding Like Good Advice (Recap: October)

Patrick Stewart (13 July 1940 – 28 October 2026), Credit: Unknown

A few days ago, among the many videos being shared following Sir Patrick Stewart's passing, I came across one of him talking about fearlessness in acting. And it happened to put words to something I'd already been trying to understand in myself.

He talks about being easily intimidated earlier in his career. About assuming someone else knew better, and how that kept him from pursuing his own beliefs about a role or a play.

"Be fearless. It's essential," he said.

As an actor, I recognize that hesitation he spoke of. Having an instinct, then immediately questioning it. Thinking, That's probably not what they want. Or, That's not how I'm supposed to do it. And talking myself out of something before I'd even had a chance to explore it.

We bring so many ideas into our work about what it's supposed to look like.

It's supposed to be funny.

This character is supposed to be angry.

I'm supposed to cry here.

We have a lot of ideas about what acting is supposed to be.

But life isn't supposed to be anything. Life just is.

And if art is an imitation of life, why are we so determined to decide what it's supposed to be instead of allowing us to experience it moment to moment?

I've spent more than twenty years working in casting (an absolutely invaluable experience as an actor). I've watched and directed hundreds of actors in auditions, and one of the things that still fascinates me is how two people can come in with the exact same sides and give you two completely different experiences.

One actor gives you angry because that's what they think the scene is supposed to be. Or sad because something sad has happened. The choices are obvious...and often general. You understand what's happening, but you don't really get a sense of who's experiencing it.

Then another actor comes in with a perspective. A relationship. A history that existed before the scene started. Maybe they see the other character as someone they desperately want to impress. Maybe they've been waiting years to say what's on their mind. Maybe the words mean something entirely different to them than they did to the first actor.

Suddenly, the exact same scene is interesting in a completely different way.

That actor is connected to a truth in the moment and that permeates through everything they do so much so they're not waiting for their line...they're listening, they're living in every moment.

That second actor isn't necessarily going to book the role. Their interpretation may not fit what the director or client has in mind. But they've given us something specific. Something to work with. Something to direct.

They've made a mark. And we will remember them.

Story time.

You know those acting exercises where you're asked to personify an animal? To get on the floor, move differently, make sounds, and see where it takes you?

Or the exploration exercises where inevitably at least one actor starts sobbing or screaming hysterically and it starts to feel like they're unbottling stuff a therapist should be involved in? Or they're simply trying too hard. They're showing off. They're doing it because they think sreaming and crying means they're a good actor.

Me? I'd already decided what a serious actor was supposed to look like in those exercises. Controlled. Credible. Not too much.

But somewhere along the way, I started noticing something (or maybe finally acknowledging something I already knew).

I wasn't only judging them. I was prejudging myself.

There were times when I'd feel an impulse to try something unusual. To let a movement get bigger. To follow an impulse instead of immediately controlling it. To explore something that might look a little ridiculous before I knew where it was going.

And before I even tried, I'd hear myself say:

No. Don't do that.

You'll look silly.

People will think you're trying too hard.

Don't be that actor.

I was so worried about looking like someone performing an emotion that I wasn't even allowing myself to explore what I was actually feeling.

I was so worried about what other people would think that I was choosing to do nothing at all.

Fear is really good at sounding like good advice.

It doesn't usually walk into your head and announce, Hello! I'm here to sabotage you!

Any reasonable person would immediately go, No, thanks.

And one of its favorite phrases is supposed to.

Be professional.

Don't overdo it.

Make the safe choice.

Make sure you're ready first.

Don't embarrass yourself.

Be realistic. They probably want someone else for that part.

This isn't how your career is supposed to be going.

And, look, some of those are perfectly reasonable things to consider. Not every impulse needs to be followed. Not every audition needs a wild choice. Sometimes the honest answer really is that you need more preparation, or a project isn't right for you.

But sometimes what sounds like discernment is just a very convincing excuse not to be vulnerable.

Not to risk getting it wrong.

Not to let somebody see you try something that might fail.

Not to discover a side of yourself that you've spent years keeping under control.

Like I said, these thought patterns don't spawn from a place of sabotage...they often come from qualities that are genuinely useful. We care about our craft, so we become perfectionists. We want to be thoughtful, so we overanalyze. We want to be generous collaborators, so we try to please everyone. We want to protect our careers, so we avoid opportunities that might end in rejection.

We take something that could help us and push it so far that it starts holding us back.

I think that's one of the most interesting things about self-sabotage. A lot of it starts as self-protection.

And if we're not paying attention, that protection can ironically cost us the very thing we want most.

I caught my Judge in the act.

During Week Two of Positive Intelligence (PQ), a mental fitness program I was doing, we did an exercise (spoiler alert) that involved visualizing and embodying our inner Judge. Giving that critical voice a form. Actually becoming it for a moment.

I won't go into all the details, but I was in it. Alone in my living room, giving life to this strange, almost monstrous version of the part of me that judges everything I do. It was taking me somewhere surprisingly emotional. I was being this thing...this voice in my head that I'd subconsciously been aware was there and finally starting to realize why it was saying "Don't cry," or "Don't open up." The dichotomy of protecting me and sabotaging me. I was beginning to see how often I'd let that voice make decisions for me. How many things I'd talked myself out of before I'd even tried.

And then, right in the middle of the exercise, I suddenly became very aware of where I was.

It was nighttime. My lights were on. I was doing this next to a big window. And across the street, at ground level, there's a café.

What if someone looks up?

That's what went through my head. Some stranger enjoying a coffee could glance up and see a grown man in a brightly lit apartment doing what must look like a bizarre monster impression.

And just like that, I became self-conscious.

I was doing an exercise to understand how I judge myself...and I was judging myself for doing the exercise.

Like...every time I think of it, it hits me all over again. The irony of it all...and it honestly makes me sad.

Nobody had said anything to me. I hadn't even seen anyone looking. The mere possibility of being seen was enough to make me question what I was doing.

I knew I could be hard on myself. I knew I sometimes held myself back. But until that moment, I don't think I understood how automatic it had become. Even alone in my own home, doing something specifically meant to help me stop judging myself, I was worried about looking ridiculous to people who might not even be watching.

And if I could shut myself down in my own living room, how often was I doing it in auditions? In class? In the rest of my life?

That's what made the exercise so revealing. I didn't just meet my Judge. I caught it red-handed. And it was a truly life-changing moment.

What happened when I actually let myself try.

I took an acting class where I finally allowed myself to explore some of the things I would normally have shut down.

I didn't not have those familiar judgmental thoughts come up, but I was now aware of what they really were. So I didn't listen to them...I listened to myself.

And I found things that felt deeply authentic to me. Really interesting characters and aspects I wouldn't have discovered if I'd stayed on the outside, deciding in advance what the experience was supposed to look like.

That's the part that matters to me. I'd been so worried about doing something that looked false that I was stopping myself from finding something true.

I don't think I would have been able to do that without first becoming aware of my Judge and how limiting it had been. Like I said, recognizing that voice didn't automatically make it go away. I had to actively push back against it. To notice the judgment and make a different choice about whether I was going to follow it.

I had to let myself try while there was still a part of me telling me not to.

That doesn't mean every exercise will lead to some extraordinary breakthrough. Sometimes you try something and it doesn't work. Sometimes you discover nothing useful that day.

But you can't discover anything at all when you're constantly stopping yourself from trying.

And that was the most valuable takeaway from the experience.

I had broken a pattern I'd been living with for as long as I can remember. And it paid off.

Which brings me back to those animal exercises.

The point was never to become the world's most convincing animal in front of a room full of actors. It was to explore behavior, instinct, physicality, impulse. To find something you might not arrive at by sitting in a chair and thinking harder.

The exercise asked me to be curious. I was the one insisting there was a right way to look while doing it.

And that's why Stewart's reflection hit home. I recognized that habit of giving someone else's judgment more weight than my own experience. Sometimes without anyone else even being there.

The answer isn't to just throw caution to the wind, follow every impulse no matter how reckless, ignore direction, or to become thoughtless. But I think it's important to get better at noticing when we're dismissing something because we've explored it and it doesn't serve the scene...and when we're dismissing it because we're afraid.

Later in the clip, Stewart says:

“The sky doesn't fall on your head because you take a risk.”

And I think that's a really wonderful reminder for us all...from a beloved fellow artist.

Focus of the Month: Give yourself permission to try.

For November, I want you to notice one moment when you shut down an impulse before you've explored it.

Maybe it's in class. Maybe it's a self-tape. Maybe it's a role you think you're not right for, or a message you're nervous to send.

Ask yourself:

1. What am I telling myself this is supposed to look like? And who made that rule?

2. What am I afraid will happen if I step outside it? Looking silly? Being judged? Getting rejected? Feeling something I can't control?

3. What happens if I give myself permission to explore it—just once? You don't have to submit that take, show anyone, or keep the choice. Just find out.

You might discover something wonderful.

You might discover the choice doesn't work at all.

Both are useful. Neither makes you a bad actor.

Life happens. The scene happens. We prepare as best we can, and then we're in it.

An acting teacher once told our class: "Fuck up as much as possible, so that, when it counts, you fuck up as little as possible."

Maybe our job isn't to police what it's supposed to look like. Maybe it's to stay available for what actually happens.

And maybe, little by little, we can stop confusing keeping ourselves safe with allowing ourselves to grow.

If any of this resonated with you, Geraldine and I are hosting a free Saboteur to Superpower class on November 9 and December 9. We'll explore how these patterns show up in our lives and our acting.

I'd love to have you join us on whichever date works for you.

Click the banner below for details and registration.

#stayfocused