Fearless

Griffin Metz

2022 was the worst year of my life. At least that’s how it felt by the end of year. My girlfriend dumped me. I lost two of my grandparents. I was feeling somewhat lost and directionless in life.

One of the biggest sources of hope during that dark time came from, of all places, improv comedy class. The act of trying out improv, an activity that at the time seemed engineered in a lab to invoke maximum levels of fear within me, made me feel capable and alive in a way that I hadn’t felt in a long time. I had a weekly ritual that went something like this: experience immense dread at the thought of getting up in front of a group of people and trying to be funny with no plan and no idea of what scenario I’d find myself in. Feel every fiber in my body telling me it’s a bad idea and to turn back now. Do it anyway. I’m not very good at it (I am a beginner after all), but it’s not that bad and it’s actually kind of fun at times. Experience elation from having faced my fears and lived to tell the tale. Live out my ordinary life for the rest of the week, during which that elation fades. The dread and fear rise back up as the next class approaches and the cycle repeats…

Living out this cycle over and over for a few months impressed upon me how my own fears and anxieties were holding me back and reminded me of how great it felt to push through them. And it provided much needed proof to myself that I’m actually more capable than I think I am. I’ll never forget the exultation that I felt after one of my first improv classes as I sang along to Charli XCX on my drive home, full of pride from having survived an experience that just hours before my mind and body were telling me would almost certainly lead to life-ending humiliation.

During this same period, despite having an amazing crew of friends in Colorado and lots of happy memories and love for the area, something was nagging at me to try living somewhere else. I didn’t know if Colorado was where I belonged forever and I knew if I never tried living somewhere else, I may always regret it. The idea of moving out of Colorado first became a realistic possibility for me while I was in a long-distance relationship, but even after that ended, part of me was still compelled to try out a new place.

There were plenty of things holding me back. Of course, leaving the comfort of all of my friends and the place that I’d called home for the past 8+ years wouldn’t be easy. The thought of starting over somewhere new was terrifying. But intertwined with that fear was an excitement around the adventure it could hold and the opportunities for personal growth that it would present. And there was that voice in the back of my head, awakened by my experiences with improv, reminding me of how great it felt to step outside my comfort zone and embrace the fear.

After months of constantly stewing over the idea and then eventually taking a solo trip to scope out Austin, TX as a potential new home, I tentatively made the decision at the end of 2022 to go for it.

It was in this headspace that I chose the word “fearless” as my word of 2023. I was under no illusion that I would be able to completely erase all of the fears in my head, probably ever, let alone in the span of a single year. But rather, my intent was to live in such a way that fear would not stop me from doing what I wanted to do and had to do in my life. And what better way to set the stage for fearless living than to move to brand new city where I essentially knew nobody and would have to start completely fresh?

The rewards of this fearless decision began to emerge before the move even happened. Sometimes you don’t fully appreciate a good thing until it’s going away for a while. The hardest part about moving was leaving my friends in Colorado. But the silver lining was that going away and saying goodbye for now provided a unique opportunity for meaningful conversations and gave us an excuse to reaffirm what we mean to one each other in the weeks and days leading up to my departure.

My last weekend in Colorado was one for the books. The weekend began with a powerlifting meet with my lifting crew. A test of what each one of us in our ragtag group was capable of at the end of this chapter, after years of lifting together across multiple iterations of our garage gym. That night, I finally broke into the 1000 Pound Club for the first time, lifting over 1000 lbs total across my squat, bench press, and deadlift one-rep maxes. It was a monumental achievement for me. I started lifting weights as a scrawny fresh college grad who couldn’t do a single pull-up and barely knew what a deadlift was. Lifting this much weight seemed impossibly out of reach for so long. But thanks to nearly 5 years of dedication, an incredible squad to lift with, and an ungodly amount of milk consumed, I fucking did it.

The following night was my going away party, held in the home that I had shared with some of my closest friends across the past 3.5 years. It’s not an exaggeration to say that that night was one of the best of my life. I was humbled and honored by the showing of people who came out to see me off (who knew I had that many friends?) and celebrate the end of an era. And it was a hell of a good time, being surrounded by so many of my favorite people and in particular, the people who made Colorado home for me over the years.

Another hugely important element to that night was another act that required a certain level of fearlessness: the first and only full set of music performed live by Moon Bus, my band with Isaiah and James. Playing a full show in front of a crowd was (and still is) a novel experience to me, having really only done it once before with Elevate, my band with Daniel Brandt, Brent, and Andy, during our Halloween house party show. Though Isaiah, James, and I were slowly moving towards vague goals of performing or recording some music, just like the goodbyes and the meaningful conversations that were spurred by my exit from Colorado, the motivation and the courage to make a Moon Bus performance happen may not have been there had it not been for my mobilizing decision to leave town.

Not only did we play a full set including original songs and various moments of featured drums, but I also, for the first time ever (outside of a couple alcoholically lubricated group karaoke sessions), sang in front of an audience, performing a cover of “Don’t Worry Baby” by the Beach Boys. This was something that I’d fantasized about for a long time but never had the right opportunity (or the balls) to make happen. I believed in my singing abilities and God only knows how many times I practiced that song, but it took another act of fearlessness for me to push past the nerves and do it. Turning that fantasy into a reality was among my most rewarding experiences of 2023.

That whole weekend represented the “elation” phase of the fearless cycle that I’d discovered in improv class. The cycle may have been a little backwards, as this elation technically preceded the actual scary action of the move itself, but it was still a direct result of the fearless decision I’d made to move. I’d had plenty of great nights with friends leading up to this, including countless rip-roaring cocktail parties in that very house. However, there was a significance to the night and a celebratory nature that I don’t think would have been quite the same (at least not for me personally) without the context of me moving away to Austin. The weekend was an incredibly gratifying culmination of what I had achieved in CO over almost 9 years and a much-needed self-reminder of what I was capable of leading into my Austin adventure.

Once I made it to Austin (via a 13+ hour U-Haul journey, made possible thanks to Daniel Butler accompanying me for the drive), I had to lean on my word constantly as motivation to keep myself going in a city where I knew nobody and was determined to get myself out there.

I showed up at a random dance studio and took group salsa dancing classes for months. It wasn’t easy walking into a new environment and trying to learn a brand-new skill amid a community where I knew no one. A skill that involves physically connecting with other people and moving your hips, no less. But I did it.

I continued with improv. Starting over in a new theater in a new city erased the miniscule level of comfort I’d built up with the activity after trying it out in Denver and my fear levels shot back up to near-record highs. But I did it.

These activities may not have resulted in new life passions or long-lasting friendships, but through them I made some of my first connections in Austin, got consistently out and about in the city, and built further confidence in myself.

I jumped into casual dating as well. I applied the skills that I’d learned over years of grinding away on the dating apps (“eating my vegetables” as Josiah would put it) to show the women of Austin what this guy was made of. I (alongside just about everyone else on Earth who knows me well) suspected from the beginning that my heart isn’t exactly built to casually date for very long. But just like the idea of moving to a new city, it was something that I knew I’d always wonder about if I never tried it. Despite rampant fears of getting rejected, embarrassing myself, experiencing more heartbreak, or hurting others, it was something I needed to try.

In the process, I added some more notches in my belt. I confirmed my suspicion that my romantic heart and sensitive personality aren’t exactly conducive to a fulfilling causal dating life. And I got some fun stories out it. A heated text argument with a flakey Tinder girl after hours of trying to set up a date. Romance (however brief) with a British babe out at the clubs of Cannes, France. How could I ever doubt the benefits of fearlessness ever again?

I took a leap of faith with my housing, signing onto an expensive lease for a 3-bedroom house before finding any roommates to split the cost with me. I was quite particular about what I was looking for in terms of price, location, and most importantly having a space to play my drums. So, once I found a perfect match, I had to jump on it and work out the roommate details later. This was against my typical nature, especially considering I had virtually no connections in the city, but I pushed past the fear and believed in my ability to figure things out along the way. Without the courage to snag this house as soon as I saw it, I may have never secured something so perfect. But thanks to that fearless leap, today I’m renting a beautiful place where I can walk to quality bars and restaurants, scooter into the heart of downtown, bike straight to Lady Bird Lake, and wail on my drums with no reservations. Because unlike my previous neighbor, these neighbors don’t file noise complaints to my landlord. I still haven’t forgiven you, Kurt.

Speaking of sharing my musical blessings with the world, my decision to move to the "Live Music Capital of the World" has also allowed for my goal of regularly playing gigs to become more attainable than ever. I arrived in Austin with a mission to find people to play music with. Previously, I’d only ever found friends to play with serendipitously. For the first time ever, I had to figure out how the hell to search for new bandmates. Being more intentional this time required putting myself out there and trying out new things. In this quest, I found the Hideaway Jam, a weekly jam where you can sign up to perform a couple songs with a group of musicians. You can practice on your own but you won’t play with your bandmates until you’re on stage. Although maybe not as scary for me as something like improv, my heart was certainly pounding the first few times I got up on stage. I tend to like to rehearse before putting myself in a position where I can embarrass myself in front of an audience. But hey, I survived improv and I’m a hell of a better drummer than I am a comedian. Once I pushed past those nerves, it wasn’t long before the jam led me straight to a new band and right now, we’re rehearsing and hatching up a plan to score gigs around town. Pretty convenient that I moved into the largest musical playground that I’ve ever lived in before.

As fruitful as my year may have been, it’s hard not to think of what more I could have done in service of my word of the year. I could have been more aggressive with dating and socializing. If I was truly fearless, I would have struck up a conversation with any beautiful woman I wanted to talk to and or gone to more exhaustive ends to try out more activities to potentially meet more friends in Austin. But a guy can only grow so much in a single year.

If I have one specific regret regarding a lack of fearlessness in 2023, it would be never asking out Jazz, the cute girl who worked at the smoothie stand by my house. After a few fun but quick interactions, I felt some potential there and tried to build up the courage to ask her out. I went back there multiple times with the intention of asking her out, only for her to not be working that day or for the vibes to not feel right. Not finding a way to make that happen was the biggest L of my year of fearlessness.

To be fair, I could have simply done the one action of moving to Austin and that would have been something big to be proud of for the whole year. It’s worth reminding myself that multiple people (people, mind you, much more outgoing than myself) have told me that they could have never done what I did moving here by myself. And not only did I do that, but once here, I took bold actions to get myself out there, push myself out of my comfort zone, and pursue the things I wanted.

Along the way, I’ve instilled a new level of fearlessness inside myself. I’ve gotten better at trusting in myself, trying new things out, and taking more “leaps of faith”. I’ve reassured myself that I don’t need to wait to make the perfect plan (if there is such thing) before going out and doing what I want. I’ve proven that I can figure shit out along the way and I’ll be better off for it.

Fearlessness is something that I will be continually aspiring towards for the rest of my life. My journey with it doesn’t stop here. After 2023, I’m proud to say that I carry a little less fear with me than I did before. The fear that remains, will remain an adversary (and a formidable one at that) likely for the rest of my life. But thanks to this past year, I now know, more than ever, that in this battle against fear, I’ll always have the upper hand.