If it’s too much, I disappear.
If it’s still too much, I take control.
If that doesn’t work either, I disappear again.
But one day I might stay.
And listen quietly.
The initial moment is always silent.
You pay attention.
You simply are.
The space still feels safe.
Then something happens.
The noise becomes enormous.
Then a separation occurs.
Someone stays with you.
Someone else also sees you.
Duality.
Panic.
There isn’t necessarily any interaction.
Just an absence of attachment.
But they are present. With their gaze.
And that’s when everything changes.
Many people think that being seen is about self-expression.
About owning your face.
About standing on the stage.
That’s not the hard part.
The hard part is staying.
It’s easy as long as I’m the one telling the story.
As long as I’m providing the context.
As long as the interpretation is in my hands.
The risk begins
when the story detaches from me.
When others start manufacturing meaning.
When they simplify.
When misunderstandings are born.
I’m not afraid of criticism.
I’m afraid of something alive being made static.
Presence, in that moment, is not a question of courage.
And not of self-expression either.
This is neurological endurance.
To continue even when there’s no feedback.
To stay even when you don’t know what’s about to fall on you.
To remain quiet even when the narrative slips from your hands.
Maybe you don’t need to “overcome” this fear.
Maybe first you just need to know it.
Understand it.
Allow it.
When you create, there is no urgency.
No pressure to perform.
Presence is not a goal. It is a state.
Performance operates outward.
This one loads inward.
If I play a role, I get tired.
If I optimise, I lose direction.
If I start reacting to expectations, the practice breaks.
When the mind goes quiet, and the body knows what it’s doing,
you don’t have to decide about the action — or about yourself —
whether you’re good enough.
This is a state
that needs to be consecrated again and again.
In the first entry, I wrote: I’m listening.
Now I’m learning how to find my footing while I listen.
And that’s enough.
Everything begins from here.
Still listening.
Still here.
And so be it.