‘Your hand was up first; do you want to be a mouse?’

      All of a sudden I could picture the audience from the stage. It was like the camera in my head spun around 180 degrees. Now there were hundreds of people sitting watching me.

What if it went wrong? What if they didn't enjoy it? What if I wasn't good enough? What if no one turned up?

       ‘Everything you want is on the other side of fear.’

       —Jack Canfield

      Where were all these questions coming from?

      My wonderful feeling of unbelievable excitement turned to a much lesser wonderful feeling of unbelievable fear. I was scared, but this was not a scared I had ever felt before. This was new and I didn't like it.

      My heart started to pound. I could hear the blood passing through my ears, my chest felt like it was crunching gears and my heart was racing faster than ever before. Shaking, nausea, numbness and of course impending doom.

      I was 5. I just wanted to be a mouse, I really did. More than anything in the world, but something, something deep inside was stopping me.

      It felt like I was going to be sick. My stomach hurt. This was a horrendous feeling of what I now know to be anxiety and what I came to discover as ‘caring way too much about what people think of me.’

      Now at this moment it's important for me to be clear on something….

      There are moments in life you should absolutely care. You really should, but only about things that set your soul on fire. As a human you need to save your energy for magical moments.

‘Do you want to be a mouse?’ Miss Smart repeated.

      Again, all I could see was the audience staring back at me. All of a sudden I knew what it meant to be a worrier.

      ‘No thanks, I only put my hand up because I need to go to the toilet.’

      Everyone laughed. I can distinctly remember thinking ‘Something's wrong, something's wrong, something's wrong’ over and over again.

      My teacher stepped in….

      ‘Are you sure Gavin, you seemed awfully excited.’

      I had to get out. I repeated myself.

      ‘I only put my hand up because I need to go to the toilet.’

      ‘Ok then, on you go,’ she said as I ran out the door.

      I ran all the way to the toilet, ran into a cubicle, locked the door and burst into tears. I had never felt like this before. Five years old and I felt like my world had come to an end.

      Why was I feeling like this over a pantomime?

      Might seem a little over dramatic but to put this into a 5 year old's perspective, it was my absolute dream to be in a pantomime. I had always wanted to be in one. This was my magical moment. I had my chance and I blew it.

Because I was scared.

      Seven years of primary school passed and not once did I set foot on a stage. Not once did I volunteer for anything that involved possible public humiliation.

      That moment has stuck with me forever. I allowed the fear to get the better of me. That day affected my confidence for a very long time. It still does.

      Then came high school. By this point I knew one day I'd be on the stage. Even with all the fears and all my anxieties, I just knew.

      But, I continued to turn down every chance I had to get up and perform, I was so worried about what others might think. I didn't pick drama and no matter how much I wanted to, I didn't audition for school shows. More opportunities passed. Even reading aloud from a book in class became an issue for me. My face would turn bright red and my classmates would laugh.

      ‘Oattesie's taking a beamer,’ they would say. You'll know how much this can knock a teenager's confidence, even if done in jest.

      Every day I dreamed of being on stage, performing and entertaining for hundreds (maybe thousands one day) of people in a theatre. It was the first thing I thought of in the morning and the last thing at night.

      By 15 years of age, I was obsessed with comedy. Stand‐up comedy, comedy films, TV shows, books, basically anything that was really silly and made me laugh. I would sit in my room at night writing comedy sketches, filling notebook after notebook with all the nonsense stored in my brain.

Maybe one day I would get to share this nonsense with the world.

      Just one problem. I was still terrified by the thought of being on stage.

Navel‐Gazing

      I reckon people are a bit like belly buttons. Some of us are introverts (innies), some of us are extroverts (outies) and some are somewhere in the middle (inbetweenies).

      It doesn't matter who you are, where you're from or what anyone else thinks of you. You are allowed to believe in you. You are allowed to be confident in you. You are allowed to step out of your comfort zone and when you spot an opportunity that looks and feels right, grab on with two hands, keep your feet on the ground and run as fast as you can.

      If you don't then one day you might just look back and wonder, what if?

      Just one thing. You are also allowed to be scared. It's normal.

      So to the Innies, Outies and Inbetweenies, all of you, you're all wonderful. And beautiful. And weird. And magical.

      Yeah, all of you.

      Life goes by in a blur. We need to stop the navel‐gazing and go make things happen.

I can remember teachers at school telling me to get my head out of the clouds. I think children should be encouraged to get their heads back in the clouds. Teenagers need to get their heads back in the clouds too, I need to get my head back in the clouds and the chances are you need to get your head back in the clouds. And start dreaming again. Like, proper dreaming, not sleep dreams. Actual proper big dreams that excite you and get your heart racing. The kind of thing that gets you out of bed with an extra spring in your step.

      The problem most of us have in achieving our dreams is our thinking. Our thinking helps

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