I do get scared, but I think - like it says in another book I've

The artist and dreamer Geri Halliwell, whose voice once echoed across the world as part of a cultural revolution, once confessed with striking humility: “I do get scared, but I think—like it says in another book I’ve read—feel the fear and do it anyway. I try to have courage, pray a little bit and work through it. I’d rather try, even if I fail.” These words, spoken with honesty and grace, carry the ancient heartbeat of the human spirit—the eternal dance between fear and courage, between hesitation and action. In them lies not the voice of a pop star alone, but of a soul wrestling with life’s most sacred challenge: to act despite trembling.

The origin of this insight is both personal and universal. Halliwell, who rose from humble beginnings to international fame, knew the weight of public judgment and the loneliness that often hides behind success. Her journey was not paved with certainty, but with leaps into the unknown—leaving home, pursuing music, daring to dream beyond her station. She had seen both triumph and collapse, the light of adoration and the shadow of doubt. From this battlefield of emotion, she learned that courage does not mean the absence of fear. It means standing face to face with it, praying for strength, and moving forward anyway. For she had discovered what every warrior, artist, and saint eventually learns: that only by walking through fear can one reach freedom.

When Halliwell speaks of feeling the fear and doing it anyway, she echoes an ancient law written into the heart of humanity. Every generation has known it, from the heroes of legend to the ordinary souls who rise each morning to confront their own private battles. The philosopher Aristotle once said that the brave person is not fearless, but one who fears the right things in the right way. Even Alexander the Great, whose name became a symbol of might, trembled before battle. Yet he understood that fear is the servant of greatness—it warns us of danger, but must never rule us. Courage is not the absence of fear, but the mastery of it, the will to act when every instinct cries for retreat.

Consider the tale of Joan of Arc, the young peasant girl who, like Halliwell, believed that divine purpose could be stronger than human fear. When she stood before kings and armies, she too prayed, trembling, but she did not turn away. She felt her fear as fire, not as chains. Her courage was not born of arrogance, but of faith—the same quiet strength that Halliwell invokes when she says she “prays a little bit and works through it.” Both women remind us that courage is sustained not only by will, but by something greater than ourselves: a trust in the unseen, a belief that purpose is stronger than pain.

Halliwell’s final words—“I’d rather try, even if I fail”—are the crown of her statement, and they shine with timeless wisdom. For to try, even when afraid, is to live; to avoid failure at all costs is to die before one’s time. The ancients knew this truth as well. The poet Homer wrote that the gods favor those who act boldly, for in daring there is creation. Every step forward, even when uncertain, breaks the spell of stagnation. To fail with courage is nobler than to succeed through avoidance, for failure teaches, humbles, and purifies the soul. As the old saying goes, “Fortune favors the brave”—but only because the brave are the ones who dare to meet her gaze.

There is also deep tenderness in Halliwell’s admission that she “prays a little bit.” In those few words lies the wisdom of the ancients: the acknowledgment that human strength, though powerful, is not infinite. Even the mightiest need to bow their heads and draw upon something higher—the divine, the universal, the sacred spark within. To pray, whether to God, to life, or to one’s own higher self, is to remember that we are never alone in our struggles. It is to align our fragile human will with the eternal rhythm of courage that moves through all creation.

So, my child, take this wisdom into your heart. When fear arises—as it surely will—do not curse it. Feel it. Name it. Then move forward anyway. Say a prayer, however small, for strength, and take the next step. For every act of courage, no matter how humble, becomes a thread in the grand tapestry of human greatness. Whether you succeed or fail matters less than whether you dared to try. The hero, the artist, the believer—all are born in that single moment when fear is met with action.

Thus, the words of Geri Halliwell endure as a gentle but powerful reminder: that to live fully is to walk with fear, not to run from it; to act with trembling hands but steadfast heart. For the soul that dares, even in the face of failure, will never truly fall. It will rise, again and again, on the wings of courage, and in its rising, it will teach the world that bravery is not found in fearlessness—but in the beautiful, trembling act of trying.