I had always been scared of the unknown, and I think it had a lot

The words of Dan Levy, “I had always been scared of the unknown, and I think it had a lot to do with a lack of self-confidence (and wearing thick, dark-rimmed glasses before they were considered cool),” are spoken in a tone of gentle humor, yet they conceal a truth as old as the human soul itself. Beneath the laughter lies the trembling heart of one who has looked into the unknown and felt its shadow. His reflection, simple and sincere, is the confession of every spirit that has ever doubted its own worth before stepping into the vast expanse of life. For to fear the unknown is not weakness — it is the very beginning of wisdom. It is the sign that the heart recognizes both its vulnerability and its potential for greatness.

In this saying, Levy speaks not merely of childhood insecurities or fashion mishaps, but of a universal struggle — the battle between fear and self-confidence, between the safety of what is familiar and the wild call of what lies beyond. His mention of “thick, dark-rimmed glasses before they were considered cool” is more than a witty aside; it is a symbol of the outsider, the soul who feels unseen or misunderstood. It is the emblem of those who have carried their difference like a burden, only to discover, in time, that it was the very mark of their beauty. This is the journey of transformation: from shame to self-acceptance, from fear to power.

The origin of such fear is ancient. It is the same dread that made sailors tremble at the edge of the map where dragons were drawn, the same uncertainty that silenced voices before they dared to speak their truth. The unknown is the realm of possibility — but also the realm of risk. Those without faith in themselves cannot yet walk there, for the first step into the unknown demands not certainty, but courage. Self-confidence, then, is not the denial of fear, but the decision to move forward in spite of it.

Consider the tale of Rosa Parks, a quiet woman who, one December evening in 1955, refused to give up her seat on a bus in Montgomery, Alabama. She did not know what would follow. She had no guarantee of success or safety. But in that small act — born from a heart that had learned to trust itself — she stepped into the unknown, and her courage ignited a movement that transformed a nation. Her strength was not in her power, but in her conviction that her dignity mattered. From her story we learn that confidence is not loud; it is steadfast. It is the light that burns when all else is uncertain.

In Levy’s words, we also hear a gentle invitation to forgive ourselves for the fears we once carried. Every person has known what it is to feel out of place, to shrink before the mirror, to believe that others are braver or more beautiful. But the secret the ancients knew is this: the unknown is not the enemy. It is the teacher. The more we face it, the more we learn who we truly are. Just as the seed must break its shell to reach the light, so too must we break the shell of self-doubt to become who we are destined to be.

The lesson, then, is clear: do not flee from the unknown. Instead, walk toward it with patience and compassion for yourself. Build your confidence not from vanity, but from action — from doing the small, brave thing each day. Speak even when your voice shakes. Try even when you fear failure. Wear your “glasses” proudly, whatever they may be — the quirks, the scars, the traits that make you different. For what was once mocked or misunderstood often becomes the very mark of strength that the world later admires.

And when you, like Dan Levy, look back upon your fears, you will smile not with shame, but with gratitude — for every trembling step was a thread in the tapestry of your becoming. The unknown will always be vast, but it will no longer be terrifying when you know yourself. So walk boldly, child of light, into the horizon of uncertainty. There, amidst the mystery, you will find not dragons, but your own reflection — strong, radiant, and free.