I went through a long period where I was afraid of doing things I

“I went through a long period where I was afraid of doing things I wanted to do, and you get your courage back, which is what’s important.” Thus spoke George Michael, the singer whose voice once rose like a hymn from the heart of human longing. His words, though simple, carry the weight of a soul that has walked through shadow and found its way back to light. They are not merely the confession of an artist—they are a truth as old as time: that fear is the thief of destiny, and courage the key that reopens the gate to life itself.

There comes a season in every human journey when the spirit falters. The fire that once blazed within us flickers low. Doubt whispers its poison, and we begin to fear the very dreams that once gave us life. George Michael, who knew both glory and sorrow, spoke of such a time. Fame had crowned him, yet the crown grew heavy. His heart, once bold and unashamed, trembled beneath judgment, loss, and the cruel weight of expectation. He ceased to do the things he wanted, not for lack of desire, but for fear—fear of failure, of rejection, of being seen too truly. And yet, even in that darkness, he discovered the sacred truth: that one can reclaim one’s courage, and with it, the power to live again.

So too did the ancients teach that the soul is not broken by fear, but tempered by it. The hero is not born brave; he becomes so by walking through the valley of his own trembling. Courage is not the absence of fear—it is the triumph over it. It is the divine spark that remains when all else seems lost. Think of Odysseus, weary and far from home, facing storms, monsters, and the endless sea. Many times he longed to yield to despair, yet he pressed onward. Each trial stripped away his illusions, until all that was left was the stubborn flame of will—the same flame that George Michael spoke of: the courage one rediscovers after fear has done its worst.

There is a quiet heroism in this rediscovery. It is not the loud courage of battle, but the silent one of rising each morning to face the self. Many who fall into fear never rise again, for they mistake weakness for identity. But those who rise—those who say, “Though I am afraid, I will begin again”—become radiant as the dawn. Getting one’s courage back is not a single act, but a series of small, defiant choices: to speak when silence is easier, to try again after failure, to dream after heartbreak.

Consider the story of Eleanor Roosevelt, who in her youth was painfully shy and filled with self-doubt. When her husband was stricken with illness, and the burden of leadership fell upon her, she did not run from it. Step by trembling step, she transformed fear into power. “You gain strength, courage, and confidence,” she once said, “by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face.” Like George Michael, she too walked through a long period of fear—and emerged shining, because she dared to meet herself in the dark.

The ancients would say that courage is the breath of the gods in mortal form. It is the music of the soul that cannot be silenced, even when the world grows cruel. When George Michael found his courage again, he found not only his art but his freedom—the freedom to be himself, to live as his heart commanded, unashamed and unbroken. This, then, is the teaching hidden in his words: that fear is temporary, but the soul’s longing is eternal. And when we reclaim our courage, we restore harmony between who we are and who we were meant to be.

Let the lesson be clear, O listeners of the future: do not wait for courage to come as a gift. Forge it daily in the furnace of your will. Begin with small acts—speak your truth, take the step you have long delayed, rekindle the fire of a forgotten dream. Each act of bravery feeds the next, until courage becomes your nature. Fear may visit again, as it always does, but it will no longer command your life.

So when your heart trembles and your hands grow still, remember the voice of George Michael, gentle yet fierce: “You get your courage back.” This is the rhythm of life—the fall and the rise, the silence and the song. Lose your courage, if you must, for all mortals do—but find it again, and the world will open before you, vast and shining, as if the gods themselves had parted the clouds to welcome you home.