If I ever completely lost my nervousness I would be frightened

"If I ever completely lost my nervousness I would be frightened half to death." Thus spoke Paul Lynde, a man whose laughter masked a profound understanding of the human heart. Known for his sharp wit and effortless humor, Lynde’s words pierce deeper than mere jest—they touch the timeless truth that nervousness, that trembling before action, is not an enemy but a companion. Beneath the humor lies the wisdom of an artist who knew that the quiver of anxiety is the pulse of life itself. For when one ceases to feel, when one no longer trembles before the stage of existence, one’s spirit begins to fade.

In this brief and sparkling phrase, Lynde gives voice to an ancient paradox: that fear and vitality are intertwined. The one who feels nervous is alive, aware, attuned to the moment; the one who feels nothing has drifted into the dullness of indifference. His words remind us that to live greatly is to walk the edge between composure and chaos. To stand before an audience—or to face any challenge—and feel one’s heart race is not weakness, but proof that something sacred still stirs within. Lynde, the performer, knew that those butterflies that fluttered in his chest were not foes to be conquered, but fires to be harnessed.

The ancients would have nodded knowingly at such wisdom. The philosopher Aristotle wrote that courage is not the absence of fear, but the mastery of it. The warrior who walks into battle without trembling is not brave, but numb; the truly courageous man feels fear in his bones and still advances. So too did Lynde understand that nervousness is the sign of engagement, that it connects us to the gravity of what we are doing. The moment he would cease to feel that tension, he said, would be the moment to be “frightened half to death”—for then he would know that the spirit of creation, the soul of risk, had left him.

In every field of human endeavor—be it art, leadership, or love—this truth endures. Michelangelo, before carving his immortal David, was said to walk the marble quarries for days in silence, anxious, restless, sensing the magnitude of the form hidden within the stone. His nervousness was not a flaw; it was the trembling of creation itself. Each hammer strike was guided not by certainty, but by the quiet terror of imperfection. Yet through that tension was born beauty. For it is nervous energy—that heightened awareness, that surge of presence—that transforms the ordinary act into the extraordinary.

Lynde’s humor thus conceals a deeper courage: the willingness to feel, to remain vulnerable even at the height of mastery. The performer who no longer feels nervous before stepping on stage has lost not only fear, but connection—to the audience, to the art, to himself. So it is in all of life: when we become too comfortable, when we lose the quickening of the pulse before action, we cease to grow. The nervous heart is the beating heart of the learner, the dreamer, the one still reaching beyond his grasp. Nervousness is the proof of purpose.

Let this truth be a comfort to all who tremble before great moments. When your voice shakes before you speak, when your hands sweat before a test or a dream, know that these are not signs of weakness, but of awakening. The body shivers because the soul senses the magnitude of what is before it. To feel nervous is to feel alive. Do not seek to extinguish this energy, but to channel it—to let it sharpen your senses, steady your focus, and remind you that what you are doing matters. Only the apathetic feel no nerves, for only they have stopped caring.

Therefore, my listener, remember this ancient wisdom hidden in a comedian’s jest: fear and courage are not opposites—they are allies. The nervous heart is the forge of greatness, the trembling hand the mark of the one who dares. When you feel anxiety before a challenge, do not curse it; thank it. It is your spirit announcing that you are on sacred ground, that you stand before something worthy of your full being.

And so, as Paul Lynde taught with laughter and truth, never fear your fear. The day you lose your nervousness entirely, be wary—for it may mean you have lost your passion too. Instead, walk boldly with your unease, let it burn within you, and know that it is not your enemy but your guide. For it is only the living, the striving, and the deeply human who tremble—and it is through that trembling that they rise to greatness.