A Halloween story about fear of change, the masks that let us move, and the body coming with us.
Imagine a house that has been keeping everything you postponed.
You arrive after dark. The porch light works, although something inside it has been dead for a very long time.
A bass line travels through the soles of your shoes. Behind an upstairs window, a figure moves away from the curtain.
The door opens before you knock.
Inside, the hallway smells of dust, warm electrical equipment, and the crayons you used before you learned to ask whether you were any good.
Your old sketchbook lies on a table. Someone has opened it to a blank page and sharpened every pencil.
That is considerably more disturbing than a severed head. You know what to do with a severed head. You leave and call somebody.
A blank page requires a decision.
Farther down the hall, a microphone waits beside a glass of water. Through another door, people are gathering for something you said you wanted to lead. Your name is on the announcement.
You check your phone. There must be an email that needs answering. Perhaps the whole enterprise should wait until you have reorganized your files.
Your hand has tightened around the phone. You can feel your pulse where your collar touches your neck. The rooms contain things you want, which makes it difficult to explain why you are considering the bathroom window.
Then you find the breakroom.
A man in Juggalo face paint is pouring coffee. The purple-and-teal décor suggests that 1987 survived here by feeding on subsequent decades.
Cockroaches are conducting business on the sugar bowl. Above the counter, a mountain glows beneath a motivational instruction: LETTING THAT SHIT GO.
The man looks up. “Coffee?”
You decline the sugar.
When fear of change arrives wearing your future
Some thresholds look ordinary. You open the sketchbook, attend the audition, offer the service, or let somebody hear what you have been making.
From a distance, very little appears to happen. Inside the person doing it, the occasion can feel crowded with consequences.
For an adult who learned early to stay small, a wanted opportunity may come with questions other people never hear:
- How much room am I allowed?
- What happens if I enjoy this?
- Will I be able to stop?
- What if I am good at it and people begin expecting more?
The prospect of success can include a frightening amount of work. So can the possibility of being disappointed. You may want the experience while doubting your ability to carry everything that comes with it.
That is where TUNE UP: Who’s Driving This Thing? enters this story. I wrote it for capable people who want to understand what pressure costs them and build capacity for the lives they are trying to lead. It connects bodily stress, recovery, decision-making, and leadership through a practical framework for sustainable performance.
You can desire a larger life and still require support for the body that will live it. The book’s exercises, audits, and protocols are there to help you examine that relationship.
EMBODY · EXPAND
TUNE UP
Who’s Driving This Thing?
You can want a bigger life and still need support for the body that will live it. TUNE UP connects stress, recovery, decision-making, and leadership in a practical somatic systems manual. Its exercises, audits, and protocols help you examine what pressure costs—and build capacity for what comes next.
Now, about the juggalo in the breakroom. There is a reason he belongs in this house.