We all have fears. Some are easy to name: changing careers, ending a relationship, moving somewhere new or starting again.
Others are so small that we barely recognise them as fear. They appear as hesitation, avoidance or a quiet preference for what feels familiar.
I believe our response to fear can be practised. We can strengthen it in ordinary moments, long before we need it for a life-changing decision.
For me, that practice sometimes begins in the vegetable aisle.
Changing the order
When I used to plan a meal, I started with the meat.
Chicken, perhaps. Or fish. Once I had chosen the main event, I would find a vegetable to serve alongside it. The vegetable was necessary, but rarely exciting. It was the sensible part of the meal, included because I knew I should eat it.
This made vegetables feel like an obligation before I had even cooked them.
So I changed the order.
Now, when I shop for groceries, I begin with the vegetables. I look at what is fresh, colourful or unfamiliar. I might choose aubergine, tenderstem broccoli, mushrooms or a bunch of greens I have never cooked before.
Only then do I ask: what would go well with this?
Instead of choosing broccoli to accompany a piece of salmon, I choose salmon because it will work with the broccoli I want to cook. Sometimes the vegetable becomes the highlight of the meal.
The ingredients have barely changed. What has changed is the attention I give them.
The habits underneath our choices
This small experiment made me think about how many of our choices are determined by habit.
We repeat the same order because it feels natural. We reach for what we already know. We give one thing the starring role and treat everything else as an afterthought.
Eventually, we stop noticing that another choice is available.
Fear often works in a similar way.
We imagine fear as panic in the face of something enormous. But it can also be the brief discomfort of doing something differently. It is the resistance we feel when we interrupt a routine, try an unfamiliar ingredient, speak when we would normally stay quiet or choose what we actually want.
The action itself may be small. What we are practising is much bigger: noticing the automatic response and deciding whether we still want to follow it.
Practising discomfort when the stakes are low
Choosing vegetables first will not make a major fear disappear. But it gives me a low-stakes opportunity to practise changing a familiar pattern.
I can choose something unfamiliar and work out what to do with it.
I can discover that a different approach may produce a better result.
Each experience becomes evidence that discomfort is manageable. I do not have to feel completely confident before trying something new. I can act, adjust and learn as I go.
This matters because the bigger fears in life rarely arrive with a detailed set of instructions. We may have to make a decision without knowing exactly how it will turn out. If we always avoid uncertainty in everyday life, facing it during a major transition can feel overwhelming.
Small acts of courage give us somewhere to begin.
Fear does not have to leave first
“Practice makes perfect” is often associated with learning a practical skill. We practise playing an instrument, speaking another language or preparing a new recipe.
I think courage benefits from practice too.
The goal is not to become fearless. Fear can remain present while we build a different response to it. We can learn to recognise it, make space for the discomfort and still take the next step.
That practice can happen in ordinary ways:
- Taking a different route instead of following the familiar one
- Trying a class where we know no one
- Sharing an unfinished idea
- Asking a question we usually keep to ourselves
- Cooking with an ingredient we have always avoided
- Saying yes to something that interests us before we feel fully ready
None of these acts guarantees that the experience will go well. That is part of the lesson. We discover that an imperfect result is something we can handle too.
Start with one small reversal
My vegetable-first rule has changed the way I eat. Vegetables feel less like the boring part of a meal and more like something worth looking forward to. I experiment more, pay closer attention to flavour and enjoy the food I once ate mainly out of duty.
At the same time, I am practising a useful habit: questioning the order I have always followed.
That is where many changes begin. We notice a pattern. We interrupt it. Then we make a more deliberate choice.
If there is a fear you want to face, you may not need to begin with the biggest possible act of bravery.
Find one small, safe place where you can practise choosing differently. Let yourself feel the resistance. Then act anyway.
Sometimes courage begins with a major decision.
Sometimes it begins with the vegetables.