Robert Howard was a nerdy little fellow out in Cross Plains, Texas that was borderline schizophrenic. He lived in his own world with no friends. He did not marry and he lived with his mother. He did odd jobs and didn’t relate well to people. When his mother (who was the only friend he’d ever had) died, Robert took his own life.
When relatives went through his meager possessions, they found great bundles of writing. And in his writing Robert had erected his own personal world. In that world little Robert Howard was a different fellow. He was no longer a frightened little nerd from Cross Plains, Texas. Instead, he was a bold, strong, handsome adventurer who did not live confined with his mother. He knew no fear. He was loved by women, revered by men; the master of his domain.
Except in the stories, the hero's name wasn't Robert, instead it was Robert's alter ego: Conan the Barbarian. His relatives published his works because they found them so interesting and now his estate is in the multi-millions. Yet Robert never enjoyed any of it, because he was scared and stayed in his house.
At the end of my life, when I stand before God, I don't want to be like Robert Howard. I don't want to have let fear get in the way of experiencing the blessings of the life I could have had, if only I had been fearless enough to trust God. I don't want to miss out on the joys of the roller coaster at the center of the theme park because I was content to ride the "granny train" around the perimeter.