When I was a teenager, I played baseball—and I wasn’t bad—but I was that kid in right field always thinking, “God, please don’t let them hit the ball to me.”

You could call that performance anxiety. I didn’t want to let my friends, my family, or my team down. It was a neighborhood team, and I was sure I’d mess up somehow.

I lived like that in pressure situations for a long time. I had fear—fear of failure. Until one day, at 19, I got a job cleaning up a recording studio. I loved music, but I had no real options outside of my neighborhood. Through a cousin’s friend, I got my foot in the door—starting at the very bottom.

That first job was actually unpaid. I worked a second job at a clothing store just to cover my bills while learning the ropes in the studio. Over time, I found something I felt comfortable doing. That fear I used to feel every day began to turn into energy and excitement.

Somehow I was lucky enough that my boss assigned me to a John Lennon album. Over the next two years, I worked my way up from setting up the studio, making tea, and doing whatever I could to becoming his recording engineer.

One day, I was setting up a mix when Lennon’s assistant asked, “Jimmy, can you get us two teas?” John looked up and said, “Hang on—if you can make it sound like that, he’ll get the tea.

But I know you can’t. So, Jimmy, finish what you’re doing.” That was the first time I ever mixed a record that ended up on an album.

That was the beginning of turning fear from a headwind into a tailwind. If you can learn to harness your fear—to let it push you forward instead of holding you back—it’s incredibly powerful.

Fear is a powerful thing. If you push through it, you start to build it like a muscle. Eventually, you can use it—not to paralyze you—but to fuel you.