Huge word, right? According to google it's real. But I'll get to that. I wanted to ramble for a bit about a snake-headed dilemma called potential. When all your options lie before you, you can appreciate the beauty of potential. For instance, there are millions of people in the world, and each is a potential friend. There are millions of blank pieces of paper in the world. Beneath the white monotony of a canvas may await an otherworldly work of art waiting to spring into existence; or, in a Word document, a portal to world where our deepest hopes and fears become reality through the venue of a great story.
A world full of untouched, unknown potential is a magical place, but when a clumsy human comes along, he/she will inevitably fudge up any potential for greatness.
One embarrassment, and your crush will realize you're retarded and move onto a new, perfect mystery woman. One scuff of a paintbrush, and a decent painting is suddenly destroyed. And how can one person possibly write a story that will bring out all the emotions and wonder that have a mere potential to exist? Why not simply enjoy the fact that these things could exist, if someone greater than yourself took the trouble to bring them into existence? Um, because waiting is boring. Do it yourself.
Vacansopapurosophobia is the fear of blank pages. It's a fear of committing to one decision, because in the instant you choose one door, a million others are lost. A wall of doors might be clean and neat but eventually (hopefully) you'll realize that you are, in fact, spending your life staring at a wall. Dare to get messy, and to screw up, and to make an ass of yourself. Risk losing a friend, if it means being honest with them. Risk writing the first story in the world that will make everyone who reads it want to instantly kill themselves. Maybe the military will buy it from you and then, hey! it's not such a failure after all!