<p>“Alec, we need to come up with a bigger and better idea for an event in April, this needs to be game-changing,” declared David as he mercilessly wiped off the alternatives from the dry erase board with his hands. We had been stuck in the humid board room for hours, sorting through countless ideas, and constantly zoning out in space as we waited for the “eureka” moment. Our hands were stained with various colored markers, a tell tale sign of the mental exhaustion we were all experiencing; crumpled balls of paper were scattered around the room, dotting the floor with consistent reminders of our mistakes. But then something struck me; as I focused on the vibrant purple on the dry-erase board, my pupils widened, and all the pieces seemed to come together. I jumped out of my seat and broke the silence, “Guys! Purple Haze, a black-light party in a 3-story apartment in downtown Columbus!” David rose from his recumbent position as his eyes transformed from glazed over mindlessness to a promising shade of excitement. Alec, however, was frightened, “I think this will be a total catastrophe,” but I just shrugged him off. </p>
<p>As days drew closer to our sold-out event, I became more stressed and concerned with the possibility of running this event unsuccessfully. Since we had only two DJs and a basic lighting system, my responsibility to successfully entertain all 600 partygoers seemed daunting. Fear washed over my entirety, driving into my veins and consuming my thoughts. My concerns of this hefty responsibility began to distract me in school from class discussions and presentations. Instead of working on homework, I nervously flipped through my strategic event proposal, trying to subdue the anxiety for my role in this event. However, it only deepened my anxious thought of inevitable failure. The more paranoid I grew the more my mind hindered me with self-doubts: If I don’t successfully entertain these teenagers, my reputation would be at risk; the liability of entertaining teenagers is frightening, especially if people critically injure themselves.</p>
<p>Nights were the most difficult times; my fears of failing to control the crowd began to terrorize me, as I visualized the rowdy partygoers ruining the venue; table and chairs demolished into pieces, glass doors and windows shattered, and handles wrenched from the stairwell.Not only was I worrisome about the state of the venue, but I also considered this a step towards my future; to be successful now meant to be successful later on. Some nights, I woke up trembling and drenched with cold sweat, from these formidable thoughts of terror. </p>
<p>Then the morning two days before the event, my fears became realistic. I received a seemingly normal phone call. Assuming it was a ticket buyer, “Again, we are completely sold out, no more tickets!” However, I was wrong; the man on the other line demanded me to cancel the event within twenty-four hours, all my doubts, fears, and worries of failing to host Purple transformed from bothersome thoughts into a harsh, confusing reality. Earlier, the zoning officer of Columbus stated that if I failed to comply, we were subject to fines and liability issues for damages. I reluctantly agreed.</p>
<p>I sat at my desk and stared at my phone for hours, ready to call the venue owner to cancel the event. I reluctantly dragged my sweaty hand over to the phone, hesitantly pressed the numbers, but couldn’t summon my strength to press, “dial”. The consequences of cancelling the event overwhelmed me: the dismay of my friends and supporters, my tainted reputation, the trouble of refunding thousands of dollars. I simply couldn’t confront the disappointed students who would realize that the event had been called off. I just can’t.</p>
<p>My eyes lifted and I found myself staring long and hard at the Purple Haze banner that dominated over my room. I felt a heat wave over my body, knots in my stomach, as disturbed thoughts of failure to host Purple Haze started to plague my mind again. Purple Haze could be disastrous; attendees could critically injure themselves, and the liability issues I could face would not only ruin my high school career, but also ruin my relationship with my family, friends, and my future. But I peered over at the large handsome Purple Haze banner again, its bright colors mocking at my hesitance. I’ve worked too hard to give up. After weeks of laborious meetings, countless aggressive marketing campaigns, sacrificing my time and energy for this event, and with 600 sold tickets, I knew I had to trust my gut, pursue this important endeavor and not let the limitations and fears hinder the full potential of this event. I jolted my hand and took the phone—turned it off. </p>
<p>As the evening sun faded into the foggy damp spring night, hundreds of cars started entering the parking lot, and clusters of people, dressed in neon bright colors, started walking over to the venue. I pushed through the balcony doors and peered over the balcony, scanning across the sea of fluorescent colors. As the music swelled over me, and the purple haze illuminated my clothes, I gazed at the blissful crowd of students and began to smile. I never felt this way before. My decision to ignore the zoning officer and the worst scenarios was audacious. But I took a breath and chose to believe in myself, believe in Purple Haze, and believe in the power of taking a deserved risk.</p>