This morning I read this on PostSecret:
Today I made a list of my fears. It wasn’t as long as I thought it would be. — an anonymous postcard from PostSecret today
Fear’s a tricky thing: some fear is there for a good reason, and it’s as if all the rest of our fear — our insecurities, our denials of self or others, our defensiveness, the way we turn from risk or adventure — piggybacks onto it. As if the fact that there are some things to be afraid of in the world makes it reasonable to be afraid of everything. Fear makes us think that everything will kill us in some way. And our culture makes us think that being afraid of anything makes us weak and wimpy and…. well, there are very few positive words.
Talk about a no-win situation. But here’s my take on it. Running away from someone trying to harm you = Good. Running away from our personal fears, in my experience = Fear Grows Bigger Teeth, Bites Harder, Rules Me More. But when I let that happen — when I let fear bite me in the ass — that doesn’t make me weak. It just makes me a person who is so scared right now that I put myself in a box to “keep myself safe.” And there’s nothing at all wrong with being safe. But it turns out that I can’t have all the things I want if I’m safely in the box, and so, as with everything else, I have to choose.
I’m not sure we always have to tackle fear head-on — we don’t always need that kind of stress, you know? — but I think it’s good to look it square in the eye and say I see you there. For me, knowing what I’m really afraid of at least lets me choose whether to take it on, as opposed to finding myself blinking in a box wondering how the hell did I get here?
I hope that person’s list was really short, and I hope the things on it are all things that will make her shake her head and say, okay, I can live with that, and then drop her box in the recycling bin on her way out the door.
Fear make you alert. Fear makes attentive. Fear creates eyes in the back of your head. Fear also isolates you. I built a strong high wall to keep my fears away. Then I discovered I couldn’t climb over it. I had to tear it down and stand shivering and reaching out a hand.
I agree, fear is at tricky thing. Knowing when I am acting out of fear it not always obvious on the surface.
That primal fear that we are instilled with is trying to protect me from things it thinks are bad for my survival, but it is not a rational part of me; it doesnât have time for that â it was meant to help me react instantly for self preservation. My subconscious often misinterprets things which are hard for me to do â things which are merely outside my comfort zone â as something that threatens my very survival. Sometimes when I donât want to do something I come up with what seem like perfectly valid (and often are sensible) reasons for not doing the thing, but if I examine it further, I realize that fear is what is holding me back. Yes, there may be risk involved, but what I have to determine is whether the risk is worth the reward. As you said Kelley, once I recognize that fear for what it is, then I can decide. And usually I can go ahead and move through that fear, or step the long way around it – maybe not immediately – but soon enough. And sometimes I may have to reach out a hand to help me get through it.
A lot of the walls I learned to build as a kid trying to survive became habit. I break through them, but I turn around, and itâs all built up again. It has taken me a lot of repetition to change some of those survival habits. Plus, there is that trust thing you mentioned yesterday, Kelley. Nowadays, I have a lot more trust that Iâll be ok, and that someone will probably take my hand if I reach out, no matter which way the chips fall.
I followed the link and read the first few pages of the book. Hm, it sounded like so many situations I used to get myself into (and obviously out of, since I’m still here) when I was in my teens. I used to hitchhike a lot in a country where you just don’t hitchhike. I walked around at night in neighborhoods were people lock themselves up as soon as it starts getting dark. I’d engage in conversations with strangers and if they invited me to a party, I’d go. There’s so many horror anecdotes stored in my memory from those years. I’d say at least half of the friends I had growing up got raped. Maybe we just were desensitized to the point where the violence around us became “normal”.
Even now, there aren’t many situations that make us feel genuinely threatened. There’s a street in Vancouver where all the junkies are shooting up heroin right there on the sidewalks. We feel rather safe there, too. We don’t feel like anyone is going to hold a knife to our throats, not the way they would in certain places back where we grew up. They are just doing their thing. But a lot of our Vancouverite colleagues avoid that area. I have friends who live around Hastings Street (that’s the one) and sometimes I walk them home. The other day I saw a woman who had too many grocery bags (yeah, like in the opening story in De Becker’s book) and I offered to help, walked her home and then she invited me in for a popsicle. It was a hot day, so I said, “sure” and had a popsicle sitting at her kitchen table. Good thing none of us was a homicidal psychopath.
Today, reading this post, the comments and De Becker, from the safety of home I finally feel what must be fear stirring in my gut. Fear for who we (me, my wife, my growing-up friends) were in the past. It’s really strange. I’ve been told many times I’m too trusting. I figured I could always start off trusting people and if things crashed and burned, oh well… too bad. But, wow, it’s not really smart, is it?
Oh, I know what I’m afraid of. Dogs and bears. Maybe I can start picturing strangers in a bear suit. Yeah, I think this Christmas I’m going to ask for a box of fear, the kind Gavin De Becker describes as a gift. It may be a lifesaver.
As for comfort zones… I live in a neighborhood where most people are straight, white, middle-class and middle-aged. I’m a dark-skinned immigrant in a same-sex marriage. I attend classes with people who are 20-30 years older than me, also other courses where everyone is 10 years younger. I’m ESL in an academic program where the student’s command of English is expected to be above average for a native speaker. I like the experience of moving to a place where I don’t know anyone and where I’ve never been before. This has been helpful, it’s allowed me to experience many things that made me feel very happy, sometimes very sad, but always very alive. Now I realize I must learn to balance this with some serious survival skills.
my biggest fear is that I’ll never be loved, but I’ll convince myself that I am, when the truth is I’ve settled because it is better than being alone. Everything spirals out from there.
@ karina — Fear is a gift when it tells us the truth about our situation. When we listen to our intuition, it can save our lives. You’re still alive, so I assume that you’ve been listening to yours. Perhaps you are so attuned to the cues around you that you simply do not find yourself in real danger most of the time. Only you can say what the truth it.
I once went back to a stranger’s fourth floor walkup apartment after a chance meeting in a McDonald’s restaurant, because he was a photographer and asked me to come look at his work. I’m not stupid, and I don’t trust strangers easily at all. But I went, looked, left amicably after half an hour, and never was afraid. Was that Right? Wrong? Stupid? Who knows? I’m still here. I worked in downtown Chicago until after midnight most days, for years, and took the El and walked several blocks home. And the one thing I always trusted was that if I thought someone was being weird, then he was being weird. Did I save myself from danger by doing that? I will never know. And that’s fine with me.
I guess what I’m saying is that fear is a gift, but not the gift that should keep on giving (grin). Trusting intuition is not the same as “living in fear.” Not that you’re that’s your plan — balance, you said. I guess I just want to, I don’t know, wave the flag from my little corner of the world in support.
@ Anonymous — That’s a hard fear, and one that I have felt before.
I’ve been alone, and I’ve “settled,” and now I am with someone who truly loves me. And I can honestly say that of the first two, I was most lonely was when I “settled.” If that ever happens to you, I expect you’ll know soon enough. And nothing is ever so settled that it cannot be undone.
And of course it depends on what you mean by love. There are so many kinds. Some of them are less permanent, or less comprehensive, but I’m not sure that makes them less real. Of course, that’s something we all get to decide for ourselves.
I apologize if I’m trespassing, since you didn’t actually ask for my input. But it seems wrong to sit here behind the screen and not speak to such honesty when I find it on my virtual doorstep.
I’m still afraid of dogs and bears, but I have an update. I woke up from a nightmare this morning and discovered a new fear. I’m afraid of looking like The Sandman‘s Mazikeen. If that meant I’d also become a demon and Lucifer’s lover and a strong warrior and all the powers of Hell were to be transferred to my person, I guess it would be okay. But if I only get the face, I think I’ll be in trouble.