Moving Fearward

Fear is. The sooner we learn that, the better.

Sometimes it looms and sometimes it lurks, but it’s always around, and that’s really not such a bad thing.

Fear, after all, keeps us from blindly driving off the cliff, running into the fire, and diving headfirst into the pool of crocodiles. It’s there for a reason.

The only trouble with fear is that it’s not always reasonable. It can’t distinguish a good risk from a bad one. Its only cry is danger. It knows nothing of rewards.

That’s why it sometimes tries to protect us from the things we most desire. It stands guard at the door to our dreams, telling us how foolish we would be to enter.

“You’re not ready for this,” it warns us, “You’re in over your head.”

And so it keeps us from trying. “You’re just going to get hurt.” it tells us.

It keeps us from participating. “You won’t be welcome there. They’ll eat you alive.”

It keeps us from expanding. “Stick to what you know. Stay within your niche. Don’t stray out. It’s so much safer here.”

If we listen, do what fear tells us to do, and avoid what it tells us not to, then, for a time, we do feel safe. We avoid danger.

But we also avoid challenge and we miss out on growth and we get stuck in the mire of what could have been and feel as if we’re half the person we want to be.

Fear once told me to give up on writing. “It’s a pipe dream,” it told me, “You’ll write and you’ll write and no one will care. No one will read it, and you’ll never earn a dime.”

But my fear didn’t know what desire suspected, namely that writing could be a way to help me clarify my interests, discover what I felt, find out what I thought, and make a little sense of the world.

Desire was right, and fear, as it turns out, has only been one for three thus far. There are people who do care and people who do read what I write and I even have reason to believe that one day I will earn that dime.

To find all that out, I had to move fearward.

Ignoring it didn’t work. It only grew louder.

Running away didn’t work. It chased after me.

I had to acknowledge it, approach it, feel it, and move past it.

And approaching it is not the same as charging it. It did me no good to pull back my shoulders, puff out my chest, and draw my sword. Fear can be a tenacious fighter.

Instead, I had to act like an adult, something I haven’t always been good at, something I’m still learning to do even at the age of 43.

I had to stay calm but remain resolute. “Sorry, fear,” I had to say, “I appreciate your concern, but this is something I’m going to do.” And then I had to do it.

When you behave like that, fear has no option but to get out of your way and let you through the door.

There is, however, one thing you must know. Fear is always one door down. “I let you slip through that one,” it seems to be fond of saying, “but I’ll be damned if you’re getting through this one.”

Your job and my job is to keep moving towards it, forward, fearword, and, when it’s prudent, to go ahead and let it be damned.

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