I think it’s time we had a talk about fear.
Yes, fear. The stuff that makes you afraid,
that provokes anxiety, that keeps you up at night
Or makes it seem impossible to get out of bed.
Fear.
I have a couple of books on the topic.
Whole books dedicated to helping me
cope with,
understand,
manage,
and investigate
my very own special, unique and distinct
fears.
And I’ll be honest,
my fears are not for my safety
or that of my loved ones.
They are not about having enough
of what one needs to survive.
Rather they are more about
being enough.
About my capacity to measure up,
follow through,
deliver as promised,
and smile at the end.
Those nagging fears about
leaving things undone,
failing to finish
in time,
of not satisfying
someone else’s requirements of
my time, energy and talent.
*Suddenly I’m getting all warm
and beginning to perspire under my sweatshirt
as I write this
because fear of telling the truth
sparks a nerve.
There’s something at stake,
something at risk,
something to be afraid of
because that’s how fear works
expertly curving back on itself
always leaving the heavy residue of doubt
and misgivings
and sense of loss.
Isn’t it funny and isn’t it typical
that I would ask myself:
what’s a nice way to end this post?
so no one needs to feel too uncomfortable;
already afraid again
that I might upset the apple cart by
telling you what happens
so often,
so reliably,
so stubbornly
to me.
It’s only fear and it has a name
and so many faces and forms.
My fears like to dress up
and show up in disguise under an assumed name.
I can’t always recognize them at first.
But I can recognize their whispers after a time
and respond accordingly.
edifiedlistener 