That Pesky Feeling

I was not quite eight years old when I first became aware of fear. I was standing in line at the fairgrounds eagerly watching the Ferris wheel go ‘round-n-‘round. I imagined climbing aboard; riding the circle of lights; and feeling the chair sway in the breeze. Once aboard, the Ferris wheel bolted into action slowly gaining momentum until the chair rested high upon the apogee. The chair swayed in the breeze just as I expected, but then I made a mistake. I looked down; my fear of heights was born. Sixty-two years later, I’m still squeamish about heights—afraid of plummeting to my death.

People, with very few exception, are scared of one thing or another. The percentage of people who are not scared of anything is small—if that is true at all. Perhaps such people are not being honest with themselves and are exhibiting false bravado to cover up being scared. Yes, there are some people who deny being scared of anything contending that mature and intelligent adults shouldn’t be scared of anything—as if being scared is in the purview of children and the emotionally weak.

Then there are those of us who have things that scare us out of our natural wits. That thing or situation makes us morbidly afraid to the point of being immobilized emotionally, physically, or psychologically. This is fear multiplied by ten; it’s unnerving and causes a type of dread, even panic. I recently became one of those people who suddenly came face-to-face with her worst adult fear—surgery.

Fear—that pesky feeling arose within me, rooting itself deep within me telling me stories that seemed so real that my body and mind responded as if it was true. It was such a visceral feeling that at times I acquiesced with panic and anxiety rather than challenge it.

Fear. Where does it come from? Why do I allow it to sometimes dominate my life? Questions I occasionally ponder. Fear, it seems, is natural. Perhaps, then, it’s not fear itself that I need to be afraid of but how I carry that fear.

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