On Feeling Fear
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To conquer fear is the beginning of wisdom.
Bertrand Russell
Middle Girl is afraid of shadows, particularly the one cast by the chandelier that hangs from her bedroom ceiling. She is also a bit afraid of Scout, our resident elf. We tell her that there’s nothing to be scared of, that we are here, that all is good, that she is safe. But is this the right message to send, even to a small creature? Isn’t life, and love, all about fear?
Fear.
It’s interesting because Big Girl never talked much about fear. She never had qualms about surrendering to the darkness of her room at night. Quintessentially scary scenes in movies have never fazed her. She’s just a different kid.
And so. I am sitting here. At yet another Starbucks in my city. Thinking about fear. About how, if we are really honest, we will admit that fear underpins so much of existence. That it informs so much of what we do, and what we do not do. I am realizing, and beginning to revere too, that I have many fears. They come with being a parent, sure. With that boundless fog of anxiety that settles once you bring a baby into the world. But my fears are broader in scope. They have not just to do with the job I am doing with my children, but they have to do with me. Me as a discrete being.
I have fears that I am not leading the life I should. I have fears that I am wasting time. I have fears that I am not contributing enough to that ever-elusive greater good. I have fears that I am superficial sometimes. I have fears that I am too reliant on certain people, and certain things. I have fears of writing a bad book, or saying the wrong thing. I have fears of writing a wonderful book, of saying the absolute right thing.
I have fears.
When I think about it, I am using fears quite broadly here. I think the word thought would suffice. I think a lot. Sometimes, I feel like I think too much, that the tangle of my thoughts unnecessarily complicates things. But then? Then I think: No, I’m not sure there is such a thing as thinking too much, or even fearing too much.
I think what matters is what we do with our thoughts and fears, how we arrange them in the recesses of our minds and our lives, how we honor them at times, and shove them aside at others, how we understand them, how we function in their midst. We can try to conquer our thoughts and our fears, and maybe we can find a modicum of success in these efforts, but I think what’s more important is that we notice them – those things we think about, those things that matter to us and deeply, those things that stir our souls.
A while back, I wrote a little post. The post was about Emerson’s quote, one of my favorites: Always do what you are afraid to do. And I still believe this. That we should march toward those things that rattle us, that we should live and love and learn bravely. But I do not think that wisdom begins only at the conquering of fear; I think wisdom comes in living within the context and contours of our fears, and even with loving them.
Recently, I have become more hesitant on this blog. I have felt uneasy about revealing too much here. I’m not sure why. I think I am longing for a certain kind of privacy I once enjoyed. I think I am also afraid. Of judgment, of silence, of regret. This insecurity? It’s not new. It is why I named my blog what I did almost three years ago. We can call it what we want – insecurity or fear or prudence. There are many words, many names, for the more complicated things in life.
But here I am. Writing. Writing about the grit, the gray, the glorious swirl of existence and identity. Here I am. Doing something which I fear. It feels good. It feels scary. It feels bold. It feels right. It feels like why I started this silly old space in the first place.
The next time Middle Girl tells me she’s scared, I will pull her into my arms and I will nod. I will look past the decades that divide us, into her three-year-old eyes and I will not quote Bertrand Russell as I do here. Instead I will say something far more simple, and maybe far more true. I will say, “I understand you’re scared. Everyone gets scared sometimes. But I am here, we are. And you will be okay.”
Because she will. And so will I.
(You, too.)
* Speaking of conquering fear, please check out the great article by my friend (and fabu wedding planner) Jes Gordon in yesterday’s New York Times. Congrats, Jes!*
Do you feel fears in your own life? Do you think it’s important that we acknowledge, and respect, our own fears instead of trying to eliminate them wholesale from our worlds? How do you handle it when your loved ones articulate their fears?
I was a very fearful kid – I was also incredibly sensitive to the world around me. Sometimes I think the two are inextricably connected, because whenever I was gotten myself toughened up against the world, my fears would also diminish. When I tear down the walls and deliberately open myself to possible hurt again – the fears creep back too.
I would love to have the sensitivity without the fear, but maybe, like you say, it’s more a matter of learning to respect and work with fear, instead of trying to crush it. Lots to think about here today.
What’s interesting is that I don’t remember being fearful or overly sensitive as a child, but I certainly feel that I am both today. Not necessarily overly fearful or overly sensitive, but appropriately. Is there such a thing? I am so glad you wrote this because it conjures for me an important and interesting distinction between sensitivity and fear. My older girl is much more sensitive, more porous to the world, but she does not seem fearful. On the other hand, my middle girl comes across as super tough most of the time, remarkably resilient physically and emotionally. But she does have, and express, fears. Fascinating.
I have come across certain individuals who seem incredibly sturdy and strong, and somewhat walled. They don’t seem to have fears, or to be aware or vulnerable to them. And part of me is envious. But the better part of me thinks that it is the sensitivity, the utterly human vulnerability, that makes life precarious and rich and beautiful. Does this make sense?
Loads to think about here, a very complex issue (they best kind, right?). I am with you, in that boat, with many fears, and thinking too much about them.
I do think part of it is that the stakes are higher now. What I fear, what I am concerned about, what I think about (save the occasional, normal “do I look fat in this outfit” kind of thought) is heavy stuff. It is fear of nurturing a little soul to the best of my ability, it is fear of not being there for her, it is fear of not living up to what I am meant to do — many of the things you listed as well. Which are huge. Which are daunting. Which can be paralyzing.
As you mentioned, it is how we handle the fears/thoughts. Not that we ignore them or avoid them or keep them stuffed under the bed, but how we figure out how to deal with them, which pocket to carry them around with us.
When you figure out how to do that, can you let us know? I need all the help I can get…
Complex issues. The best, and hardest, kinds indeed. What’s interesting to me is that I am most at home, and compelled by, others who are in this good and difficult boat, asking the big questions, muddling through the grays. I have a hard time taking seriously people who pretend that their lives are not stitched with fear, or those who genuinely seem impervious to the concerns that affect so many of us. Is that terrible?
I do think the stakes are higher. You are right about this. Many of us are in a stage of our respective lives where we are simultaneously raising little ones and finally raising ourselves, when we are trying to nurture little ones and the people we have, perhaps unwittingly, become. I wonder if we can get to a place where we allow ourselves to articulate and genuinely feel the fears without letting them paralyze us? I imagine, I hope, this is possible. For me at least (and I imagine for you, too) writing about these things, and talking about them, is an immense help.
I love the pocket metaphor. Isn’t life in so many ways about figuring out what to put where and when, and when to pull it out again?
We’re in it together, my friend. This boat. This parenthood gig. All of it
xox
Someone once told me “If you’re not scared, you’re not growing.” I try to remember that when I am going through big changes in my life.
I will also say I was scared of things when I was younger or big changes but my mom was always the one telling me it was okay…pushing me on planes to a youth conference even though I was scared, pushing me on a plan to study abroad, even leaving me at the dorm in college without shedding a tear while I cried because I was scared, to put it simply. It is interesting to think about the role of parents in helping how their kids will one day deal with fear. Thanks to my mom I find I push myself when I am scared thinking of how if she was next to me at that moment she’d be doing the exact same. So keep up the good work Middle Girl Mom!
I love that quote. Indeed I think there is a link between fear and growth. Often, when I’m feeling particularly optimistic, I think that I’m more and more cognizant of my own anxieties now because I’m in a period of existential growth. I like to look at things this way anyway. And I agree with you that so much of parenthood, or thoughtful parenthood, is about teaching our little ones how to cope with the grays, find joy, and face fear. Thanks for chiming in today
I am a very cautious, pretty anxious person most of the time – or at least I think of myself that way. But then when I look back on my life, I think about a lot of moments where I’ve made leaps of faith without even realizing it.
So I wonder if different types of fear loom more largely at different times or for different people. My younger son, for instance, is a little dare devil most of the time, but is incongruously frightened by sudden noises. I wonder if Middle Girl might be bold in ways that her older sister isn’t, even though she’s scared of her chandelier.
I love this. That we can be cautious and anxious and (perhaps overly) thoughtful and still live bold lives, and take leaps. That’s honestly how I think of myself. I wrote an entire novel about the virtue of prudence because I consider myself to be a safe and prudent person and yet I too look back on years and decisions that seemed far from safe. I like this. That we can be both.
And I think both of my big girls exhibit signs of fear and strength. And I think this is okay, and real. I think having both things is appropriate, and useful, in life.
I am filled with fears. I was scared of the dark as a kid – not necessarily a dark bedroom, but walking down the dark hall to go to the bathroom, going down to a dark kitchen alone, etc. I still have that, a bit, and often dash the small length of hall from the bathroom to our room in the middle of the night. But I’m filled with much bigger, trickier fears, too, like the ones you cite, about meaning and contribution, love and passion, duty and security. Thanks for these reflections. I also know the pull of privacy when it comes to blogging, and don’t have easy answers there. I can only tell you you’re not alone! xoxo
Isn’t it interesting and symbolic that fears (like all other things) can come in all shapes and sizes. Some are silly and little and fleeting, but some are serious and big and lasting. As for the pull of privacy in this blogging world, please come by tomorrow as I post about “anti-social media.” I’m interested to see what you and others have to say on this topic. xx
I, too, am often beset with fears. Some are rational, some aren’t. Many of them have to do with my writing as well. But I try to remember that bravery isn’t the absence of fear, but rather acting *despite* fear.
Yes, *despite* fear. I think the important, and huge, first step is to see the fear and acknowledge it. And please tell me: Why does writing involve so much fear? Does every job do this? I’m not sure.