Brave and also afraid

For starters: I am, overall, very brave.  I'm also afraid of some very specific things that I try to ignore.  This realization came to me while listening to a radio story in which the interviewee talked about her recent breast cancer diagnosis and surgery.  Listening to stuff like this (sometimes) makes me kind of twitchy (because I'm afraid of cancer) and like I want to change the station but I can't because I'm too engrossed in my listener/interviewee relationship and I want to hear what happens next.  Does she get better?!  Does she have a near-death experience?!  Will there be some epiphany of wisdom that I don't want to miss?!    

As much as I affirm my resolution of Love Over Fear, I think there's a point in which my mantra can sound punitive.  Instead of a voice that purrs "Love over fear, sweetie," it becomes some sort of drill sergeant that orders me to do push ups every time I ignore it yelling, "LOVE OVER FEAR YOU GODDAMNED IDIOT!"  Sometimes, too, I think this mantra acts like a thought-stopping device that is both parts helpful for redirecting my attention to the positive and hurtful in facilitating deflection or ignorance of the fears I have.

As brave as I am, I need to explore fear in order to get past it (and by getting past it, I mean coming to terms with it).  If I ignore it, fear becomes this Big Thing that takes away any feelings of love and empowerment.  Further, I need to love myself in the midst of being afraid.  Loving myself in that uncomfortable moment allows me to care for me and, in turn, be able to know, seek out, and give love to others.  Here's another way of saying it:  loving in times of fear makes it easier to know what love is.  When we know what love is, we're able to see it when it's in front of us...we're able to go after it...we're able to get past the fear because we understand both sides.

So, here's the deal:  I'm starting a series of entries called "Afraid of: __________."  (I'll fill in the blank, don't you worry).  My hopes in writing these down are 1) Tell you all my deep, dark secrets (sort of); 2) explore my fears and make them less of a Big Thing; 3) Foster some sort of universality--because I know that I'm not the only person who feels afraid and it may just be that we share some of the same fears.

Speaking of which, that's the premise behind Fran Krause's Tumbler, "Deep, Dark Fears."  I just told B about this one:



What are you afraid of?