luckily though these days don't come often, but they do come, and then they come back again in some unpredictable turn of the self-evolutionary cycle. i should be used to them now. should, would love to, but am not.
some of the things i fear:
failing
never even trying
not beating my previous half marathon time
never achieving all i hold in my ambitions
settling for less
wearing high heels and tripping myself up
worse: wearing high heels and being taller than everyone
pulling the emergency door on an airplane because for some reason i forgot my life depended on it being in place
getting shot on a run through central district {not so paranoid given this year's death by shooting count}
bowling
pool
karaoke
and all things that are sexy when you know how to do it well but i suck at or haven't tried...see "failing"
spiders
being left
leaving
heights
tall buildings
sky scrapers
these last ones are a bit of a theme for me and have featured in many nightmares throughout my life. it's the vivid pressure of gravity, of potential gravity, a visceral understanding of the force the fall would garner that comes out of nowhere and pulls at my body and fills my flesh. it is not a comfortable experience, but none of the above are whether they ever actually happen or i just sit in my fear of anticipation. a fear of potential realities could be added to the list.
short of being shot or opening the door on an airplane at cruising altitude, i need to remember i can handle all these things, live through large spiders leaping out at me from piles of junk mail {true story} or surprising me from under beds and landing on my leg {sadly, also true story}. i can weather the discomfort {or even humiliation} of a mediocre round of karaoke or game of bowling. i can run. i can be run from.
so when did i stop living at the edge of my fears, staring them down and telling them they can't win? when did i start tip toeing through my life? a month ago? six? when i settled back down and gave myself a space to call home? a place to return to? when i began living again in a daily reminder of my entitlement to safety both physical and emotional?
in a gentle effort to push myself, i went to the top of the columbia center last week and stood on the viewing deck of the 73rd floor. and all i did was let myself be pulled, just let it happen. and the terror i thought would come, the terror that finds me in the middle of sleep as i stand precariously on the roof of some skyscraper or another, or attacked by a massive spider, or just alonealonealone, that terror wasn't there. or rather, only came in small moments that rushed through me faster than i thought possible. a flicker here. a passing thought there. a good reminder that the reality of my fears are not impossible, and in facing them, i discovered that surpassing them all was a sense of awe. awe of the discoveries this new place had to offer. a bird's eye view. silence. warmth. the reminder that we are just so small in this great big universe {and that's only looking down at one medium-sized city} and that the story inside my head, that narrative that follows my every move and lords over every thought and feeling, it's not as important as it would like me to believe. and the quiet of peace and contentment, that quiet that says there is nothing really to fear here or anywhere, just take a good look and breathe, she speaks so softly in comparison.
there is always something here in these fears. the real battle is just remembering who to listen to. and breathe.
currently listening to "goshen" by beirut.
you're on in five, it's time you rise or fail.
they've gone before, stood by your door all day.
for what it's worth, defend your kind from shame.
the lights are down, go on inside, they've paid.
you're the face in stone, through the land i own.
you never found it home.
you're not the girl i used to know.
what would you hide from such a glow
if i had only told you so?
you're on in five, it's time you rise or fail.
they've gone before, stood by your door all day.
but you never found it home.
a fair price I'd pay to be alone.
what would you hide from such a glow
if i had only told you so?
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