There is something to be said of fear.
Fear of some thing, often makes us not do, act, respond – which can often save us from harm. For example: fear of getting hurt, will cause us not to get in the way of a moving train.
With something as extreme as a moving train, the “positive” side of fear, can be seen, its use can be regarded. But more often than not, our fear of a thing unseen, thought up, imagined, is a lot more subtle, a lot more demur – it comes like a thief in the night, quiet as the wind and doubly unseen. Yet the stealth of fear in our own lives is no less catastrophic. We often live the train-wreck of our fears day in and day out and don’t even realize it. We often allow fear to steal right from our bosom (!!!) the very dreams, hopes, faith that aims to keep us going. We allow fear to go unchecked, like that bull in a china shop, till there is nothing left but pieces of what we once held dear.
I will be the first to say that fear drove many of my decisions and to an extent, drives some of the directions that I travel today. When I was a young adult and faced with the very real and very grown adult decisions of taking over the care of my siblings, our house, our living or dying – I experienced fear in a way that I hope and pray many people won’t ever know in their lives. Fear of letting our household go hungry, of being out on the streets, of sickness – those fears slept with me like a bridegroom in an arranged marriage. I felt like I had no choice, like things were set and there was nothing that I would be able to do to change the course of this arrangement.
I ate with Fear - that this would be one of the few meals I would have that week.
I worked in Fear - that I would not do well enough in order to keep my job.
I prayed in Fear - that I was asking G-d for too much all the time (for our needs were great).
I lived in Fear.
Then one day, I decided that Fear began to wear out its intrusion.
If Fear of not having enough to eat wanted to sit with me when I ate, then we would break bread and enjoy the meal that was before me.
If Fear of losing my job wanted to spend its day working with me, hovering over every decision and action I preformed while doing my work, then we would work all day, like work was going out of style.
If Fear of asking too much of G-d wanted to kneel down and pray with me, then we would do the thing and pray till G-d’s ear damn near fell off from my incantations, from my asking, from my sheer audacity.
I came to the conclusion that if Fear wanted to live around me, then it could but I was not going live in it.
And it was difficult at first, to find the courage, to summon back my dreams, to reassert faith in who I was made to be. It was a daily intention to take back my Self from the Fear that surrounded me.
Fear kept me, in many forms and permutations, from living.
I have to state this – we are not born with (F)fear. It doesn’t appear right beside us when we emerge into the world, it’s not playing hopscotch with us when we are children and no, that is not it pictured on the right, in our vacation pictures. And no matter what anyone tells you – (F)fear does not become us.
So, imagine my surprise when it occurred to me that Fear had crept into my bosom once again. I mean, it might as well have been the underwire to my bra, the taste in my breath, a slightly veiled sensation on my skin.
Again.
Fear has a way of making us convince ourselves that we cannot achieve what we were tailor made to do.
I was having a talk with my sister-in-law the other night, about school. She was in the kitchen cooking and I was at the dining room table reading one of the 50 bazillion books for this semester.
It is probably with some exaggeration that I am assuming that nearly half of Miami has heard about my trepidation in continuing my education at FIU (Florida International University). If I could have a tantrum (of which I am wholly capable, mind you) it would sound something like this:
…but I don’t WANNA GO!!!!!!! I know a lot of things!! I read a lot, I can write… It’s just a STUPID piece of paper!! Ggggaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh – I DON’T WANNAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!! :::tearstearstears:::
Please don’t make me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Anyway, in talking to my sister-in-law, I was trying to detail to her, exactly how asinine and ridiculous this whole thing was…
…I mean, I have three classes and three papers to write in each – between 8 to 10 pages EACH PAPER!! How am I gonna have the time to do that?!? It’s only like 12 weeks or so of school! Plus I have my graphic design class where I’m gonna have to build soap boxes and crazy things! And I just realized that I have a steep set of classes to take.
And to imagine, I have already decided that I want to get my MFA in English (poetry) at UM where I’m gonna have to write a book of 150 pages worth of poetry!!! (!!!!!) :::bigSIGH:::
And my sister-in-laws’ sagacious response?
I haven’t heard you say anything that you can’t do.
That statement made all the whizzing thoughts in my mind come to a stand-still. I took one proverbial look to my left and realized that F(f)ear had its feet propped on top of my most prized wishes and dreams. With his shoes off. Did I happen to mention that F(f)ear has really stink feet?
My belly-aching concerning attending FIU has been in large part, due to fear. It’s not the young adults in attendance, it is not how far the campus is, and it is not the difficulty of the classes.
I fear failing at the things I have held so dear to me – poetry, writing, and reading. Imagine that.
I fear going through all those classes (that might reveal :::gasp::: any weaknesses!!!) and not actually acing all of them.
I fear disappointing myself, most of all.
But what I am failing to realize is that I’m not just any person taking these classes. I am not meeting these classes, nay, this degree, cold. I analyze, think and write about the world around me ALL.THE.TIME., I’ve been writing poetry since I was 13, I was part of a poetry group for a number of years, where I had to actually get in front of PEOPLE and perform. And they liked what I wrote. They liked how I thought about things. They enjoyed hearing what it is I had to say.
There is this movie I watched the other night (thanks to Netflix) called Babette’s Feast. It is one of those international numbers, subtitled like no one’s business. And I won’t give the story away but into the laps of these pair of sisters, lands this woman named Babette. Unbeknownst to the sisters, Babette is a chef of the kind that people would come from far and wide to eat in her restaurant. So good was her food.
For allowing her refuge, Babette becomes the cook/housekeeper for the sisters. Years go by and this once renowned chef, brings small rays of sunshine into the belly’s of some of the townsfolk by cooking for them, while the sisters deliver the food to the towns’ shut-in and infirm.
Word arrives via a letter, to Babette one year that she has come into 10,000francs. This also happens to be the year of the sisters’ fathers’ 100th birthday (he had passed some time ago). In thanks, still to the sisters, Babette asks if she can prepare the dinner, in honor of the sisters’ fathers’ birthday. Reluctantly, the sisters say yes and caution Babette not to use all of her money.
Well, the check Babette receives is changed, Babette takes leave and preparations begin for this memorial dinner. Chest upon chest of specialty foods arrive with Babette’s return.
The day of the memorial arrives and Babette had spent all the day before and hence cooking. She sets an elaborate table with fine china and wonderful crystal and the most pristine tablecloth. Using a young neighbor as the waiter, Babette turns out course after course, over course over course. Wine and champagne flow. The 12 guests, not used to such luxurious eating, are beside themselves.
Once everyone has gone home for the night, the sisters go to Babette in thanks for such a wonderful memorial dinner. They find Babette sitting in the kitchen, exhausted. They thank her and ask her, now that she is done, what were her plans, for surely she would be on her way back to France.
She tells them that she has nothing left in France and besides, there is no money.
The sisters are shocked.
Babette tells them that at her restaurant, a dinner like that, for 12, would cost 10,000francs and that was what she spent.
The color drains from the sisters’ faces. How could you?! We asked you not to spend all of your money! Now, now you have nothing, they told her.
Babette raised her face to them and said,
…I am not just a cook. I am an artist, I will always have something.
Before and after this part of my journey, I will have something. I will have my unique perspective, I will have my ability to touch the world in a way like no one else can. This diploma and any and all that may follow, will serve only to acknowledge and formalize by society’s standards, that part of what I know, that can be put into conventions.
I am an artist, I will always have something.
I wasn’t put here, I wasn’t made, I wasn’t given these gifts to be small and peevish about them and let F(f)ear of what may or may not happen, destroy what I can only come to understand as G-d-given talent.
And that is what I must carry with me through this journey called FIU. That is what must become my mantra, when it feels like F(f)ear is about to overwhelm me.
Realize that in you too, there is always something. Regardless of what F(f)ear tells you, no matter how seductive the deceit, how promising the thought of staying small. You always have something. Even if F(f)ear slides in under the covers of your confidence, whispering sweet perceived failures in your ear, or flashes the fruits of in-action before your eyes, you will always have something of Self, with which to create your dreams with, to pull your courage from, and to exert your faith in.
Don’t be afraid… go.
You can do it.
Cause you know what?
That Fear, can’t live here…anymore.
