I'm not sure that I react to fear in a healthy way. It's usually with anger, even rage. All of my "fuck you" instincts tend to rush to the surface when I'm frightened. I'm not a "cower in the corner" kind of girl. I'm much more likely to veer toward rash action.
This makes me the LAST person you might want to throw a surprise party for, as I might accidentally punch you in the face before I register that this is supposed to be a celebration, not a home invasion. For sure, I'm going to be pissed. And not in a fun, hey-we-got-you kind of way. More like you're-an-asshole-and-I-don't-like-you-anymore. Proceed at your own risk.
But fear is a real part of life. My top three phobias - bees, bears, and commitment - don't tend to impact my day to day all that much, except in the summertime when I mow the grass, and stuff is blooming, and the pollen is everywhere, the shrubs and grass hum...
Excuse me while I shudder with my whole body.
I've learned to live with these little distractions. But the things we don't see coming, the things that no one prepares for, are what tend to drive fight or flight response. Like the sudden death of a friend or family member. Or a serious illness out of nowhere that devastates a family or changes any plans for the future that might have previously been someone's sanity life raft. I don't tend to have many long term plans in the best of circumstances, but even I feel the pressure, the fear, when bad things appear to threaten whatever future I envisioned. I tend to seize the moment. And the ice cream.
So last year, a scary, scary time, I put on 20 pounds. I could blame Ben and Jerry, but it was my saying fuck you to eating healthy (which did not seem to serve my friend all that well - cancer could care less if you were a pescetarian and did yoga) when there was pleasure to be had in the form of frozen dairy deliciousness. Happily, I have shed that, but the attitude remains. I've never been inclined to tolerate much bullshit and I'm even less likely to exercise patience with people who are loose with the truth or incapable of being genuine. I half-jokingly told my boss earlier this evening that I hoped this wasn't professionally debilitating. The fact that I would even have that conversation with my boss makes my point.
I try to live as well as I can, as real as I can, since I know that at any time, I could fall victim to brain tumors, or leukemia, or random acts of Baltimore violence, or bear attack, or whatever. I tend not to worry about small anxieties too much. I was in a car with someone not that long ago, and he made a self-deprecating remark about his appearance. He tried to make it a joke, but I could tell that this really was a sore subject. I was stunned, both because I find this man to be more than passably attractive and because it is so pointless to fret about physical characteristics we can't control. Like the shape of an ear or a nose or how feet look or whatever. In fact, I think it's the imperfections about others that are the details we grow to love. The things that are distinctly theirs separate them from the sea of humanity. Own your differences, don't let them give you ulcers. Plenty of other ways the universe can screw you up, no need to help it along.
I have found my nervousness level to be a good barometer when I'm not sure what to do. If I'm a little afraid that I can't do it - that is absolutely the direction I choose. If it's too safe, I'm bored before I start. This is true of jobs, of creative projects, and certainly of men. It's not the bad boys - it's the ones that make us feel a little uncertain that we can cope or keep up or understand. Maybe we aren't smart enough or cool enough or talented enough - maybe it could all go horribly wrong. Job or man or project - I'm in. Kryptonite. But it's paid off with experiences I could never have planned for including time as an Imagineer (life changing opportunity to work with and know some of the most creative people in the universe), travel opportunities (sailing on a tall ship in the Caribbean), and the boldness to dare to be a novelist. It doesn't all work out. I fail big sometimes. Karaoke in Atlanta after moonshine might have been painful to hear and I can find ten ways to screw up a relationship (see phobia #3 above) but passion is not a bad approach compared to the alternative. I can't seem to be too passive about my life. It seems an invitation for fate to snatch it away and fate will have to wrestle it out of my fingers if any nasty surprises come my way. I'm likely to punch fate in the face before I can determine if it's celebration or home invasion.
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