I live my life well, but not so well that it is not overshadowed by my own gnawing fear. What am I so fearful of, you ask? Where will I begin?
The roots of my fear, my cowardice, are deep. The seeds of those fears planted so long ago, have been fed by my own hand, and they have been fed well. Nurtured by my own doubts, my cowardice has flourished over these years and is now threatening to take control.
So, I'm afraid to drive on the highway. That I can accept. It's a true fear of physical harm, to me and others, that is due, in part, to the fact that I have no peripheral vision and fear ending up in a ball of flames on I85. For that very fact alone, I give myself a pass on this particular fear.
What do I fear the most? (Outside of fearing for the safety and happiness of my children?) I am afraid to fail. I'm afraid to accept that I might indeed be good at something, that I may even be AS GOOD at that something as someone who has dozens of awards and diplomas on their wall, and fancy initials after their name. I'm afraid that I won't measure up. That I am fooling myself.
This paralyzing fear creeps up on me, whispers in my ear, at times when I'm most vulnerable. Ever notice that, about fear, that is? It's evil. It has no boundaries. It offers no "free passes." It seeks out its victims and latches on tight. All attempts to shake fear from the place that it has settled within you seems to fail. Self-help books and chats with girlfriends rattle the fear, shake it up a little, but it hangs on with an iron grip and hides beneath the light of hope for a few days, until you let down your guard.
And so it goes.
Well, I'm ready to go to battle with fear. Armed with the strength and beliefs of my family, I will conquer the beast. I created this monster, and I am the only one who can bring it down. And so I will slay it with words. I will save all of my "what ifs..." and use them to stoke my creative spirit, to drive my passion forward. I will kill it with creativity.