Still Afraid

We each reach some balance between our inner and outer lives that allows us to live with ourselves. You may be opposed to the war, but you are living with it, aren't you? I don't see you taken to the streets with a sign and screaming obscenities to heaven, which seems the logical thing. You may hate your best friend, but because you love her you have managed somehow to stay in touch all these years. You detest yourself for being a willing slave of corporate amerika as you nonchalantly size-up other runners as they pass by in Adidas, Nike, Reebok. You have succumbed. You have numbed.

All of the imbalances, all the overcompensations, all the fears, they must all come out now. Me? I'm afraid I can't keep up. Or that I am going too fast. In a dream not long ago, Veronica was once again driving (too fast!) and we sped down a winding road by a familiar muddy river. Her car flew off the road, airborne, and we were left standing on the bank, watching it sink.

Last night as I knelt down by the pond in the gardens to take a picture of the reflection of the flowers and trees, my sunglasses, hanging from my shirt, fell into the water and bubbled to the bottom. I became a childrens' illustration of surprise! Reaching my arm down into the blue-green depths, there was no bottom to feel, and I, wet-sleeved, wandered away, pleased that I can still be thrilled by the unexpected.

Then, my Nautica sleeve dyed blue from the water, I wondered what sort of chemicals they put in there to control algae, and what effect they have on humans. Will it wash off with soap?

I am afraid of the dark. I am afraid of people. I am afraid of sickness. I am afraid of being alone. I am afraid of being undesired. I am afraid of being desired. I am afraid of being stupid. I am afraid of being wrong. I am afraid of criticism. I am afraid of losing people. I am afraid of intimacy. I am afraid of trying and I am afraid of failing. I am afraid of basements. And sharks. And bears. Oh my! I am afraid of men. Of women. Of insects. Of snakes. I am so afraid of getting lost, of not being able to trust my sense of direction, my own judgements, my instincts. I am also afraid of attics, of hidden corners, dark places, creaky steps, dead bodies, dying people and animals and the wounded. I am afraid of emotion, of non-emotion, of change, of progress, of technology.

So. Suck it up. Climb to the top of the lighthouse and lean over the railing and scream "I am not afraid of heights!" Then drive into New York City and right up to AJ's door and park the car. Take the subway by yourself. Don't be a wimp. Hold the snake. Don't run away. Run toward the roar! When shipwrecked and treading water, swim toward the shark. Keep it at bay.

Last night I watched a TV special about people who had been in plane crashes. All of them agreed that the atmosphere in the plane, after the realization came that the plane was about to crash, was one of calm. No Hollywood screaming or hysterical Almost Famous confessionals. Just silence, eyes ahead, holding hands, perhaps a quiet kiss.

Did I mention that I am afraid of flying? Or of ordering new food in restaurants? I am afraid of drowning. Or suffocating. Or having to cut off my own arm after being caught in a climbing accident. Afraid of falling. Being eaten by a bear. Being eaten by maggots. Or dogs. Or cats. Being hit by a car. Or a train! Or a person, and robbed. Being raped. Mutilated. Cannibalized! Of course I am afraid of octypus. And other bizarre sea creatures with venom and colorful wavy-jelly-tenacles. Of some birds. And of things I can't see, like ghosts.

Dolly likes to tell the story of when I was four years old and ran home crying after not making it to my friend's house up the street because I was afraid of a squirrel.

I'm afraid of not having enough money, of being a bag-lady, of being defective, somehow. It is interesting that the concept of low self esteem is non-existent in some cultures. Why is it so prevalent in the West? I am afraid of addiction, of boredom, of wasting time, of misusing my life, of making wrong decisions, of making myself sick.

Does this make you feel better about your life? It's the least I can do, here in my little room in the middle of this night as I try to decide how to approach the rest of mine. Oh! Did I tell you I'm afraid of aliens? You probably knew that already, didn't you?