As I write, I’ve been battling a migraine for five days. Pragmatics indicate an exam by a licensed medical professional. The pain has made me too tired to put up with a doctor’s crap.
Memory takes me back 22 months to the start of a headache that lasted several weeks. Fear grips me.
Then another memory comes into focus.
I fear nothing.
I’ve lived a good deal of my life bound by fear. Of whatever. Once the fear is installed, it can borrow objects. Once one is removed, another can take its place. Seamlessly.
It’s not the object. It’s the feeling.
Like hard liquor or Candy Crush.
It’s a chemical in the brain.
I’ve been a pretty fearful person.
One day, I got a call that changed everything. The standard for the worst that could happen changed. Statistically, it was unlikely to happen twice. And then everyone survived.
I stopped obsessing about impressing.
The “four-second rule” turned into the “three-minute rule”.
I fought for “truth-in-love” honesty. I was spectacularly clumsy and awkward.
Truthful and loving? Yes.
Because it was “Get it all out there and it will be messy and disorganized, and we’ll sort through it.”
In my religion, people don’t do it that way.
It feels weird.
You know Maggie.
We all lived. I became fantastically in love with it. Jesus. People. The process.
You may be afraid of snakes or clowns or public speaking. Or, maybe you deeply fear something much more complex.
Listen to me now, while I am still sitting up.
The worst that can happen already has. And we survived.
Go ahead. Join the circus. Get that basket and play the recorder. Preach that sermon.
Ask that princess, who is so obviously out of your league, to the ball.
Offer your friendship, full and free, to someone incredibly cool.
The worst that can happen?
Is none of your business.
Grab onto what scares you, now.
Throw your head back.