1/18/07 - Weren't You Afraid?

Weren't you afraid?

Someone asked me that today, when I tried to describe the circumstances of how I ended up in Boston.

I wanted to write something about it, because it's been on my mind all day. But I'm not sure where to start.

My reply was something like, 'Well. Of course! I was quite afraid. I am often afraid, but, for better or worse, I often do things in spite of the (fearful) possibility that everything might go horribly, horribly wrong. With reckless abandon, I guess.'

In everything that we do... in our relationships, in our work, and every day that we set foot on the street or venture inward into our hearts, we take risks. Sometimes the out come is good. A lot of the time, it can get pretty bad.

When you're almost certain of the fact that at some point it's going to hurt a lot, it makes sense to feel afraid. It makes sense most of the time. I don't know what I'm trying to say really. It's like I'm looking at this thing, fear, and I'm paralysed and my thoughts are incoherent.

But I suppose just like any other emotion, fear is neither inherently good nor bad. We seek out haunted houses and roller coasters, we skydive and ski, we venture into space and all other such things that we do for no reason except the thrill of it. It's thrilling, yes? Maybe I am an adrenaline junkie.

I hear in the long run that shit is bad for you.

When Amanda and I were shopping for iPod speakers before the great adventure for our jungle dance party, we had a conversation with a kid our age working at the Circuit City in Fort Worth, near my old high school.

He asked us what the speakers were for and we told him. He asked if we were from around here and we told him we were once, but now we live far away. He told us wistfully that he'd love to get out of 'this hellhole'.

And we told him he could, if he really wanted to. He said he had a job, and his family was here. He said he didn't have enough money. He said it was too expensive, and where would he go, and what would he do, and how could he go out all alone into the world.

We looked at him, and said, 'No, really. You can go anywhere. You can do anything. It's not about money, you can get a job anywhere.' He said to us, 'Well all my friends are here.'

I looked at him confused. Everything he said seemed kind of irrelevent to me. I'd gone to Maui with almost no money, and certainly not enough for a return ticket. I'd been afraid, for about two days. At that point I realized that I didn't have to worry about how to get back, just like if you know how to swim you don't have to worry about staying near the edge of the pool in the deep end.

Finally, he admitted slowly, 'I guess I'm just scared of the unfamiliar.' And I could understand that.

It's hard to be brave in the face of risk. When things don't go as planned and the risks we take make life difficult, it reveals a little of something to ourselves, and it's hard to look your fear in the face. It's hard to really take a good look at yourself... flaws, and all.

Is it about bravery, though? People tell me I have a lot of courage. My boss tells me this all the time. I still cry when I get home from the sheer fatigue of trying to hold myself together. It's not that I'm sad, or fed up. It's just a lot of work to be brave, and I get tired.

Being brave is exhausting. Some people could call it masochistic.

I don't think it's quite so tragic as pure masochism though. A person could go through a struggle and say 'well, that was hard.' Your inner fuel gauge might indicate that your strength is low. They might accept their flaws as they are revealed, and with resignation.

'Yes you're right, world,' you could say. "I am a total fuck up.' You could take a real beating from this world this way.

No... that's not bravery. That's like looking into a mirror that shows you an incomplete reflection of yourself, and a wretched one at that... and accepting that image as the Truth of who you are.

Bravery, I think, is giving yourself a chance. It's looking at that wretched image in the mirror and shedding the illusion of it. It's shedding the layers of judgment and the behaviors and thoughts that you've mistaken for the real you... and seeing what a beautiful, and persistent, and brave creature you really are.

It's not seeing the beauty in the flaws of who you are. It's seeing that you... the real you... is not flawed, is not confused, or ignorant. You are not insecure or hurtful or mean.

Are you brave enough to know that you are perfect, and all-knowing? It doesn't seem like it's something you need bravery to do.

But I don't mean 'know'. I mean, really, really know. In a way that I can't explain. I mean knowing more surely than knowing you breath air, or exist. I mean knowing more surely than you know 1+1=2. I mean knowing more surely than anything you have known, or thought you knew in your whole life. A lot of really smart people would conclude that this kind of knowing doesn't even exist. When you use your brain, you realize you can never be sure of anything at all, in the end.

But this knowledge isn't about intelligence, or your brain. I know that some part of every person on the planet has always 'known'. I know this because that part of you, and that part of me are the one same thing.

Let me tell you what I think is at the other end of this endless journey. I think it's something that is worth more than all the suffering, and fatigue, and uncertainty and fear in the world. I think it's all that matters. I think it's the Truth.

All you have to do is something like carving marble with a toothpick. It's something like crossing the ocean in a paddleboat or jumping over rooftops.

All you have to do is continue to be brave enough to be afraid.