After two years of factoring everything we do through a fear-riddled lens of ‘should we or shouldn’t we?’ go there, invite people in, meet in a restaurant (when they were open) travel, go to a movie (still haven’t done that one since lockdowns began in March 2020) restrictions are lifting again, and soon, going where ever we want, with whomever we want, however we want (as in unmasked) will be possible.
Restrictions lift. How do we get rid of the fear?
My beloved has a much higher risk tolerance than me. To my fears, should we or shouldn’t we, his reply is a confident, “It’ll be okay.”
Will it?
To which he replies, “It will be what it will be.”
Harrumph. How do I get rid of my fear?
It’s a mind game, aided and abetted by cellular memories peppered with anxiety-laden neurons swamping my body with waves of worst-case scenarios and negative fortune-telling.
Fear in-the-moment can be a great motivator.
Sustained fear is a great inhibitor.
I’ve come up with a plan on how to alleviate and hopefully eliminate (thought I’m not holding my breath on that one), the FOGO that has permeated my being during these past two years of sequestered solitude. (In case you’re wondering, FOGO – fear of going out, has taken up residence at the opposite end of the spectrum from my pre-Covid compatriot, fear of missing out.)
It’s a work in progress, but here’s what I’ve got in my plan thus far.
Breathe — just breathe.
Like Covid, this too shall pass. Fear will abate and though tentacles may still cling to tiny neurons, You can’t think your way into fear (just as you can’t think your way out of diarrhea) and you can’t think your way out of it. Breathe in. Breathe out, In. Out.
Repeat often — this too shall pass.
Yup. It will. Fear will pass. Anxiety will fade. Hope always rises and Love always wins. If you must hold onto something, hold onto that — Love always wins. Now repeat. This too shall pass. Love always wins.
Feel it. Face it. Free it.
Fear is the body’s way of keeping you safe — at least when it first arrives. Hanging onto it for too long gives it roots, and anything rooted in fear will grow more fear. To free it, you must dig into its origins, unearth their weighty matters and sift through their heavy cloud of uncertainty and anxiety to face the truth, “This is fear talking. Fear is no longer my friend. It is the chains that bind me, the mantle that holds me down, the darkness that traps me.”
To free yourself of its darkness, you must break through the cracks in its armour to let the light in. And to do that, you gotta breathe. In. Out. In. Out.
Do the things that bring you joy.
Joy is fear’s great adversary. Doing joyful things tells fear it’s not the boss.
Let go of searching for a ‘perfect solution’.
The art of seeking perfection is the antithesis of experiencing joy, courage, trust, happiness, freedom. When fear-riddled thinking of ‘what if’ is driving you into deadend alleys looking for the perfect way out, open all the doors and windows in your home and imagine fresh air blowing through and blowing away all that fear.
Repeat often.
Keep it Simple.
There’s no need to create a 100 point plan to overcome fear supported by GANT charts and lists of actionable items. Keep it Simple. Commit to doing one thing every day that brings you joy. Like, dancing or walking with your dog, or reading a story book to your child, or going for a swim… And every day, shorten the timeline — go from once a day to twice a day. Twice a day to three times a day… and so on.
Repetition of joy-making activities will, in time, root out fears’ tendrils and cover them up with laughter, fun, frolic, and maybe even a cartwheel or two.
And… to stretch those fear-conquering muscles… include a friend or two in each activity and keep widening your circle…
Which brings me to the (currently) last item on my list…
Be Patient. Be kind. Be loving.
This fear wasn’t created in a day. It slowly, stealthily, sinuously wound its way into our lives over two years of COVID’s rampage. Be patient. Be kind. Be loving. With yourself and everyone in your life. You may not all agree on what’s the best next step — but you can agree on one thing (I hope) — people matter. Family, friends, connections matter.
How do you move through your fear? I’d love to hear.
But later, okay? Right now I’m off to take Beaumont the Sheepadoodle for a walk. That brings me great joy.
This month I am doing something I’ve never done before. I’m submitting to a writer’s competition.
The non-fiction piece I’m submitting is about doing something one night I never imagined doing. Ever. It’s also something I’d never do again.
But, the voice of self-empowerment and self-expression within me keeps urging, “Get out there and strut your stuff Louise!”
So that’s what I’m doing, writing about a night I stood on the street, strutting my stuff. Literally.
It’s December 8, the night before my 44th birthday.
After six months of working with a group of street-engaged teens and two vice police officers, I have chosen this night to do the thing I never in my life imagined doing – Stand on the street posing as a prostitute, negotiating with johns for sex.
I recognize my use of nouns is not politically correct in this day and age – but at the time I stood on the street, it was the vernacular.
Anyway, on this particular night, I am terrified. Like, shaking in my boots terrified. Not for me six-inch spikes. I didn’t own any and I doubt that night I could have approached the john’s who stopped to pick me up if I’d been wearing them.
Nope. Rather than spiked heels that also served girls on the street as weapons, I’d pulled out of my closet a pair of cowboy boots I’d painted gold. Calgary chic.
I didn’t need a weapon, anyway. Deep in the shadows further down the street, on either side of me, two police officers in unmarked cars watched over me. My guardian angels.
I was dressed for the night, though I did keep my borrowed fur coat tightly clutched at my neck to hide my scanty outfit. And I wasn’t carrying anything in my hands, not even a tube of bright red lipstick. I was already wearing it, though I soon realized I should have brought it. I was quickly chewing it, along with all the skin, off my lips.
But I’d wanted my hands free – in case I needed to make a run for it (another reason for not wearing spikes) — and I didn’t need the lipstick to write the license plate of john’s cars I got into on a telephone pole as many of the other girls did, in case a date went bad and they didn’t come back. I was not to get into a car. Never. Ever.
It was the hard and fast rule of my two guardian angels. Do Not Get In The Car.
And this is the story I’ve been writing with the intention of entering it into a competition.
I’ve still got twenty days to submit and there’s a part of me that just wants to send it off… right now. Almost as if, the pain of writing out this story is greater than my desire to enter the competition with a story I’ve honed into as close to perfection as I can get it.
I want it over.
Perhaps it’s why I always read the last chapter of a book first.
If I know the outcome I can take my time savouring the story.
Except, the outcome for me isn’t the competition, it’s the ‘getting the story entered’.
If I just send it off now, I won’t have to worry I’ll back out and not send it along or somehow, accidentally (Ha!) miss the deadline.
Which is also why I’m writing about it here. To expose the secret of my insecurities and weaken their grip. Secrets lose their power to do harm when we dare to tell the truth about the fierce beauty of our human condition.
This month I am doing something I’ve never done before — actually, never had the courage to do before… entering a writer’s competition.
I am fascinated by the fact the story I’ve chosen to enter is about something which, before that night, I’d never imagined doing.
And here I am doing something I’ve always imagined doing and never did.
Sometimes, on mornings like this when darkness still wraps the world outside my window in its embrace and ice glistens on the river’s surface, and the world continues to hold its breath beneath Covid’s thrall, I wonder… when will it end?
When will booking a flight to somewhere far away in the world, or just to Vancouver to visit my grandchildren, not come burdened with vaccination passports and endless thoughts of should I or shouldn’t I as I weigh the risks and calculate the cost of travelling on my life and the lives of my beloveds?
When will the simple act of going to the grocery store not include wearing a mask, sanitizing my hands at every turn and worrisome thoughts of… What if I get it?
When will it be okay to hug again, or hold hands or sit side-by-side on a park bench or in a restaurant without measuring the distance between us to ensure we’re safe?
When?
And then, I think about the boys and men who went off to war decades ago unsure of when or if they’d make it home and the mothers and children and grandparents and those who had to stay behind. Did they wonder every day, “When will it end?” Did they have doubts and fears that would not lay quiet in the night? Did they worry would they be safe going out the door if they were not close to a bomb shelter? What about their children at school and so far from their loving arms when air raid sirens blasted? Did they worry every day about their loved ones somewhere far away fighting a war so they could be free? Did they wonder when Year 3 started, “Will this be the last year of this war gripping the world in its terror? When will it end?”
And then, I think about the wars that are still being fought today and the millions and millions of refugees uprooted by guns and natural disasters who sit in crowded tents and live in crowded quarters where Covid is not the only risk they face every moment of every day. And how they must worry every single moment about food to eat, a safe place to sleep and wonder, “When will it ever end?” as they go about their days yearning for peace and safety, worrying and wondering about when they will ever have a home to call their own again. Worrying and wondering which country in this world will accept them so that they can build better lives for their children. When will it end?
And then, I think about this freedom I have where I can choose to wear what I want, speak how I want, disagree with government and not be jailed, or killed for my impertinence. This freedom I possess to be myself, to worship or pray or send blessings into the sky or sit at a pew of my choice, to walk the streets without needing a man to accompany me or having to walk a step behind, to drive a car even though I’m a woman, to enter establishments of education, justice, government or places of worship without being barred because of my gender, this freedom… not even Covid can deny me that.
Billions of people around the world do not share in the freedoms I possess.
If killing Covid means I must get a jab or two, and wear a mask and take into account how close I stand to a stranger, then I will do it. It’s good for me and good for you and good for those billions of people around the world who do not share in the freedoms I possess. At least if I take care of my world here now, we all might have a chance to live without Covid in our midst tomorrow and one day, one year, one millennium in the future, we might all walk in freedom, peace and love.
When my daughters were little, I loved to write stories just for them.
One such story was about a lobster named Louis (my father’s name) who liked his shell so much he did not want to have to change. One day he decided to run away thinking that would prevent the inevitable.
As we all know, if it’s inevitable, it can’t be prevented and some things in nature are… our nature.
For Louis, running away resulted in a series of misadventures that almost got him trapped in a lobster cage (it looked safe!) until finally, he fell asleep behind a rock only to awake to discover his shell had deserted him.
Embarrassed by his shell-less body, he dug a hole in the ocean floor and buried himself in the sand.
Of course, in his shell-less/defenseless state, it was the best thing he could do. Looking out at the darkness around him, he discovered another pair of eyes looking back at him — it was a lady lobster named Sue who was also hiding beneath the sand.
The long and short of it… They fell in love with the sound of each other’s voice and the words of comfort they shared (not quite that mushily in the story ’cause Louis was scared and Sue was wise and witty…)
Anyway, what Louis learned is what the story was all about — no matter where you go, or what you do, or how you look, or how deep the hole you’ve dug for yourself…. being yourself is the only way to be, ’cause being yourself is where Love will always find you.
______________________
Louis’ story drifted into my mind in the early morning hours as I lay soaking in the bath, the light of a candle flickering and classical music playing softly in the background.
I’d awoken with a dream in which I was chasing a butterfly through a field of wildflowers and fell over the edge of a cliff to land in a bed of roses.
Just kidding.
I’d awoken at 4 from a dream where I was angry and couldn’t remember about what. As I wasn’t getting back to sleep I decided to have a bath.
It does makes sense that I was thinking about anger. I’d been speaking with someone about anger earlier in the day. They asked me, “How do you get over anger?”
You don’t, I reply. You go through it.
Anger in the moment can be a powerful force for change (as long as we express it appropriately), I said. Anger many years later is a sign of something deeper. Have you considered seeing a therapist?
I’m not broken, they exclaimed.
And that was when it struck me — as a society we sometimes hold a collective view that seeing a therapist is a sign of what is wrong with us.
I disagree.
For me, seeing a therapist is about acknowledging things that aren’t working for me anymore and seeking help to find my way through. It’s about getting right within myself so that I can walk through the world doing the right things to create a better place.
You cannot heal or change what you do not acknowledge.
Therapy is the opportunity to heal those things that no longer work for you.
For years after my brother died, I carried this unsettling anger about his choices and the things he’d done. Holding onto it wasn’t making my world a more peaceful, loving place today. It was holding me stuck in the past.
Anger needs to be released and the best way to do that is to let it flow into the Love that is always there. And sometimes, we need a guide to help us find our path.
Like Louis and Sue who shared the darkness and found their way home to themselves — ’cause that’s where Love will always find us, no matter how far we run.
The wind howls. Beaumont the Sheepadoodle paces nervously. I wrap his ‘thunder-blanket’ jacket around his body, he goes back to bed with his dad.
The morning is quiet. Except for the howling wind. Seeds sleep deep beneath the still-frozen ground, dreaming of blossoms yet to flourish. Winter is not yet done.
34 years ago plus a day, my youngest daughter was one day old.
A friend and I were reminiscing about Liseanne’s arrival the other day. It was not the way I wanted it to be. I wanted to be awake and couldn’t be. My water had broken earlier in the morning of the 29th. I didn’t want to say anything. The nurses were on strike and I was scheduled for a C-Section in two weeks. I wanted to wait until the strike was over so I could have an epidural.
When I finally called my gynecologist’s office, he told me nature never waits. “Get thee to the hospital!”
There was a thought she might be able to come into the world naturally, but it wasn’t to be. Twenty-four hours later, she came into this world while I slept, a silent partner to the miracle of her arrival.
It would be several hours later before I held her. I’ve never wanted to let her go since.
Perhaps it’s because of her arrival into a world of strangers, Liseanne has never been afraid. Of anyone or anything. Nor has she ever backed down from speaking truth, protecting the underdog, fighting for justice for those who need help finding their voice. Taking care of all creatures with her beautiful, caring heart wide-open.
Liseanne is Funny, Fair and Fabulous. She treats everyone with dignity and respect, always lending a hand to a friend, or stranger, in need.
And through it all, she lightens even the darkest day with her love, light and laughter.
I’d like to think everything good about her she got from me, but that would be pure hubris and just not true.
Throughout her life she has been surrounded by loving family and friends. And, throughout her life, she has excelled at keeping the bonds of love tightly woven together so that no one feels outside her circle, no one feels alone.
My youngest daughter is 34-years-old plus a day today and the strands of love that bind our hearts together, grow always stronger.
And, as she would say, ’cause she is also very, very witty and quick to insert a pointed quip (ok sarcastic offering) when she thinks I’m getting too mushy… “You slept through my coming into this world and missed my first birthday because you were off skiing down a mountainside at some remote backcountry lodge, it’s okay, I’ll forgive you. Some day.”
Actually, she would tell you she’d never say something like that. Too many words. Her wit is short and sweet – and her forgiveness is never in question.
It’s who she is. Loving. Caring. And so very accepting of all my human (and motherly) flaws.
Though… she does still like to remind me about missing her first birthday! (In my defense, we were to have gotten out of the backcountry lodge the day before her birthday but a blizzard blew in and the helicopter that was to come and retrieve us was grounded for two days!)
I am so very grateful to have the joy of celebrating all her birthdays since.
Liseanne is 34 + a day today. And as she has done every day since coming into this world on her own terms, she makes this world a better, more loving place, in her own fabulous and unique way.
Happy Birthday + a day Liseanne!
Oh dear… I just realized… she probably will think I didn’t post about her on her birthday because… well I posted Beaumont’s blog instead.
Sigh, I can hear her now… “Yup. Knew it. You love Beaumont best.” 🙂
LOL. And I reply, “You taught me well. Do the unexpected. Life’s more fun that way!
At the beginning of 2012, I started a new journey — I thought it would lead me away from working in the homeless-serving sector where I’d spent the previous six years… life is always full of surprises, but that’s another story.
In the post below, which I shared on Friday, April 13th, 2012, I was immersed in an online retreat, Soul of a Pilgrim, and doing consulting work for a not-for-profit, not in the homeless-serving sector.
In the course, Christine Valters Paintner, our guide, extolled the virtues of ‘beginning again. No matter what happened or how long we strayed from the coursework — because we all would, it is human, she said — we must always do as St. Benedict suggested centuries ago, Begin Again. Or, as it says in the Hindu text, Bhagavad Gita, “Curving back within myself I create again and again.”.
I first posted the poem below on my original blog site, “Recover Your Joy” on Friday, April 13, 2012.
Always Begin Again
PS. I’m thinking of making Flashback Fridays a regular feature here. We’ll see. If I change my mind, I can always begin again.
Dare Boldly 