I am much more afraid of things than I would like to be.
Cats, for instance.
Sometimes squirrels, if they look especially twitchy.
Most other human beings.
I don't like this about myself. I want to be one of those confident, nonchalant people who walks like she's bullet proof. I would like to not have a panic attack every time a dog barks at me; I would like to not suspect that all of my neighbors are rapists and axe murderers. I really would. And I would like to not have to cede ground to stray cats every time they cross my path.
I know where this fear comes from. And I know that although it is overblown it is not unfounded. There are, after all, some really screwed up people out there (and some really mean cats), and I'm not exactly an impossible target. Still, I want to be able to take a walk in my extremely safe neighborhood and smile at the people who pass by without looking over my shoulder and wondering if I've already seen that blue van drive by once or questioning the motives of the guy with the limp walking thirty feet behind me.
Today I took a walk and coached myself to look at the birds and the trees, to think about all the beautiful things around me, to take note of the basketball hoops and wading pools and rose gardens. To think about the good. And I was doing very well until a bug flew into my eye and I was immediately after accosted by a large young man with long brown hair, a black T-shirt, and a face full of acne, who wanted to know my name and shake my hand. I hesitated, sized him up: He was a lot larger than me and he had big hands. I gave my name but decided to forgo the shake; he said that he was Randall and then asked abruptly who my favorite country music star is. I realized then that he was harmless and tried to come up with a country music singer even though I don't listen to that stuff. But before I could answer, he shouted excitedly that he loves Garth Brooks, that Garth Brooks is the greatest country music star ever. I laughed and said that yes, Garth Brooks is a pretty cool guy. Then Randall walked off down the road talking to himself about Garth in a loud voice and swinging a plastic bag. I went the other way, rubbing the bug out of my eye and laughing that I was scared to shake that guy's hand.
I didn't feel afraid the rest of the way home. Well, except for when I passed my neighbor who looks a little like Freddy Krueger.
Faith is Key
7 years ago
3 comments:
You sooo crack me up sometimes! I love your honesty, Erica...I always have. If it makes you feel any better, I always, always lock my car doors as soon as I get in because my Daddy taught me when I was sixteen that a rapist is sometimes waiting at the next stoplight and that I MUST drive with my doors locked. And I still do. I like to think a little caution can't be bad. :)
Very funny. I have never had a actual fear of kidnappers or rapists. I have no idea why but I think it has something to do with my aversion to Lifetime Television, which I like to refer to as "Everything Horrible that Could Possibly Happen to a Woman in her Lifetime Television." Once in college when I was afraid of everything, except of course kidnappers and rapists, I made a deal with myself that each day I would do one thing that I feared. Mostly it was social fear - asking for directions when I was obviously lost, striking up a conversation while waiting for class to begin, etc. I have to say, my self-induced therapy was at least minimally effective. It sounds like you are well on your way - humor is the most amazing form of therapy I know.
The boy may've been harmless -- but Garth Brooks is not.
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