Fighting the fear

I don't remember exactly when, but at some point in my life I learned the difference between living in joy and living in fear. It started a serious epiphany of understanding my own motivations and what drives me to this day. It's my belief that a lot of it is hard-wired into us - it is who we are and although there are some aspects of nurture, community, and socialization intertwined, it's hard to escape our genetics.

For the most part, I do believe that most people live in fear; fear of what we have, fear of what we don't have, fear of others, fear of the unknown, fear of what we haven't done yet, fear of not measuring up. For example, the last presidential election preyed on those fears, those small gremlins that live inside us and only come out to whisper quiet nasties in our minds and hearts. Easy pickings, really. Coach everything in terms of a bogeyman and people tend to grasp to the easiest and nearest solution. But I digress into politics when really, I don't mean to do so today (sorry, Jen).

Those who live in joy seem to be few and far between. Those few folks who actually revel in life and all its offerings, who go unabashed into strange places, who don't worry about what others might think of them, who are unafraid to be different or to take a new path.

I don't necessarily believe that one is exclusively one without any of the other. An offering of my own fears would stop most of you from reading this blog any further. Suffice it to say that despite my pessimistic and cynical leanings, I've always been able to find joy in small things - the beauty of a flower, the "remembrance" of a long-forgotten fragrance - although larger fears have often guided my direction and I say that with a measure of sadness. Even self-awareness doesn't always prevent one from doing the wrong thing. Needless to say, I am intimately acquainted with Fear, that bastard.

But fear like this new fear ... I've never experienced anything like it. It's sheer helplessness, aided and abetted by those small gremlins who delight in whispering horrors in my ears. It's a type fear that compels a certain masochism that forces me to go0gle "splenomegaly and anemia, infant". Maybe it's a way of attempting to assert some form of control over this fear - I don't know. I just know that I keep holding my sweet son and repeating to myself "there is nothing wrong with this wonderful healthy boy".




And while fear is gripping me to a large extent, I am trying very hard to believe in this new mantra. If I repeat it enough, perhaps it will remain truth.




Happy Mother's Day to all of us; women pre, post and intra.