On the last, rainy day before leaving the beach, I ventured out and did a little bit of shopping. The clouds weren’t especially ominous but the weather forecast predicted heavy bands of rain to make their way through the area. In one of the stores, I saw three employees huddled together discussing the weather prediction. They each seemed anxious and worried about the potential for bad weather, despite the forecast not including any indication of severe weather. I could tell that they were all pretty worried with one commenting that she didn’t want it to come into the area and was worried whether or not she would make it home before it started. The area is still prone to flooding, especially in some of the lower lying areas closest to the coast. Their faces bore the angst from a memory past, Hurricane Michael. Though the area has made a significant recovery, the scars from the storm are still present on the land and some of the businesses are still struggling to rebuild. It still stings to see so many homes in disrepair and struggling to keep tarps on the top of the roofs. The fear of something like that monster coming back has left its indelible mark on those ladies, like so many others in the area. However, the fear that day seemed to be an exaggerated response in response to the actual weather situation. Bad things have a way of doing that to us. They shape us, our future responses to similar situations even if there’s nothing bad headed our way. This is the fear that shapes us.
Several years ago, I was involved in a series of automobile accidents. They seemed to come almost one right after the other, though no fault of my own. None of them were extremely severe but they left me with some level of a post traumatic response. When I first got back behind the wheel after the wrecks, I had an overwhelming fear that another wreck was going to happen. It almost crippled me from ever driving too far from home. To this day, I have a hard time keeping my anxiety under control when I’m in traffic. I won’t drive in Atlanta and I have a hard time even riding with anyone else. The fear of having another accident weighs heavily on me every time I get in a vehicle. If another driver comes to a stop sign too fast, I flinch and sometimes have an exaggerated response by swerving to miss them even though they’re not out in the road.
Fear was designed to keep us out of harm’s way. But when we rely too heavily on fear to protect us, it can also keep us away from the good things that life has to offer. One of my closest friends had a marriage that ended badly, with physical and emotional abuse. For a long time, she avoided dating for fear that every man would be like her ex. She shut down anyone who made any attempt to flirt or date her. She and I had a long conversation about her fears and what she really wanted for her life. Above everything, she didn’t want to allow anyone to ever hurt her again. She said, “I will never be hurt again.” Her method to protect herself from hurt was just to shut out the world, which included the good, to help shield her heart from ever feeling that way again. Through a lot of encouragement, she finally started dating again and has met an incredible guy. She still worries that he will be like her ex and says that she is fighting falling in love with him. Misery loves company and fear loves misery. She was settling for the mediocre and sacrificing the potential for great. But fear sucks us in that way. It tells us that the only way we could possibly protect ourselves is to avoid anything remotely similar to what hurt us.
But that’s where we have an opportunity for discernment. She won’t be hurt like that again because she will use that experience to look for similarities. She will be cautious in her approach to her new relationship and she won’t hand out trust like its Halloween candy. Cody Johnson sings a song, Till You Can’t, and one of the lines says “if you’ve got a chance, take it while you’ve got a chance.” Happiness shouldn’t be barricaded by the fear of what might happen. Experience is our teacher, not our prison.
The news showed a story the other morning of a little boy who was bitten by a shark and subsequently lost his leg. Prior to this accident, he was athletic and very active. His parents worried that losing his leg would change his desire to be active. Instead, this courageous little boy told the reporter that he couldn’t wait to be fit for his prosthetic and get back into the ocean. This child had every reason, to include the intense pain that was evident, to throw in the towel. He could have adopted the poisonous attitude of fear. But he had the fear of not living his life to the fullest. That’s the kind of fear we need.
Life is full of reasons we can just pack up our dreams, go ahead and dig the six foot hole, and jump on in. We can live life just going through the motions because to do more would mean to risk something, like getting hurt. Athletes build their strength by pushing through the pain when things get too hard. Investors risk their fortunes by putting it in the hands of someone else. Entrepreneurs risk their livelihoods by believing in a dream. The sun doesn’t stop shining because of the clouds. It’s still shining behind the clouds, no matter how bad the storm surges and destruction rages. Fear is a four letter word and we sometimes let risk become a four letter word, too.
Fear should protect us from the bad, not shield us from the good. I won’t ever zip up a sofa cushion without making sure my finger isn’t in the zipper because I once got my finger caught in the zipper. That’s good fear. It helps me to pay closer attention to what I’m doing so that I won’t get hurt. That’s what fear is designed to do — help us to pay closer attention. It’s what comes after the initial fear where we have the option to heed the fear and move away from the danger, or determine the danger is worth the potential outcome.
I continually tell my friend that without great risk, there can be no great reward. When she starts down the path of trying to forego even attempting to see where her relationship will go, I start to remind her and she finishes my sentence, “I know, I know. Without great risk, there’s no great reward.” Sometimes it’s with a huff of disbelief that someone could love her without hurting her. Sometimes it’s with the hope that I could be right.
Messpot Diaries 