Fear and bravery

I think if I end up having one big regret at the end of my life, it will be that I've spent so much of my energy being afraid.

People tend to think of me as brave and daring.  That's because I can be bold and brassy, which are not the same thing.  It's true that I have taken some big steps throughout the years, such as dropping out of college and moving into a tiny apartment in Hollywood to pursue acting.  And leaving Los Angeles after 26 years to move to Seattle, a city where I knew nobody, had nothing waiting for me.  But those are not examples of bravery.  In both cases, I was excited to take those steps.  I was moving forward toward a life I fully expected to enjoy, in which I expected to thrive.  You don't have to be brave if you're not scared.

And I am scared a lot of the time, maybe even most of the time.  As a child, I was afraid of being alone and lonely, so much so that I learned to put on a good dog-and-pony show to capture people's attention, to make friends quickly, be the class clown and teacher's pet.  As I grew into womanhood, I became afraid of monsters, the human kind, the kidnappers and rapists and murderers who haunt our newspapers and our movies and our dreams.  Even now, living with the most security-conscious person I have ever known, behind double and triple locks, I carry with me an almost constant anxiety about someone coming into our home and doing terrible things to me and Sweet Hubby.

In the natural world, I'm almost phobically afraid of sharks, which is so silly, given how easy they are to avoid.  It's an accomplishment for me to go snorkeling because, oh my god, I can't see what's coming up behind me!  I don't have too many other fears in nature.  I'm afraid of heights, but only when I'm actually high up; it's not a fear I carry with me.  Snakes and spiders don't wig me out particularly.  On a long ago camping trip, a cougar came into our campsite, and all I could think was "I wish the others could see this."  If it had noticed and approached me I would have been scared, but when it saw me, it disappeared like a puff of smoke, the first time I've known that saying to be close to literal.  Again, I wasn't being brave because I wasn't scared.

My overriding background fear is of death; not my own, but my brother's and sister's and Sweet Hubby's.  I brood on those more than is probably healthy.  I'm terrified of having to live in a world without them.  It's a regrettable waste of emotional energy, this terror.  They're here now, they'll die someday, before me or after me, which is all completely natural and expected and universal.  I would love to be able to live much more in the now, enjoying everything there is to enjoy, and save my fear for when there is something concrete and present to be afraid of.  I don't seem to be able to brass my way through this kind of fear.  What a shame.  What a waste.