Steve has recently confessed something interesting about his psyche—he has a couple of phobias that prevent him from doing some really cool things. Things I would miss very much if I could not do them. This got me thinking about fears and phobias and the extent to which some people allow them to control their lives.
Tornadoes, first of all, he’s afraid of tornadoes, which is interesting because, like me, he grew up in Oklahoma where we kept them as pets. Less reasonable is his fear of flying. He hasn’t been on an airplane since he was a child, and does not expect to ever again. He had an anxiety attack just driving through the airport.
Being me, of course, I thought about this and analyzed it way more than is normal.
What an interesting approach to fear, and one that seems so foreign to me. I am intrepid, of course, I fear nothing, but if I was ever afraid of something, I’m the type that seeks to play with that fear. See the scary barking, growling, snarling dog? I wonder how far his chain will reach? How much adrenalin will I feel if I stand *here* and then how much if I stand *this much* closer?
There must have been a time when tornadoes scared me as much as they do Steve, but year after year, I stood out in the yard watching the swirling sky rather than ducking for cover in the safety of the storm cellar. It wasn’t long before tornadoes didn’t scare me at all anymore.
How many flights would it take before Steve would conquer his fear of flying, if instead of ducking for cover he stood up to the fear, welcomed the adrenalin, and boarded the plane?
I blogged recently about The Hot Zone and the Ebola virus, admitting that I am freaked out by him. “Terrified” might not be an exaggeration. And yet, the stories of the scientists who handle the virus every day, studying him, watching him, holding him in their hands with only a few layers of cloth, plastic and rubber in between—wow, what a fascinating job that must be. What a rush, holding death right there in your hand.
So I’m not the kind of person to develop phobias, those niggling little fears and insecurities that grow plump and round from constant care and feeding. There’s a downside to being brave like me, of course, and that is risk. Every once in a while, ya play with a rattlesnake and he nails ya, right in a tender spot. Ow!!
