conquer my fears

Its before dawn and Christian just left for work. Moussolini is calling out to the last part of the darkness. I’ve cracked the shades so I can keep an eye out for the sunrise. Yesterday the early sounds of wind and rain kept good company. This morning is silent – or feels quiet with the usual house noises. The water pump and the stop and go of buses. I am alone with my thoughts. I woke up with a million things boiling over in my head. I am hoping that writing will help relieve some pressure. Give it somewhere to go.

But now that my fingers are at the keys… the are stuck in the same paralysis that has gripped me these last few weeks. I am not sure how to explain it. Just a familiar stuck. The grip of inaction when left to my own devices. And still I am scared to be pushed back into the chaos of school. Maybe I will learn to love its demanding nature…

We laid in bed and talked about the future last night. Landed at the inevitable mystery and accepted it for what it is. We fantasize about security but will keep taking risks. Its easier because we have each other. And who knows what will happen next.

I felt an undercurrent of fear well up in my gut. Suddenly more aware of the gamble of letting the skills I can sell atrophy while I search for other passions. They seem more allusive every day and meanwhile work is harder to come by. Passion is usually my horse and my buggy. Usually it can carry me through all the uncertainty. But now it seems to turn to dust at midnight.

Last weeks news at the office hasn’t really settled in… Things seemed ok then, after I talked it over with Christian. Now I am trying to write a letter to my boss to keep my job. Its hard. I’m not sure what I need or what I want. Hard to tell the two apart.

enter the forest where it is darkest. Together we will never forget. And we will be brave.

I spent so much time afraid that I would never get this chance. Now that its here, I keep finding myself paralyzed in fear of action. Don’t trust my pen to paper long enough to allow form to take root. Fear of the solid and the permanent. That what my hands make will not make my imagination proud.

You fool! The only real thing to lose is a mere idea of myself and a preconceived notion of creation. Its those ideas holding me back in the first place.

Maybe this requires an exorcism…

I stayed up all night smothered in a cloud of my own toxic, cyclical thoughts. Can I really do this? I am looking 70k of debt in the face and it has teeth. And that’s just the cost of school and insurance. We have another 7k on credit cards from the move and may fall further behind if we can’t work enough to pay the bills. And still, we’ve both got to keep our creative growth a priority. That’s the whole point.

I could be sure its all worth it if I could be sure that talent is still in me. It has to be. But its been so long. I feel like I am in the dessert digging for water. Praying I find an underground river that I can ride all the way to the lost city of gold.

But if I wasn’t a little bit uncomfortable, it wouldn’t be a risk, right? I must remember… to always enter the forest where it is darkest.

While watching the end of this movie it occurred to me – in the end you loose everything anyways. So why be afraid of loss? Or of heights? Whether its 50 feet or 30,000, is a long ways down.

Last night we watched a moving short documentary by Werner Herzog about champion ski-jumper Walter Steiner and I had another big realization about myself and fear. In the film Walter talks a lot about the sensation he gets just before, during, and after the jump. The fear is almost overwhelming, yet the drive to fly preservers and he speeds up the closer he comes to the edge of the jump. That function that pushes a person through the fear of physical harm does not seem to exist within me.

I can remember the feeling of approaching a jump. My snowboard gaining speed – or even more terrifying – my skis when I was little. Knowing with complete rational conviction that speed was required to make the jump. Yet the fear in my heart won out and I would always find myself looking for, and finding, a way out. I would slow down and go over the small side getting only a few inches of air. I would let my friends go first and hope they didn’t stop and turn to see me dodge it.

Digging further back, there is the terrible memory of faking an injury on the Wall of Death. I must have been about 6 or 7. I had done it once in ski lessons earlier that day and when my dad met me to take a few runs I wanted to show him. Then at the lip, I froze. The sun went down, it got cold, the ski patrol had to come get me. I knew they all knew I was faking, but I had to stick with the lie to save my pride.

And now that I recognize this sensation, I can tie it to so many other things in my life. Never learning a cartwheel and fear of a hand-stand in yoga. Bad memories of shivering on the diving board in swimming lessons with a class full of kids younger than me impatiently watching. I never have learned how to dive. Many long walks back down the wrong way after waiting in long lines for water slides and roller-coasters. I have overcome those. But still I have a long lasting fear of heights. Bad dreams about tall buildings.

I have had a few physical breakthroughs, mostly with Christian. Jumping off the big rock in Redstone. Caving above Eagle – Shan was a big part of that. Hiking and snowboarding Loveland pass. Oh, and the kayak lessons. That last trip down the river I went through some pretty huge rapids. Probably cause there was no turning back. It was exilerating though. All of these experiences were. So why do I usually choose quiting over exileration? And at the expense of humiliation?

I think it comes down to trusting my body. Yoga certainly helps with this, but I think I need to push myself. Maybe a woman’s beginning rock climbing class…

became crystal clear to me today. Fear of being a no-one. Of not being successful, which means most of all not being recognized for my talents. Sometimes I feel so full of self doubt in a way that runs straight to my core. I am trying to accept those feelings as an inherent part of this transition – of moving, of pursuing new things. Letting go of some of the external ego boosts I was used to at work. So what really am I as just me?

Its that time of the year again. So much pressure to dress up and be silly. So hard for me as I take myself WAY too seriously. Which seriously freaks me out every year. I think I was 14 the last time I really dressed up and had fun, dressed up as a heard of cows with my girlfriends. Since then I usually agree to go to some party or out and then freak out at the last minute and cancel. No costume is ever good enough, which is just an excuse for my fear of stepping outside my normal role. Fear of pretendin and loosing myself.

So today I took the first step in conquering this fear and actually bought a platinum wig and some fake eyelashes to wear with my grandma’s black coat and my animal print high heals. And even some bright red lipstick and eye shadow. My goal is to be a movie star, but especially as I describe it am aware that I run the risk of looking like any old painted whore. There was certainly a moment when I froze in fear in line at the drag queen store, and had my husband not been there to catch my eye and make me laugh, I would have bailed. As I looked around I realized that even the old fat guys in sweaters were willing to become Britney Spears as a school girl. Maybe more than willing. So what the hell. Still a few hours before we get dressed up, but so far I completely intend on going through with it.