There I was, standing with a forty pound backpack on my back, in a bus full of people, hotter than I’ve ever been in my entire life, thinking about how I used to get nervous on travel days.
(I promise this isn’t about Europe, keep reading.)
Something about packing the bag up and being at the bus stop on time and blah blah blah always made me anxious to even think about. But this was my 19th public transportation since we’d arrived in Europe and I was finally used to the feeling.
When I start to worry, I ask myself what’s the worst thing that could happen? And then I count backwards down to a realistic situation. 1. I’m not going to die. 2. I’m not going to lose all my money. 3. I’m not going to get hurt. 4. I’m not going to get lost because I have all the tools I need to navigate what I’m doing.
And then the worst thing that could happen would be like, missing the bus and waiting 30 minutes for the next one. And it doesn’t seem so scary that way.
Back in the sweaty bus, I sat there thinking about the different things we could do in europe, and I crossed a lot of them out of my mind because I was thinking we could probably get hurt. Would we though?
I asked myself, would we really get hurt? Or am I going to the worst case scenario?
And I asked myself something else: what would you do if you knew you couldn’t get hurt?
Ride in a hot air balloon. Play football. Cliff jump. Some hallucinogenic drugs. Ride a motorbike. Go really fast. Slide down the staircase on the handrail. Tell the Starbucks barista my coffee was supposed to be iced.
Am I really not doing these things because I’m afraid to get hurt?
One day a long long long time ago my dad and I were walking past a Lululemon with a sticker on the window that said “do one thing a day that scares you.” And he pointed and told me I had to stop playing it so safe. HELL. NO. I live in the comfort zone. I’m happy there. I’m safe there. He was trying to get me to be a better hockey player then, but I was scared of getting hurt doing that, too.
If backpacking across Europe taught me one thing, it was to thrive in the adrenaline just outside of my comfort zone. Being brave is soo so so cool.
Is it shocking that I never thought love would hurt? Never once did I consider that companionship, intimacy, and care could turn someone into someone they’re not.
The very essence of love is the hurt.
The ache of missing a hand to hold, a cheek to brush up against, and quiet word at the end of the day. Love is so, so painful. And so scary. And so unpredictable. So far out of my comfort zone I can’t even imagine it’s presence anymore.
If I wasn’t scared, I’d probably fall in love again too. It would be so fun to find another person to get completely lost in. Share secrets again and dance in the kitchen. Split a grilled cheese and pick dog names out.
Everyone I’ve ever loved has left a mark, and I don’t think I’m brave enough for that again.
Here’s the thing (because Haleigh blogs always have a ‘thing’). Fear is stupid.
As a writer, I try to find better describing words for things but today I feel like stupid is the best describing word for fear. It’s BS! And fear means you’re not caring about yourself enough to protect yourself from pain.
“As the image of myself becomes sharper in my brain and more precious, I feel less afraid that someone else will erase me by denying me love.”
Simply deciding that you are more valuable, stronger, and more resilient than the thing causing you fear, will stop fear.
Count backwards. 1. He’s (most likely) not going to murder me. 2. He doesn’t think I’m haggard and ugly. 3. He won’t call me stupid. 1. Worse comes to worst he’s got his own issues that make him leave for reasons outside of my looks & personality.
And if someone leaves you, you’re still entirely you.
Phew.
And if you do die in a hot air balloon, then wtf? That’s the coolest way to die ever. The worst thing that could ever happen rarely ever happens and if it does? So be it. Anything less than that is just a really damn good story.
There’s not a lot I believe in, aside from mermaids and like two conspiracies, other than speaking things out into the universe. So when I’m feeling scared, I just say (out loud) “Fear nothing. Fear no one.” And then proceed to fear nothing and no one.
I’m sure there’s a lot of things I’ve done that probably should have ended in worst case scenarios (ie: that one night we stayed with French men until like, way too early in the morning).
But now I’m like!!! It was a party nonetheless!
Does anyone get through life without mistakes? Without a broken finger? Or worse, a broken heart? Does anyone else never get told to step off the grass?
There is no such thing as fear. Fear is just wondering about the worst case scenario. Get over it.
As a professional fraidy-cat, I am well versed in the art of making space for people who are less afraid of confrontation and stuff than I am. I have no FOMO about missing the next event because I’m scared I’ll some way get hurt or like die or something. I have no problem turning down something that sounds fun because I’m scared.
But I think I’m kind of done with that?
Maybe?
I think it’s time for love. And maybe a motorbike ride.
Back in the sweaty bus. I glare at the guy trying to rub his hand against my leg. I keep my feet planted even though people are pushing me around. There’s a million of us. We’re all sweaty. We all need space. None of us want to be in here. I don’t need to get smaller so you feel bigger. What are you gonna do, scare me?
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