Below

What hypocrites we are. Hesitant to go in the murky river, fearful of what we cannot see and could lurk below. Loath to explore the clear ocean, afraid of what we might see swim between our toes. This is true for me at least.

I am a fearful person. Always have been. In spectacularly irrational ways, thanks to my vivid imagination. Often, when I swim laps, I will imagine some prehistoric leviathan - all boney armor, teeth and claws - erupting through a corner of the pool in a shower of tile and chasing me up the lane inches from my heels. Eventually, I am forced to stop and spin around to verify this absurd vision is genuinely a fiction.

I approach life with an intense rationality which my imagination actively mocks, demonstrating again and again the power of emotion. Darkness, large bodies of water, heights, extraterrestrials, anything that could crawl in my ear. My subconscious collects phobias like trading cards. Notions germinated as mere fascinations are then weaponized to terrorize me. 

I try to stifle my fear or merely outthink it. Neither tactic is very successful. What works is a surrender to the wave. Let the fear tumble, foam and play out until completion. I try to hold it at bay or interrupt the flow and it only resets and returns more powerful. But if allowed to fully express itself, the fearful vision will exhaust itself.

I grew tired of fear. It put NO and NEVER all too often in my mouth. So one year I decided to say “yes” no matter how the terrors howled. And I went scuba diving that summer, something I said I would never do. I allowed the fear to roar and I let it know it had been seen and heard. Then that little fiend quieted and watched me try something new.

Once my frightening daydreams and nightmares may have bordered on crippling. But now they seem like old friends, who come to play occasionally. They stomp in and shout, and I listen. Then they wave goodbye and leave. Until next time.