My 10 year-old son
keeps pestering me to help him set up a Minecraft account. And I keep putting him off. My older son has one, I know about it. But when I’m really honest with myself I
realize it’s fear again. I’m afraid he’ll
get sucked into a mind-numbing, time-wasting game. I’m afraid he won’t like to read anymore,
that nothing slow will be entertaining to him anymore. What about all our board games? Will that phase of his life be done? And so I wait.
Another son, the 15
year-old, just got his driver’s license a few weeks back. He wanted to drive to the park downtown one
of those first nights and play fugitive or capture the flag. It wasn’t that I wanted to ruin his plans or
fun. It all just made me a little
nervous. Not the safest part of town. He’d never driven alone at night. I wasn’t even sure he knew how to get there
on his own since he’s always reading whenever we’ve driven anywhere. It was one of his first times he’d be driving
by himself. I was just afraid how it all
might end up.
And it’s not that
driving scares me. I’ve actually got a
lead foot, I think because of my drive to be efficient. And you know I love being alone. But long road trips alone do make me
apprehensive. Because I’m afraid I’ll
end up with car trouble on the side of the road in an area with no cell
reception. And I’ll be stuck. At least if someone’s with me I’ll feel less
vulnerable.
Todd always plants
the garden. Granted, it’s usually early
May and freezing when he decides the time is right, but it’s more than not
wanting to brave the Montana spring that makes me hesitate. It’s that I’m afraid I won’t do it his
way. Not that he’s ever mean about it, I
just know that he loves his garden and has his special way of making it all
line up, which bed is designated for which vegetable, etc. I don’t want to mess it up by planting things
too close or too far, too shallow or too deep.
It’s easier on me if I just wait for the weeds to pop up.
Like I’ve said
before, I’ve got lots of strong opinions about all sorts of things. But I’m not that keen on sharing them. For all sorts of reasons. I’m afraid I’ll be wrong. That I don’t have good support or evidence to
back them up. That I won’t be able to
articulate my argument. That I’ll offend
you or put my foot in my mouth. I have
some thoughts I’d like to share in church, but I’m not a very good
extemporaneous speaker. I’m afraid I’d
get it all jumbled. I’m afraid it won’t
make sense, that I’ll make a fool out of myself, that I’ll take too long, that
it will be worse than if I had just stayed in my seat. So that’s usually where you’ll find me. And my family. We’re kind of the same that way.
I remember buying
the thick book for my freshman Honors English class during the summer: One
Hundred Years of Solitude. I took a
look at the family pedigree chart just inside within the first few pages just
to help keep track of the characters. It
was too much. In my heart I knew I was
in over my head and bowed out, opting instead for the regular English
class. I did the same thing when it came
time to decide between AP and regular government. You already know which one I chose. I was afraid of making a fool of myself, of
confirming what I already suspected. I
still wonder if I could’ve done the work.
I just didn’t know—and still don’t—if I was smart enough. I was afraid I might not be.
I didn’t go to our
senior night/party in high school. It
was a Medieval Times Dinner Show, a couple hours away on a bus. Not that I didn’t think it would be fun. I was just scared. To be alone.
My best friend had to work. My
other good friend was a year younger and obviously not in my graduating
class. I was friends with some of the
smart kids from my classes. Some ASB
kids. No one was mean at all; they just
all had their own little groups. Honestly, I was afraid I wouldn’t have anyone
to sit with on the bus or hang out with during the evening. That’s the only reason for not going with my
class. And I can’t decide if I would
make the same decision again or not even now.
I think I might.
I was offered an
opportunity many years ago when I was a student at BYU to go on a tour with a performing group as part of the tech crew.
I knew it was a great chance to see the world and to have some amazing
experiences. But I was afraid. Of messing up their performances by not
turning on the lights at the right time.
Maybe of breaking something. Of
eating weird food. Of doing something so
adventurous. So I said no (way).
I quickly dismissed
another opportunity at BYU, to be a teaching assistant in my graduate
program. I quietly signed up to be a
research assistant instead. You know the
story: behind the scenes, not in front of a group. I can’t think of anything scarier than
standing in front of my peers, pretending that I was qualified to teach them.
Along those lines, I’ve
told you before, I’d planned on being a missionary for years, had my bags and
clothes, had gone out with other young missionaries and was ready to put
college on hold for awhile. Then I found
out I wouldn’t be going. Not only did I
feel peaceful about this turn of events and knew it was right for me to stay in
school, I was genuinely relieved. It
scared me to death to go for the same reasons I just told you about. Being assigned to absolutely any land in the
world, eating strange food for a year and a half, learning a new language,
living in a foreign country all by myself… the whole thing scared me to death. When I was really honest with myself. Although I know it was the right thing for me
in my life to stay home, I still wonder all the time how I would’ve done. I wonder if I would’ve been a good
missionary, if I would’ve adapted, if I could ever have learned to speak
another language. I have real
doubts. And it scares me to think I
would’ve failed on all accounts. Frankly,
I’m scared to know the truth about how I would’ve done.
I’ve told you
before, I’m scared to get a real job.
That I’ll mess things up for them.
Just one of the reasons I haven’t looked.
I’m also afraid of
the pressure cooker. I just buy frozen
vegetables and make freezer jam instead.
It’s not that I’m lazy, we have canned things; I’m just afraid of
explosions.
And of working with
people I don’t know. Which is why I
hesitated getting really involved with our recent all-night grad party. I’m nervous around the high school and didn’t
feel like I was the right kind of mom to get involved. Until a good friend got desperate and I
jumped in one night with the decorations and another night with the food. I could kick myself for not doing more sooner
and for leaving it all for the other moms.
I was just scared. But I had a
great time. I can do better next
year. And I will.
I have all sorts of
people and families in mind that I’d like to interact with, some who I suspect
might be lonely or just need someone to make the first move; they seem like
they’d be good friends. But I’m afraid
of small-talk. What if our families
don’t click? What if it doesn’t work out? I usually go ahead anyway and just invite
people before I can talk myself out of it, but Todd can tell if it’s a group
that I’m nervous about because the dessert or some part of the dinner I’m
making usually flops. Or I kind of get
in a cleaning mode. You know if you’re a
close friend because I usually skip that part.
As many times as
these kinds of things have happened, I can’t believe I still don’t always
recognize why I feel so scrambled under my skin every now and then. But if I’m honest with myself, I recognize
before long that my irritation or stress is really just a mask for my fear. Maybe you’ve noticed that too. Maybe we play it off, not ever connecting the
dots that it’s fear that’s making us hesitate.
I didn’t realize
until I made this short sample list just how paralyzed I’ve been over the years.
How sad.
So many experiences I forfeited by staying on the shore, where the sand
was warm, where I made a little body impression, where things were supposedly stable. But we know how sand is. Before you know it, the tide comes in, and
things shift. So I’ve unavoidably faced
a few of my fears along the shore. I’ve gotten
wet, my foundation has faltered. And yet
it’s been so good for me. I’m the kind
who likes to get wet toenail by toenail rather than jumping in. Usually I stay far away from the water
because I’m afraid someone will push me in.
But I have the second half of my life ahead of me, and if you let me do
things at my speed, I will eventually get in.
I will even swim with you. Just
don’t expect me to go off the high dive.
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