To be honest, I'm just afraid

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.