I have always been fearless. The kind to throw caution to the wind, the kind who doesn't worry about the consequences. If there's an adventure, I'm up for it. A new experience, and I will try it. Fear has generally been a foreign commodity to me, something that I pity others for having. My complete lack of regard for life generally gave me the flexibility to be a cow about minor details like: safety. Concern. Security.

Sometimes being a little bit crazy makes life fun. Not only are you the life of a party and pills can be taken like M&Ms, but you get to disregard the serious bits about life and seem completely ok about it. Like "Valley of the Dolls" without the fame, I guess.

Sitting in the car yesterday, fiddling with the strap of my briefcase and trying to sit in a ladylike manner, I turn to Mr. Y.

"What are you afraid of?" I ask him.

"Italian electricity." he replies automatically, not taking his eyes off the road.

Ri-iiiiight.

And I think....What do I fear? What is it in life that I am afraid of?

I'm not afraid of the things that most people fear. For example:

- Heights? Well, I strapped myself to an insane Aussie and threw myself out of a plane a few years ago and am eager to do it again, so I guess not.

- Public speaking? Well, not only was I once an actress, but with Company X I had spoken presented to roughly 300 people at a time previously. No sweat-in fact, I actually enjoy it. Well, enjoy it minus the stupid headphones that they wrap around your head, with a microphone just by your lips. It's always made me feel like I should be leading a step aerobics class or something productive like that, instead of walking through Powerpoint.

- Death? Considering the fact that I have tried to top myself and seem to bounce around in a perpetual state of disregard for danger, that's not really a huge concern either.

-Snakes and spiders? While I don't exactly enjoy spiders, snakes, and bugs, they don't send me wiggy with paranoid fear, dancing on a chair in girlie screaming delight and brandishing a can of Raid in one hand and a spatula in the other (don't ask me why, but that image always has me holding a spatula. Weird.) Bugs get dealt with, life goes on, and while I don't want them as pets, thank you very much, they don't scar me for life either.

- Natural disaster? I remember driving through North Texas on the interstate. It was a boiling hot summer evening, and I was alone in the driver's seat of my beat-up old Honda. My windows were rolled down and the heat and humidity came into the car in waves, making the knobs of the dashboard swell and the steering wheel sticky. The sky was thick and purple, an angry thunderstorm hanging low in the horizon, trapping the heat close to the ground.

As I drove, I noticed the sky change and bulge, and the air around me grew into a hazy green color, a light mist of film sticking over the road. With a few convulsions, I noticed as the thundercloud over the field to my right seemed to absorb itself, and with a flash of lightning it spat out a swirling black cloud, a tornado which reached to the ground and danced on the field beside the road. It whipped up dried yellow vegetation, this small tornado, and hopped and bounced around like a puppet on a string.

And instead of feeling afraid, I felt alive. I laughed and watched out the rolled down window, not stopping, not diving for a ditch. I somehow knew that the tornado and I weren't meant to meet, I didn't feel any concern that it would leap the fence and try to dance with my car, and as I drove it bounced around hazardly on the field before retracting up into the cloud and unleashing a fiery hailstorm that pinged the hood of my crappy car with little metallic plinks, complete with blitzing lightning and a rolling cool in the air that sent instant goosebumps up and down my arms.

Nope. Natural disasters don't scare me. If I can laugh off a tornado-and I have been through a few in my life-then I can laugh off anything.

So that takes me out of the major list of phobias, I guess. Weird-for once a psychological condition doesn't affect me. Maybe I should call Guinness. Or at least the AMA.

Old age was once a fear of mine. The degradation of the faculties, the demise of the presence in society that the older generation should enjoy. I was always so afraid of growing old and-above all-doing so alone (albeit as crazy cat lady). That the days would grow long and my company unappreciated, a lost and sad woman from a lost and sad life. As time passes, perhaps as a function of me aging, I realize that I don't fear that as much as I used to. No, I don't want to be alone. No, I don't want to lose my faculties. But there is strength in age, as well. A quiet respect for a life lived. Maybe it's not going to be as bad as I have feared it to be.

I think about fear, and for the first time I realize there are two things that come up in my mind. Two concerns, perhaps irrational, perhaps stupid. Two angst devices that make my breath catch and tell me that I have things I need to protect in my life, to keep them safe, to hold onto them.

The first is losing what I have now with Mr. Y. It's not an active fear, something that grinds my heart into kibble, but a fact in my mind, a simple boundary that I know could exist. In so many ways, he has become this incredible key to keeping me grounded, to keeping me sane, to teaching me things about myself. For the first time in my life, I can talk about anything and everything. I can be myself, I can be calm, I can laugh off the anger. With him the highs are dizzyingly high and the lows incredibly low, but I know that there's no one else on earth I would rather be with. If I can't make it work with this man, this man whose fingers set my skin to life and whose eyes seem to look deep down into me, then I don't want to make it work with anyone else.

And the second fear? Let me take it down to a serious level here. I am deeply afraid that I will never get better from a battered life and a bruised past. That the weird, screwed up thoughts in my mind will take over me, the demons that scour my soul with their Brillo pads can never be exorcised. Sometimes all I want is to stop hating myself with the force of that tornado I drove with. A quiet acceptance that I am not a bad person, I am not a waste of space, and what I think and feel is ok, it's normal.

Flipping through a photo album of some pictures I had from my childhood, I realize that I don't remember a single episode that they were taken in. I look at this shiny happy little girl that I appear in the album, and I long to take her up in my arms, carrying her through her adolescence, her teens, her twenties, setting her down at 30 and making sure she escaped unscathed. I want her to remember the good bits that I can from my childhood-hours of Pac-Man on Atari. Roller skates with metal wheels that made a hell of a fabulous noise as I tripped down the bumpy paved driveway. Fruit Roll-Ups. Sparklers on the 4th of July. My grandfather's lap. And I want to make sure she can't remember some of the bad bits that I can, to erase them from her memory and her consciousness, to protect her from spears that will stab her forever. Take them away, they didn't exist, give her the perfect and normal upbringing that every little girl deserves.

That's my big fear. That I can't make it up to her. That I can't be forgiven for losing her somewhere along the line, that she can't forgive me for not finding her, and can't forgive me for trying to kill myself before I could. That I can't take the little girl that I was and love her enough to compensate for the adult that I am. That a lifetime of experiences, of world travels, of loves and lovers...that none of it will ever make up for the shattered image that the little girl that is Helen holds inside of me.

Although I am phobia-free, I guess am no longer fearless, no longer able to throw caution to the wind and not give a shit about anything. But at least I know what it is I fear, and I know how to get about fixing it. Bring on the tornadoes, the heights, the public speaking, perhaps even death. But grant me time to make it up to the little girl I was and lost. Let me buy her a bombpop from the ice cream truck, which will paint her lips blue and red and sticky her little fingers. Let me read her a story, and let me give her a hug and tell her that for the next 20 years she'll need to be strong, to hold on, and I will be there for her at the end.

Here's to that little girl.

-H.

PS-I am off to Venice this evening with my lovely Mr. Y, so nothing from me until Monday.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 09:04 AM | Comments (20) | Add Comment
Post contains 1658 words, total size 9 kb.

1 The only thing I really fear is what I have the most of right now: Pain. And don't worry about that lil girl...she's still there and she will be back with memories as you grow older...believe me. And have a great weekend

Posted by: croxie at August 12, 2004 10:18 AM (wfCQ1)

2 Your description of the tornado was amazing, Helen - I had goosebumps too! What an adorable child you were, as well. It doesn't seem that you've lost her at all. Your delight in such simple things in life, like great shoes and summery days reminds me of a child's carefree delights in something so small as that bombpop. Enjoy Venice.

Posted by: Heather at August 12, 2004 10:32 AM (JaoWm)

3 Y's a good man: scared of Italian electricity yet still going with you to Venice.

Posted by: Simon at August 12, 2004 11:11 AM (OyeEA)

4 What Heather and croxie said. There's a whole lot of that little girl in you, sometimes hiding in a dark place, sometimes hovering just out of reach, and sometimes she's dashing to the front, stealing the show, and vanishing behind the curtan before anyone has figured out just what has happened. FWIW, I'm quite sure that you two will once again make somewhat more direct contact somewhere down the line.

Posted by: Gudy at August 12, 2004 01:24 PM (gQCZC)

5 cutest. picture. ever! i love it! wishing you a spectacular, romantic, exciting, fearless vacation in venice.

Posted by: kat at August 12, 2004 01:55 PM (qEQy+)

6 Oh my God - how cute.

Posted by: Tiffani at August 12, 2004 02:01 PM (xpNFK)

7 Something happening to my kids. Something happening to my wife. And losing my job and not being able to support them runs in third. That's pretty much it for me. The picture is adorable. Have a great time in Venice.

Posted by: Jiminy at August 12, 2004 02:41 PM (+ddDv)

8 Awww, you were a beautiful little girl. Hope you have the best time in Venice.

Posted by: Jadewolff at August 12, 2004 03:26 PM (tqQaS)

9 I had sex outside in the middle of a hurricane once. On the front yard. Hey...did I say that outloud.

Posted by: Lily at August 12, 2004 04:03 PM (JNjfv)

10 Have a wonderful time in Venice, O fearless one. And keep Mr. Y away from electrical sockets.

Posted by: karmajenn at August 12, 2004 04:16 PM (fx1A8)

11 wow...that's one beautiful little girl...

Posted by: kalisah at August 12, 2004 04:28 PM (xT4wZ)

12 What a CUTE little girl. Almost as cute as the 2 I have here with me! The fears you mention I think are very common. Where people get fucked up is when they forget that it's a boundry, and not an immediate threat. I think your chance of an auto accident are more likely than a loss of your relationship. If you navigate carefully & courteously, then your chances of wrecking either go way down. Have fun in Venice!

Posted by: Easy at August 12, 2004 06:06 PM (Q12q6)

13 One thing that has consistently struck me about the photos you have put up of yourself, is that shy smile. And the little girl has that same sweet shy look to her. I hope you enjoy Venice beaucoup, and that Italian electricity doesn't get the better of anyone.

Posted by: Terry at August 12, 2004 06:44 PM (3pMiJ)

14 I'm with Jiminy. Those are my fears as well. It's a beautiful picture!

Posted by: Mick at August 12, 2004 06:53 PM (VhRca)

15 Cuuute picture. The first fear is definitely shared. I fear I'll lose what I have right now as well. It's probably my only real fear. The second one... well, it's more unique. And I firmly believe that you can and will come to grips with it. It sounds like you're on the right path. Just keep on this path and I'm guessing you'll be able to hug that girl after all. Hope your trip was marvelous.

Posted by: Almost Lucid (Brad) at August 12, 2004 09:33 PM (NOiRr)

16 Aww! Cute picture! You look the same I share your fear of not getting better... I share it every time I go to the therapist. I think - is this all that there is? But we'll make it. We will.

Posted by: Snidget at August 12, 2004 10:11 PM (ljAGw)

17 Maybe you should call Guinness.

Posted by: Guinness at August 13, 2004 05:43 PM (7uAz8)

18 You wrote: But grant me time to make it up to the little girl I was and lost. Let me buy her a bombpop from the ice cream truck, which will paint her lips blue and red and sticky her little fingers. Let me read her a story, and let me give her a hug and tell her that for the next 20 years she'll need to be strong, to hold on, and I will be there for her at the end. Thus, this blog. You're doing a fine job of comforting that child, honey, and living your life the way you want to, when you want to. Good on ya! Venice, huh? The jealousy is well-nigh overwhelming. But I'll get over it. Heh.

Posted by: Emma at August 14, 2004 04:29 AM (NOZuy)

19 What a moving, bittersweet post. You've made me want to run out and get you a Bomb pop... There's an ice cream truck around here almost everyday. Think it will survive being Fed Ex'd to Venice? That picture and the one of you now makes me think that there is still a sparkle of possibility and mischief that has survived, spanned the years from child to woman. Enjoy the weekend, hope you see *cough, blush* stars... Elizabeth VP of the M.A.S.

Posted by: Elizabeth at August 14, 2004 02:31 PM (s0bfE)

20 The simple fact that you are so aware of your little girl, and want so much to make it right for her says that you are already very in touch with that little girl. She is you, Helen. So go buy you a bombpop. She will thank you for it.

Posted by: scorpy at August 14, 2004 02:45 PM (VSQpt)

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