R-1

This month we’re doing something a little different. Up to this point, we’ve included an exploration that was written in our past – an essay, a playlist, a play, something we had edited and written and either turned in as a homework assignment or given to friends for some kind of artistic trade. We have more we could share, but thought it might be more interesting to share ruminations and whatnot we have had throughout the month.

And so, we go, with freely flowing thoughts.

There is quite a bit going through my mind of late – I apologise for the shift from plural to individual; I realised I tend to lean on the comfort of our collective a bit; it’s easier to be when in multitude – about the world. It is not necessarily that the number of dangers has increased, I’ve realised of late. I don’t feel the world is inherently more dangerous now than it used to be. I would offer that people are more aware of the dangers, that they’re closer now than they used to be. Closer to our awareness. The intangible slights being concretised in the manipulation of political power. Fear made into policy. The feared being made to suffer.

There are those who embrace their fears and those who strive to suffocate them. The latter tend to be the ones who clamour for power, who squeeze dry everything within their grasp so they don’t have to deal with their apprehensions. Strangle, suffocate, stifle, anything to make it go away. The former tend to be the ones who expose themselves to their fears, who seek to learn about them, who understand that fear is diluted by knowledge.

I, for example, have a dwindling fear of spiders. I’ve never been fond of arachnids, despite my constantly affirmed parallels to a certain superhero; to this day, if I see one bigger than an inch in circumference, I find myself swarmed with the impulse to smite and to sprint. The other day, scrolling though a feed, I switched to the suggested tab out of curiosity, and the first post was of a beautiful cerulean spider jumping up from beneath a hatch. At first, I impulsively scrolled down, telling myself it was okay to be scared, because spiders scare me, because I’m not – and may never be – cured of my arachnophobia. After a couple of other posts, I decided I was calm enough to try again, to see what the post was about. I scrolled up and watched the short video in full. I read the captions and comments. I watched it again. I admired the blue. I watched it again. Looked the spider in its eyes to see the expression that the captions had pointed out. I smiled. I watched it again.

I think of Phillip Pullman when I think of my fear. Lyra at one point asks Iorek what he will do when he meets his fear. I cannot properly recall the precise wording, but the sentiment is one I’ve carried with me forever. I believe in the novel, Iorek says he will master his fear. I’ve had a couple of metaphors over the years derived from this. The first was that I would swallow my fear. Put it in my mouth, chew it, swallow it down, let it permeate my being and then, eventually, pass. I realised, though, that doesn’t work for all fears. Some of my fears are as big as I am; sometimes they are bigger. Giants. I cannot swallow those.

I can, however, walk with them. Grow with them. Someday I might be able to look them in the eye, greet them as an equal.

When I was visiting Korea some years ago, the camp I was attending ventured to a beautiful water park, in which there was a water slide that was, to me, unfathomably tall. Some of my friends at the camp wanted to go, and though I knew in my heart that I was terrified of falling, I realised I would regret succumbing to the fear. And so I joined them, scaled up the winding staircase over the course of nearly an hour, my trepidation building the closer we got to the top, and then it was my turn. I put my feet on the designated spots, crossed my arms over my chest as instructed. Tried not to think about the fact I’ve always been dense but never heavy. Tried not to think of how apt the skull-shaped room in which I stood might be for the looming event. Took a deep breath. I felt my fear, placing its hands on my chest, pressing against my lungs. I looked into its eyes. Saw it was just as panicked as I was. Saw that it needed comforting. I breathed for it, for us both. I brought it close. I embraced my fear. The platform dropped, and for a moment, inertia kept my fear and me standing in air. Weightless, embracing each other.

The operator had asked if I was ready. I’d smiled and nodded, not because I was ready, but because that was the point – I never would be ready. There is never a convenient time to embrace your fear. It is uncomfortable, stands against everything in your body screaming for salvation. It’s not that the only way is through, as much as the only way is with. And so, we go.