Fear
I was eight when I learned to fear.
Eight, when I scrambled onto the seat of the World's Largest Indoor Triple Loop Roller Coaster with my brother. Eight, when he told me to "quick, grab a deep breath" and I only had enough time to open my mouth to ask why before we plunged towards the earth.
Eight, when my girl scout troop leader had to gather us children together and explain that there would be a time when our bodies would start to shed blood monthly, letting us know we were ready to start having children of our own. [Well, physically ready..]
I was eight when I learned that anticipation and preparedness really do nothing to quell fear.
I hate roller coasters - except Space Mountain. You know the one, where you're going backwards in the dark. I don't mind the thrill of the ride - as long as I don't know it's coming. If you don't know it's coming, you CAN'T prepare, so you can't be unprepared.
The best laid plans are over-architected and account for the worst of all possible scenarios. Plans signal anticipation and preparedness and an expectation of a positive outcome. Plans require foresight, intuition and an ability to recognize a situation to put the plan(s) in place.
Or what?
Was I eight when my conviction of a monster beneath my bed was replaced by a frantic fear of the unknown?
How old was I when I started to write?
The words on this page aren't plans per se - they say nothing of the future. They're a map of the present and the past, albeit one with overlapping routes and repeating landmarks. But they're something I turn to indulgently, as though through lines and shapes I can somehow be prepared for what's to come. Ha! Perhaps if they were printed, I could use the paper as an umbrella in inclement weather. Apart from that, they serve only to distance me from what truly is.
The fear of the unknown used to drive me to seek out information, but I am slowly coming to recognize intellectually how I started to act so many years ago. A moment will pass in but a moment, so there is no need to freeze it in anticipatory fear. Information is a flimsier shield than inner conviction and strength and faith. I don't "need to know" what may or may not transpire, as I start to live a thousand imaginary lives and forsake the one I'm in.
Eight, when I scrambled onto the seat of the World's Largest Indoor Triple Loop Roller Coaster with my brother. Eight, when he told me to "quick, grab a deep breath" and I only had enough time to open my mouth to ask why before we plunged towards the earth.
Eight, when my girl scout troop leader had to gather us children together and explain that there would be a time when our bodies would start to shed blood monthly, letting us know we were ready to start having children of our own. [Well, physically ready..]
I was eight when I learned that anticipation and preparedness really do nothing to quell fear.
I hate roller coasters - except Space Mountain. You know the one, where you're going backwards in the dark. I don't mind the thrill of the ride - as long as I don't know it's coming. If you don't know it's coming, you CAN'T prepare, so you can't be unprepared.
The best laid plans are over-architected and account for the worst of all possible scenarios. Plans signal anticipation and preparedness and an expectation of a positive outcome. Plans require foresight, intuition and an ability to recognize a situation to put the plan(s) in place.
Or what?
Was I eight when my conviction of a monster beneath my bed was replaced by a frantic fear of the unknown?
How old was I when I started to write?
The words on this page aren't plans per se - they say nothing of the future. They're a map of the present and the past, albeit one with overlapping routes and repeating landmarks. But they're something I turn to indulgently, as though through lines and shapes I can somehow be prepared for what's to come. Ha! Perhaps if they were printed, I could use the paper as an umbrella in inclement weather. Apart from that, they serve only to distance me from what truly is.
The fear of the unknown used to drive me to seek out information, but I am slowly coming to recognize intellectually how I started to act so many years ago. A moment will pass in but a moment, so there is no need to freeze it in anticipatory fear. Information is a flimsier shield than inner conviction and strength and faith. I don't "need to know" what may or may not transpire, as I start to live a thousand imaginary lives and forsake the one I'm in.