A life lived in fear is a life half-lived. I know that is true because Fran said it in my favorite movie, "Strictly Ballroom," and Fran was a wise woman. It is possible to live one's entire life in fear. People do it all the time. I've been doing it. I can't think of many stretches of time when I didn't live my life in fear. Fear is as familiar and uncomfortable as a pair of old running shoes that have sprung a hole in the sole and are now taking on water with every step.
I'm talking about the fear of alternative lifestyles, fear of unusual self-expression choices, fear of appearances and actions that fall outside the norm, way out there on the bell-shaped curve. Outliers used to scare me. I used to be afraid of anyone who looked weird. I viewed people who didn't conform with wary disdain. What kind of person leaves their holiday lights up all year round? That's just laziness. Who would patronize a store that opened inside what used to be a house? That's just wrong. It's so easy to be afraid of something unfamiliar, and from there it's an easy leap from that's scary to that's wrong to that should not be allowed to I need to join that mob over there and shut that thing down.
No worries. I'm not a joiner, not for Bluebirds and not for mobs, so I won't be coming for your Christmas lights anytime soon, or ever, actually, because in my old age, I have learned to appreciate people who tread the road less traveled. Go ahead, leave those lights up all year, and what's more, go ahead and turn those suckers on in July! Why not? We could use some holiday cheer in the dog days of summer. Feeling like wearing pajamas all the time? Me, too! Let's do it. Feel like swearing sometimes at the inanity of life? Me, too! No need to stand on decorum around me. Let it rip.
Fear of dumb things is dumb. I think you get my point. But what about the options that fall in between?
What if one person's fear is another person's adventure?
My head is spinning from the constant rise and fall of the barometer. It's monsoon in Southern Arizona, finally, and now it rains almost every day. It's great, don't get me wrong, but even as I'm out twirling in the rain, my head is a slushy mess from the sledgehammer pounding inside my brain. I sleep when I can, just to exit stage right for a while. The only time I know I'm safe is when I'm lying down. But I know I have to keep moving. I walk in the evenings to keep my arthritic hip from seizing up, but walking doesn't help the aberration bashing my cranial nerve every sixty to ninety seconds. I fear the side effects of the antiseizure drugs the ENT might prescribe, but at some point you just have to say, bring on the side effects, what could be worse than the maelstrom in my head? I have not been offered drugs yet, just to be clear. I see the ENT dude on Friday. I've been told another MRI is in my future.
I knew a cat who, when confronted with an earthquake in his house, ran fast and far and didn't stop until the shaking subsided. He ended up across the street under a neighbor's house. I feel kind of like doing the same thing: running fast and far until the quake in my head subsides. I fear I might be running forever.
