If I could change one thing about myself, I would like to be more fearless. If I could change two things, I'd like to be a fearless person with really great hair.
The truth is, I am a World-Class Worrier. As far as I'm concerned the question "What's the worst that can happen?" is never, ever rhetorical.
My husband (pictured, left, in an artist's rendering) is one of those types that never doubts that the Universe has only good things in store for him. He is constantly pointing out to me that things generally work out okay; that occasional rough periods and the usual loss that comes with living and loving aside, to date my life has been primarily filled with good fortune. What I hear when he says that: I'm long overdue for for catastrophe to strike!
Not only that, but who's to say that the relative lack of disaster in my life isn't due to my impressive ability to anticipate and avoid it? Here is my checklist for keeping myself and my family out of harm's way:
1) Ask self if something bad could happen,
2) Don't do whatever I was thinking of doing.
I'm sure there are many others who would challenge me for the title of Champion of Caution, after all there are whole industries built around helping people overcome anxiety. And those of you who know me probably think I project a certain degree of strength and self-confidence. Let me just say that being a smartass can cover up a shitpile of cowardice. And in case you don't believe me, let me tell you a little story about myself that will erase all doubt that I am, indeed, the Mayor of Scaredy-Cat Town.
We all know what a flying dream is, it's where the dreamer soars high above cities and oceans, literally on top of the world. According to people who study this sort of thing, flying dreams symbolize a person's sense that he/she is undefeatable and the ability to control his/her flight represents the dreamer's personal sense of power. Supposedly these dreams are quite common, and most people experience them at some time in their lives.
I never had a flying dream.
Well, that's not quite true. I had one flying dream. And no, that's not the end of my story.
My one flying dream didn't happen until I was in my mid-thirties. It came not long after I had watched a TV special -- 20/20 or 48 Hours, or one of those evening "news" programs -- about dreams. In the special, the host -- let's call him "John Stossel" -- talked about something called lucid dreams, where you are aware you are dreaming and can often control what happens without waking up. "John Stossel" went on to suggest that it would be spectacular to be having a lucid dream where you flew. You could go anywhere! That sounded cool to me.
So you can imagine how thrilled I was when only a short time later I rolled over in my bed and saw a wall where a window should be. I realized I was dreaming! This was it, my big chance to finally have my flying dream! All that I needed to do was actually start flying. So I very tentatively lifted my right foot off the floor and then lifted my left foot. I was airborn! Granted, I was only two feet above ground, but it was a start. I had successfully broken the laws of gravity. The next step was to take advantage of my newfound powers, to embark on some spectacular adventure previously unavailable to me in my Earthbound reality.
Did I swoop over the majestic vistas of Yosemite? Did I climb above the clouds to explore the vastness of the Universe? Did I even take a quick trip across town to visit friends? No, no and no. I hovered around my apartment, floating from room to room inches off the floor like a seahorse. Then I woke up, probably out of sheer boredom.
So you see, even in my dreams I'm too afraid to take risks!
Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying I want to be Evel Knievel (pictured, right, in an artist's rendering). But I would very much like to be a lot more like one of my biggest heroes of fiction, Maude from the movie Harold and Maude, and not only because at 79 she bagged a 20 year-old. I firmly believe every word in her philosophy of living: "L-I-V-E, live! Otherwise you've got nothing to talk about in the locker room." The problem is, it seems that the older I get the further away I am from that ideal.
And so I hereby resolve to start moving in a more Maude-ly direction. One tiny baby step at a time -- because apparently, that's the way I need to do things. And maybe one day, if I live long enough, I'll have plenty to talk about in the locker room.
I realize that the image of a 100 year-old in a locker room -- free spirit or not -- is hardly a pleasant one. But maybe if I had a glorious head of hair...?
I know what "fearless" is. I raised twin boys as a single parent, and I taught almost 3 decades as an urban educator. I'm still here.
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