Post image for Fear — and getting over it

Fear — and getting over it

July 28, 2011 · 33 comments

in Inspiration, Journalism how-to's, Making art

I just turned 55. And I am scared. The feeling reminds me of quarter-life angst except worse. After all, a half-life crisis involves twice as much emotional baggage. But thankfully, there’s also the potential for twice as much wisdom — which I discovered during a birthday morning visit with the shrink.

My regular Monday session began with the same issues that troubled me at 25: I haven’t accomplished enough with my life. How am I ever going to amount to anything? What if I die a nobody? I’m ashamed of my whining when there’s true suffering in the world.

As the therapeutic conversation warmed up, the 25-year-old version of me didn’t look so bad after all. In 1981, that younger Betty was annoying her mother by dating a black man and working as a rookie in New Jersey’s low-paying newspapers. She went on to exciting times that included becoming the first Asian American staffer at every publication that hired her. The marriage pulled both her and her husband out of their respective ghetto childhoods. They threw themselves into a whirlwind routine filled with resort vacations, four-star restaurant dinners and fancy cars.

Even though I was scared then, my life was still ahead of me. There was a career ladder to climb and a marriage to manage. The conventional structure felt safe. I knew what steps to take –

“You mean, you knew what mistakes to make,” Dr. Shrink interrupted. We both laughed. He was right. After 15 years in daily journalism, I got out. After 17 years of marriage, I got out.

Those two moves left a decade-long void. Today, fear comes from the effort of once again reinventing myself. The issues are different now because I am staring at the horizon line of my own mortality. It’s no longer about landing the first job or looking forward to the first marriage. There is no template for this stage where aging baby boomers like me are wrestling with what to do after multiple careers and relationships.

  • I’m scared because I’ve become a perpetual freelancer. This is the most dismal job market since the Great Depression. Being an adjunct assistant professor means that instead of being on staff and enjoying a steady salary, I get paid by the class. While I love my freedom, there’s no financial security.
  • I’m scared by my creative dreams. Who am I to think that I can become an author and painter at this late stage? At 55, the effort of taking on new roles is exhausting.
  • I’m scared by the prospect of a lasting relationship. My boyfriend has been around for nearly 11 months. I’m not sure what’s more terrifying about being with him — the intimacy of genuine possibility or, the possibility of genuine intimacy.

In talking to Dr. Shrink, I realized that the scariest thing about being 55 is that I’m not actually looking for a new me. I just want the original me, the one I could’ve been if I wasn’t scarred by my immigrant parents’ best intentions. Their defensiveness about being not good enough runs so deep. My confidence always fails when I start thinking of myself as being hopelessly outside the American mainstream…

Blathering about this stuff helped. Eventually, Dr. Shrink got me to a new emotional space. I walked out of his office realizing that the fear I feel is just a part of risk-taking. F-e-a-r might be a four-letter word but it’s not necessarily a negative. Taking creative, emotional and financial risks is exciting — and dangerous. Which means that fear and excitement are a yin-yang package deal. Period.

So I think I can accept the new reality, at least until my three-quarter life crisis. I also know that I’m not alone. There are plenty of folks of all ages who are experimenting. They are my people, my community, my race.

They are called “entrepreneurs.”

 

 

Like this link? Please share!
Pin It

{ 32 comments… read them below or add one }

1 Gerry July 28, 2011 at 7:29 am

Betty – you are so not alone in your feelings!

2 paul July 28, 2011 at 7:48 am

Betty,

Here’s what I always think: no matter what age you right now, someday you’ll WISH you were this age. think this is hard? wait till you’re 75. man, those days of 55 will be just a sweet memory. settle in and enjoy the ride. there are no guarantees. that’s my two cents worth of advice and now you know why i did not become a shrink.

Paul

3 betty July 28, 2011 at 8:11 am

i know — 55 isn’t old! and my 50s are turning into my best years ever. but i’m just not used to living with this much open space in my life. after all those years of being on a regimented immigrant kid’s success track, freedom is scary!!! do i sound like a total whiner? :)

4 Toby Grace July 28, 2011 at 8:13 am

My advice is stop paying the shrink. You’re among the sanest, best oriented people around this crazy city. I advise instead discussing personal problems with your cat. I do with mine and am always satisfied – even amazed – at the simplicity and sensibility of her views. Also, her fees are modest – normally no more than a “cat treat” or two – though prolonged sessions may involve additional charges such as a shared nap or extra ear scratching.

5 betty July 28, 2011 at 8:20 am

but toby, i love my shrink!! he’s helped me so much. besides, my cats never listen to me. i would talk to my dog because she’s very patient. but unfortunately, the dog is deaf. then again, maybe that’s a plus — i can keep blathering and she won’t act bored. i hope i get over this phase before i turn 56. otherwise, this is going to be a very long year…..

6 Rosa July 28, 2011 at 8:23 am

Well, I did become a “shrink”–actually a social worker “shrink”–and when I woke up this morning after a semi-sleepless night and read about your encounter with fear, it was just the right dose of medicine. Betty, your blog about your encounter with fear and overcoming it inspires me and since I am confronting my own versions of same it is good to be reminded to “settle in and enjoy the ride”.

Rosa

7 betty July 28, 2011 at 8:30 am

yay! — let’s hear it for the good work of human therapists! and seriously, i am comforted by pets. having the three cats and 1 dog running hanging around all day keeps my house cozy. (even if it’s a bit too furry.) btw, my first shrink was a social worker-shrink too and she was amazing. this is my second shrink and he’s got the degrees. i wasn’t looking for that. i only picked him because he was her former patient and went on to study with her and become her friend. when she died of cancer, he seemed like someone who would understand. the man is a joy to be with — a mellow yin to her diva yang. he also has a cute, little dog who sits in on our sessions. i always know when i’ve gotten into an intense conversation because she goes to sleep. thank goodness he stays awake. if anyone wants his name, just email me!

8 jackie July 28, 2011 at 9:32 am

Omg. This is it. Quoting you:
I realized that the scariest thing about being 55 is that I’m not actually looking for a new me. I just want the original me, the one I could’ve been if I wasn’t scarred by my immigrant parents’ best intentions. Their defensiveness about being not good enough runs so deep. My confidence always fails when I start thinking of myself as being hopelessly outside the American mainstream…

For me, this resonates. You can easily take out your age and insert mine. I JUST had a conversation about fear and being brave with my direct reports literally 2 days ago. I just started speaking up/being brave more overtly at work and at home recently.

Work: reorg. New leader. I had to seize the opportunity to do something for myself and my team. It was too often the case to toe the hierarchical line with fear. I am trying to stick my neck out there, but it’s terrifying because I don’t want to get fired! It is a crappy market out there! I figured that if I don’t say it now, then what good am I to the people who depend upon me?

Home: same thing. I want my daughters to see that I am a strong person at home, capable of making decisions and influencing their paths. I don’t want to be this shell of a person who just went with the status quo like my mom.

All the while, the thought that did play through my head was WHAT IF MY MOM WAS NON-ASIAN, how would have this changed things up in my upbringing and shaped my bravery? How would I have been a different person? As we get older, because of the weight of responsibilities grow, bravery wanes due to self-preservation. However, if I want my kids and team at work to go all the way, then I better get over my crappy upbringing and be brave and walk my talk.

I am trying to not et the fear show on my face, Betty, but it’s hard! Thank you for posting this! Sorry, I rambled along.

9 betty July 28, 2011 at 9:54 am

oh, happy to have you ramble, jackie. stop by any time. and good luck with raising kids + managing work! i feel a little bad about blaming my chinese parents for everything. but…that’s what ALL parents are for! haha! seriously, though, the asian model is terribly flawed. too much pressure to perform & conform. the shrink was right, my folks basically taught me how to make mistakes.

but i give my dad credit for one thing now. he definitely was an entrepreneur. he dabbled in buying real estate. i learned a lot from watching him — both good & bad. it was important to have a model to watch up close. so the path i’m on now includes him in an affectionate way.

10 betty July 28, 2011 at 9:55 am

p.s. — based on the reaction to this post on my my social media outlets, i’m starting to think that the 50s are the new 20s. anyone else have thoughts on that?

11 mary July 28, 2011 at 10:33 am

I have a few years on you so not sure have great advice except one suggestion. At the ending of the fantastic book, “Making Toast,” Roger Rosenblatt says someone asked him how he dealt with the tragedy in his life. His answer” “Value the passing moment.” That’s what I try to do and not worry about the wrinkles or the lost opportunities or whatever. Plan for the future but ENJOY the present. Happy Birthday!

12 betty July 28, 2011 at 10:47 am

mary, i thought we were the same age. you’re lookin’ good, girl! and yeah, i agree. it’s all about the moment. the cliche of “life is too short” is so true. :)

13 M. Skye Holly July 28, 2011 at 10:53 am

No! Please don’t say that the fifties are the new twenties! I am 30 now and keep hearing that the thirties are the new twenties. No, they are not. I really don’t like hearing that…and by how you live and what you wrote, I feel that you don’t need to say that.

You, right now is you for right now. Some of that will change, but it will only get better. Although it sounds so Hallmark-y, enjoy every moment. The thing about aging is that it is the only thing that goes forward, so you should go forward with it. As my friends (a lot that are older than me) were approaching their thirties years ago, they whined and complained about it and tried to put me in a panic. I refused. I don’t like the idea of trying to be, act, look younger or older.

I mean, damn, Betty! You have 365 days off 55, that’s it. Why let them pass flashing back on 25? I think you should definitely keep the shrink b/c he or she pointed out that you knew the right mistakes to make and when. Do you want to go back there? Be thankful for what you’ve learned and take it to the 50s, 60s, beyond.

It is easy to be tempted with fear in this kind of job market, but be comforted by the freedom you said you have. Now, freedom doesn’t pay the bills, but you’ve got a go-getter’s attitude, you will find a way to land on your feet. I pray you do…esp. because I sorta follow your lead on some things.

Celebrate your past but remember the grace you have right now. Grace is ability, and you’ve been given many abilities. That makes you graceful (full of grace!), full of many abilities.

I think the journalist or thinker or immigrant daughter in you makes you ask lots of questions, but I know that you know more of the answers than you give yourself credit for.

What I hooked in on was when you said in this blog that you weren’t looking to create another you. You kind of looked at the you you thought you should or would have been earlier. But you are you right now and you can shake your head at some things, but you can smile back at that 25 year old and say,”Wait till you get here, you’re really gonna like me in 30 years.”

‘Cause I like you right now. I probably couldn’t understand you back then, I’m still figuring myself out too. But I love 30 even though my friends lie about their ages. To make a cheesy point, I refuse to shop at the store Forever 21. I have a favorite age in my life but I left that age a long time ago, so I want every new age to become my next favorite age. Only a year to grow in it and enjoy it, so let’s get it right. 30 is the new 30…and that’s okay. 55 is the new 55. Make it new.

14 Anjuelle Floyd July 28, 2011 at 10:57 am

Betty:

Remaking yourself is not limited to those who have lived life against or outside of convention.
Married for 29 years to my college sweetheart, whom I met my first day as a coed, and the mother of 3–ages 12 yrs, 19 yrs. and 23 yrs.–I, at 50 am wondering where I go from here.
After 29 years of being a wife, and 23 years of raising children as a stay-at-home mom–I earned my MA in Psychology and garnered my license to practice psychotherapy during my 30′s. Then at the ripe ole’ age of 46 earned my MFA in Creative Writing–I’m still afraid of success.

But then what is success?

At 50 my life I have most probably lived over half my life.

Success frightens me now as much as it did a quarter of a century ago. The only difference is now I know and can name the fear.

You’re a far piece ahead of me, Betty.
At least you’re still talking to your therapist. I’ve shut down.
I’m writing. And not painting as I’d like.

We’re all afraid of dying. And being forgotten.

Author Jumpha Lahiri, in an interview with Larry Rose said that among the things many for which she held angst and contemplated was what it means for a family to die, the lineage to end, and all semblance of their presence sink into oblivion. (I paraphrase.)
I don’t know what to make of this life and our living.
I fear I never will.

Thanks for such a stimulating article even though it left me wondering about a lot I tend to push aside..

Peace and blessings.

15 betty July 28, 2011 at 11:42 am

skye and anjuelle, wow. i can’t even wrap my brain around all the issues you’re both raising. fear is powerful, isn’t it?

skye, it’s great that you’re happy at 30. brava! the 30s were a rich time of discovery for me. and don’t worry, i don’t really want to be in my 20s again. that’s a difficult decade. i will try to do as you say and enjoy 55. it’s gonna take some doing though. but i expect to grow into it.

and anjuelle, you can’t shut down! i’m scared of success too. in fact, isn’t success harder than failure? what’s wrong with us?????

16 Anna July 28, 2011 at 12:36 pm

Afraid of your late artistic dreams? Come on Betty! You’re doing wonderfully! you know what? My aunt recently picked up the violin. It was 5 years ago when my cousin Thomas started to play. She just bought a 16th century violin to improve herself and wants to be a good violinist. at 51! You can do it!

Fear is instinctive, we need it, but as I can see, it’s not making you numb! Well, I’m not an example, cause I’m still such an immature kid. But I get you. My mom dropped the shrink because she understood “all they do is to try and and make you understand you’re the only one able to save yourself”. But I feel like I’m going back to the psychiatrists, sooner or later.

Every age has its fears. As long as is does not block you, they can be vital. A friend of mine calls that “primal instinct”…

17 betty July 28, 2011 at 1:32 pm

i love that story about your aunt! she bought herself a good violin and not some cheap inferior thing. a sign that she valued herself. very inspiring. thanks, anna! i’ll keep at it too. the thing is, as you say, to just work with the fear and let it take us to better places. :

18 Steph July 28, 2011 at 1:55 pm

Hi Betty:

I love this post! I’m in that stage where I’m about to go back to grad school after years of paralyzing fear that I’d never get into a school good enough or do well enough. It took me 7 years of working and moving away from my parents to realize that it wasn’t about them, it was about me.

They (and others in their generation) always remark about how our generation is “so lucky.” They didn’t have the chances we have. They didn’t have the freedom to choose what they wanted to pursue in life, to take a risk on something they really wanted. They say these things with equal parts sadness and disdain. My reply is always: aren’t these opportunities what you came to another country for? I am always thankful that you have given us this great gift of opportunity.

I still struggle with the idea of pleasing them but it inspires me everyday that you’ve found your own path and have still managed to be happy and healthy.

19 Toby Grace July 28, 2011 at 7:00 pm

55? Ah sweet bird of youth! At 56, the publisher of our magazine and I founded Out In Jersey, which is now among the top LGBT regionals in the U.S. – oh hell – in the freaking WORLD!! (forgive my immodesty) and subsequently informally adopted five gay sons who all had to be shepparded through college (two still in process) as well as seen through a virtually endless series of crises – some ephemeral – some very serious as well as doing the laundry and the housework (my wonderful husband of many years is a continual delight to live with but has absolutely NO domestic genes whatever- if it was up to him, the house would fall down around him and he wouldn’t notice until something hit him on the head.) My point is, life might be said to BEGIN at that age. At least it begins anew. Of course, it begins anew every day. I know I love every minute of it. Fear? What’s there to be afraid of? The worst that can happen is we die and that’s going to happen anyway. Meanwhile, live every minute. There’s always something wonderful happening.

20 betty July 28, 2011 at 10:30 pm

steph, you’re stepping up to the plate. go for that grad school, girl! it takes a lot for us to realize that it’s no longer about our parents. this isn’t just an asian guilt thing but we seem to have a bad case of that disease. keep us posted on your adventures!

and toby, you’re on a huge adventure too. your description of division of duties is a riot. i can’t imagine five children — let alone an all-gay household of two dads and five boys. this sounds like a potential sitcom. and honey, i’m with you — it’s all about living in the moment. it’s just that sometimes, that moment can be so immediate that it’s scary. :)

21 Mimi July 28, 2011 at 11:02 pm

I know exactly what you are going thru. I’m totally the same (which is probably why I am so enchanted by your blog). The same paralyzing fear of being old and antiquated. But just remember, it’s all in the mind. People, when you think of it, are mostly concerned with their own perception of how they stand in society. And that drive to :”be someone” and “get somewhere” – well, when you think about it, you have already accomplished that. You are someone to your daughter, your boyfriend and the people who know and love you. You have reached an age where people respect you for what you have done and the the knowledge of life you possess. That, nobody can take away from you.
I think that’s the problem with having the Asian parents we have. That if you aren’t a success (measured by your own view of what success is), if you haven’t made it accordingly, you are a failure. But when you think about it intelligently, you aren’t that at all. And it’s all that programming that we’ve been brainwashed into thinking which is why shrinks are so well-paid, lol!!

22 betty July 28, 2011 at 11:41 pm

it’s amazing how so many of us deal with these issues — over and over and over again. but it sounds like we’re on track. we’re thinking and talking about this stuff. we also have the ability to scrape ourselves off the floor during the self-doubt moments. that’s the entrepreneur in us, the adventurer that dares to forge ahead with an audacious personal dream. :)

23 Viviien July 29, 2011 at 12:30 am

Well, Betty dear, I’ve got the trifecta goin’ on! (And stir in a nice big dollop of A.D.D., to boot.)

- Fear of failure – because who doesn’t love for people to think you’re terrific at the things you do? (Not all of them realize I haven’t come close to fulfilling my creative potential, but those do, call me on it. A lot.)
- Fear of success – because… look around at those who have really knocked it out of the ballpark, especially in creative fields. A happy personal life – whatever your definition of this – is often a casualty, and I’ve guarded mine ferociously. Now that I’m no longer a young babe, I’m less freaked about what dangers/temptations/wild-cards lurk if I really put myself out there, but still….
– Fear of mediocrity – because what if this is really just as good as I am?What if my best efforts are… pedestrian? What, then, happens to your myth, that tantalizing thing that always lies ahead, ahead?

I was a voracious reader as a child and always sought books that were slightly beyond my understanding. At 12 I read this novel “Marjorie Morningstar,” by Herman Wouk. (It was also made into a movie – a turkey, even with Natalie Wood and Gene Kelly in the leads.) A bit of background, in case this wasn’t part of your own coming-of-age: MM is a pretty, talented, “nice Jewish girl” from the Upper West Side who dreams earnestly of becoming an actress. Real name: Marjorie Morgenstern, but “Morningstar,” its translation – is the one she sees in lights. At a performing-arts camp, she meets composer Noel Airman, a cynical cad who pushes her to remove the shackles of her conventional upbringing (as well as her panties) and take her 1950s-style walk on the wild side. Marjorie’s passionate quest for self-actualization – turning her back on becoming a hausfrau, plunging into her craft, rebelling against her bewildered parents, figuring out that Noel’s a schmuck and a loser – goes on for well over 500 pages.

Melodrama, to be sure (and a real pre-feminist, pre-Pill time-capsule), but the final chapter – as tightly written as the rest is bloated – blew my mind. (Spoiler alert,) Fast-forward several decades; Wally Wronken, a nerd from the summer camp, has gone on to become a celebrated Bway composer, but never stopped wondering what became of his dream girl, Marjorie. He manages to track her down and goes out to her Long Island home for a visit. She’s 50-something Marjorie Schwartz, a doctor’s wife – and if memory serves me, a grandmother. She’s attractive and gracious, seemingly content – lovely home, lovely family, lovely life – and he is stunned that she doesn’t appear to even REMEMBER who she once was, or how he and the others saw her. Says Wally to himself, after they say goodbye: “The only remarkable thing about Mrs. Schwartz is that she ever hoped to be remarkable – that she ever dreamed of being Marjorie Morningstar.”

Instantly… those words burned themselves into my consciousness, for a lifetime – in the way that certain sentences, song lyrics, poems, prayers of supplication, do; I believe that I literally cried myself to sleep over them for WEEKS. And if I really let them sink in, they’re as big a punch in the stomach today as they were in 1963. Maybe bigger. Because, like you say, Betty – at 50-something (and I’ve got some years on you, too) it’s kind of now or never…

And yet. In the larger scheme of things, to even dwell on this, in a tumultuous world, is a mark of privilege. And mostly, I don’t… for I am truly grateful. For being healthy (for this moment), for being surrounded by great family and friends whose love is palpable, for having a roof over my head, for living in freedom, for the modest successes/contributions I HAVE made. Yes, being a daughter of Holocaust survivors’ has definitely made me more fearful, and given me a greater sense of vulnerability than a healthy adult should possess (especially when it comes to the safety of my children). But I’ve grown past blaming this for my shortcomings, because it is also the wellspring of my greatest strengths: being ever-mindful of “the now,” able to exult in all sorts of human connection, and hungry to live every damn thing, every damn minute.

Eek, sorry for the ramble, and all these dashes and ellipses; serves you right, for tossing out that great birthday post! Mine’s next week, sooo… thinkin’ about all this stuff too, I guess…
xoxo!

24 betty July 29, 2011 at 8:52 am

oh viv, thanks for reminding us that we are so privileged. and thanks also for sharing about mrs. schwartz. sounds like she’s the woman that many of our immigrant parents wanted us gals to become — bleh. it also sounds like a lot of us are struggling to avoid turning into mrs. schwartz! meantime, you have succeeded big time in achieving your dreams as an author, teacher, wife, mom, friend — and wild woman.

25 jennifer ressmann July 29, 2011 at 8:59 am

“birthday morning visit with the shrink”… oh, my how decadent! “I haven’t accomplished enough with my life. How am I ever going to amount to anything? What if I die a nobody? I’m ashamed of my whining when there’s true suffering in the world” – you and me both, sister! I still don’t know why we don’t live to be 300! There is never enough time to do everything we want. It’s the burden we carry as humans. I’ve been told it is a blessing to be so interested in life. So excited and passionate. Sometimes it feels like a curse. But, I know some people that do nothing with their time. Watch a lot of TV. If we could just negotiate to get some of their “extra” time!

Go forth! And kick some butt!

PS – Happy Birthday! You’re how old? You look so fantastic. I never would have guessed! I hope to look that great! (I’m at the age now where I tell people I’m 85! Look how great I look for 85! ha! :)

26 betty July 29, 2011 at 11:36 am

haha, yeah, i started off my birthday with a real treat. and thanks, jennifer. you’re looking way younger than 85, btw. :)

27 Vivien July 29, 2011 at 11:54 am

Betty, through the years, I’ve come to see even more layers to the “Marjorie vs. Mrs. Schwartz” dichotomy (#22). Devastated as I was by Wally’s stinging judgment, who’s to say it wasn’t unfair, rooted in his own stereotypes and prejudices? He’d only had a brief, superficial encounter with Mrs. Schwartz; he didn’t KNOW her – her inner life, her creative outlets, her quiet contributions to community, her unheralded achievements as “best supporting” mother, life-partner, friend. Would her life necessarily had more worth, would she have done more measurable good in the world, as the celebrated Marjorie Morningstar? Sure, more accolades, more notoriety, more glamour – but deeper happiness, or a more meaningful legacy? I don’t think the answer’s a slam-dunk. (And for the record, I’d be puttin’ the same question out there, whether we were talking about a Marjorie, or a Manny.)

Anyhoo… thanks for the kind words, and again, for a great post.

28 betty July 29, 2011 at 12:24 pm

vivien, we are on the same wave length. i’ve been vacuuming the house and thinking about mrs. schwartz. took a break just now to check email and….here you are! my thought: who is to say mrs. schwartz had a lesser life? you’re right! and quite frankly, i envy the steadiness and security of her life. do we really have to choose?

29 Amantha Tsaros July 29, 2011 at 5:10 pm

What a great post. Fear fear fear. I had thought that by 43, I’d be over fear. But no no no. My mom is not afraid of anything and it makes me nuts. She had me when she was 45 and in 1968 that was unusual. A friend of hers tried to freak her out by saying things like “What if your baby is born with two heads?” She’d say, “I’ll knit her two hats.” Nah. Not me, if I got pregnant now I’d just freak out, start shrieking and run tight circles in my living room.

In fact, I am posting now because I am doing a painting that is scaring me to pieces.

30 betty July 31, 2011 at 9:55 am

i love this story about your mom. what she did was insane for 1968. and i totally relate because my mom had me when she was 39 — which was insane in 1956. we are the daughters of brave women! that’s worth a lot. and i’ll bet that painting turned out really special. :)

31 noch August 18, 2011 at 11:05 am

thanks for the inspiring post. i’m scared too. i am quitting my job. i just spent almost 2 years in severe depression and tried to kill myself. i lost friends in the process. now i’m starting my social contact a bit more and it hurts me that i’m not the sociable person i used to be, or confident and radiant. but i’m rediscovering myself, and trying to listen to my body and my heart, find my passions within. i’m scared of the new life i will lead. i’m happy my fiance is with me, and so’s my dog. but oh that fear is inside. and it’s encouraging to know i’m not the only one – and that with fear, new opportunities come. finding my “entrepreneurial” spirit :)
noch
nochnoch.com

32 Brian February 27, 2012 at 1:23 am

I’m glad that you were able to come to terms with your Fear(s).
Fear is a cold, prickly emotion. Often so hard to embrace. In the times you really needed it, you just give it a nod and a word of thanks (and then do the ‘fish dance’ later). The part about dying in obscurity reminded me of the story I recently learned about Eileen Nearne (http://www.huffingtonpost.com/huff-wires/20101028/eu-britain-wartime-heroine)
There are so many times that fear has kept me alive. Yet I just can’t reach out it most of the time. I find myself at mid-life as well. In the same terrible job market and even wondering if I will ever work again.

Leave a Comment

Current ye@r *

{ 1 trackback }

Previous post:

Next post: