Curiosity

A green Volkswagen Bug parks nearby. I see it from my balcony and twice a week, I hear her owners hopelessly trying to start her engine. She collects tickets and cannot drive, but the owner is too afraid to let her go. Today they are pushing her to the other side of the street because the city put up a tow away sign.

I have always had a paralyzing fear of splinters.  

After the frayed wood punctured my pink skin, I would wait for it to slowly kill me, submitting fully to its timberous venom. 

Now, as a twenty-six year old city girl surrounded by concrete, splinters aren’t something I think about often. I did think about it today because I am afraid a lot these days. 

I always thought the traumas and the big scares make you more brave and less afraid of other things, the smaller spooks.

This Volkswagen Beetle forces me to not only think of the bug locking us in, but also of my companion during the last six months. He is the Praying Mantis who creeps into my ear every now and again, and goes up to my brain. He nibbles at the wires sometimes. Sometimes he tucks himself deep into the caverns. Sometimes I forget he’s there and I feel safe for a little while. I dig my nails into my ear canal to pull him out, but no luck. He’s good at hiding. Because of this mind dweller, you’d think I’d be less afraid of other things - like a splinter, or the gentle squeeze of a boa constrictor, or feeling stuck in a tight space. After all, you can die if you leave a splinter in your skin too long. 

But the kicker is, if we fear things until we inevitably die, then we never lived curiously. 

Fear is a charade, an almost masterful trick. You don’t have to feel safe to feel unafraid.

We will learn and unlearn this for many lifetimes. And each time we are reintroduced to fear, our old friend, we will treat him as a foe.