I have fears. I have always been afraid. Everything scares me. Anxiety has haunted me from the beginning, probably even in the womb. Perhaps there is deeper meaning to that first cry. I have no conscious memory of not being anxious about something. In fact, fear and anxiety have been such an indelible part of my life I suspect on some level I’ve grown comfortable with this diabolic duo of emotional destruction.
I’m an ordinary woman who has always longed to live an extraordinary life. And in some ways I do. I look back with wide-eyed wonder at the life I have led, the people who have surrounded me, traveled this journey with me. I’ve come a long way baby! From the little girl trembling and weeping on her mother’s knee because she didn’t want to go to kindergarten without her to a fully evolved woman with accomplishments, skills, adroitness, and stuff under my belt. I’ve had the privilege to have met and worked with sublimely talented people, who have shared their gifts with me and enriched my life, both professionally and personally. I’ve fallen in love, married and had children, who have sat on my knee and wept. What an honor to be their mother and to have dried their tears. Yet through it all I have been afraid. Some days just getting out of bed is an act of courage.
It’s a miracle that I’ve done anything with my life. I don’t recall what got me off my mother’s knee and into that kindergarten classroom. I don’t know what she said or did. But I do know it required faith and trust. The flip side of the coin. The antithesis of the diabolical duo. Faith that someone or something was out there watching over me. Trust in my mother, that she wouldn’t lead me astray nor send me somewhere that would cause me harm. I was her dear one.
I tried a slew of things to overcome this underlying malaise that colored my days including reading copious pop psychology books. In turn I became a perennial student of self-help, a physician to my subconscious wounds and minister to my spiritual being. Some of these books were helpful, downright inspired, especially those written by Dr. Wayne Dyer. I think I’ve read everything he’s written from Your Erroneous Zones to the one I’m reading right now, Change Your Thoughts – Change Your Life.
In addition to books, I took fitness classes, practiced yoga, tried meditation, attempted creative visualization, ran my butt off, rode my bike everywhere, hopped on an elliptical machine every morning for a year, and I walked and walked and walked. I still run five mornings a week, practice yoga every morning prior to the run and I walk almost every day.
All of this mental and physical activity has helped. But nothing has helped more than the time I spend in quiet solitude writing my letters to God. Sometimes it feels a bit like we’re pen pals, albeit a tad one-sided. And other times it feels like unrequited love. No cards. No flowers. No love letters in return. But bit by bit, day by day I’m learning to trust in the process of life. I’m slowly letting go and letting God. And I tell myself that I was Ma’s dear one. And I like to think that I am God’s dear one too. Only good can come from a relationship like that. Nothing to fear.
