One-A-Day Courage

One-A-Day Courage
Part one of three parts

Where did the little fears come from? I was besieged by them: tiny fears, silly little nagging bits of unease that kept me from doing the smallest, most insignificant act. I was afraid to go to a new, interesting little shop because it was in a part of town I didn’t know well. At lunch with a friend, I sat in my chair and watched with a mix of envy and longing as she bleated a silly — and fun – note on the kazoo she’d just accepted from the pizza parlor’s wandering clown. It was the same kazoo I declined to try because I was afraid to appear foolish.

On the playground with my three-year-old daughter, I was paralyzed with fear: afraid to let her go up the big slide, afraid to stop her and instill in her my own deadly cowardice. I fishtailed on a gravel road once, so I was afraid to drive on trips any more. I got lost in a neighboring town, so I was afraid to venture away from familiar territory alone.

Living was risky, so I was afraid to live.

And no one knew about it but me. Not my husband, not my sister, not my parents, not my best friend. Because I am naturally outgoing and talkative, no one even suspected that my life was held in a vise-grip of fear. I functioned well enough. I could give a dinner party, go on vacation with my family, do the Christmas shopping. It all appeared just fine.

Because I was afraid to try anything new, I was predictable. Because I was afraid to do anything alone, I was companionable. Old, steady, reliable Megan was always good company. Why would anyone suspect that I was afraid to live?