Fear and Fear Not

I just realized I have not blogged in over a year.  Truth is, I have done a couple of posts but only saved them as drafts as they were things I needed to get out but too private to make public.  Maybe later.

I was thinking this morning about fear, particularly about fear of stepping out to do something that might cause us harm. 

And thought about the Salisbury Viaduct on the Great Allegheny Passage.  If you don't live here, let me share some basic facts:  The Great Allegheny Passage Rails-to-Trails includes what was the longest bridge on the Western Maryland Railway.  It's a trestle bridge, almost 2,000 feet in length and about 100 feet high.  Those two things kept me off the viaduct for the first few years we lived here.

The first encounter I had with it (other than mindlessly driving under it countless times), Hal and I had decided that rather than leave the station on the trail, we'd drive up to Johnny Popper Road and start there.  Well, he started.  I took one look at the length of the bridge with nothing but 100-year-old trestles below it, and firmly planted my feet on solid ground.  Nope.  Big old nopity-nope-nope.  Hal tried.  He told me how safe it was - I didn't care.  He pointed out all the other people going past us - I didn't care.  He raised an eyebrow at me when two little kids went on it with their bike and told me THEY weren't afraid - I didn't care.  He said he was going.  I told him to enjoy, I'd be waiting when he got back.  And he went across, and I waited.  Fuming just a little bit, but that was my problem.  Do you know how long it takes someone to walk 4,000 feet?  He came back, told me about the old cemetery on the other side (he knew I have a weakness for cool old cemeteries) - I didn't care.

And for a while, we avoided that part of the trail.  But there were times  that he wanted to go that way.  Sometimes I'd try.  Sometimes I'd get to the first few feet.  But if I walked too slowly, if I hesitated, he would keep walking and I would let my fear take over and turn back.  Sometimes I'd stay home and tell him to enjoy.  Because of my fear of heights.  Actually my fear of the bridge collapsing and me having nothing to hold onto as I plummeted to the ground.  Irrational, I know.  But aren't most fears irrational?

Then he wanted to show Katherine.  So we went.  I went as far as the edge, and told them to enjoy.  Through some cajoling, I agreed to walk out.  I believe I may have said something on the order of, "Ok, I'll go, but I won't like it."  And I went.  In the very middle, with Hal on one side and Katherine on the other, looking down at the center of the trail.  The whole way.  No amount of "How beautiful" or "Look at that" could get me to look and see how high above anything we actually were.  I was on the viaduct, and that was enough.  And I didn't like it.  I endured it.  And then I asked where he was going to pick me up when they went back to get the car.  But I walked back, still looking at the ground pavement.  And I missed it all. 

Eventually, I went out.  On the side, not in the middle.  And actually looking at the scenery around - and below - us.  That first time, when I walked across and lived to tell the tale, broke my fear.  And that was all it took.  Ok, that and a little bit of "Who's braver, Connie or a 5-year-old" teasing, and I didn't want my fear to transfer to my grandchildren when Hal wanted to take them out on the bridge.  Kids are naturally brave, but our attitudes can instill fear, so I needed to be able to not pass my fear to them.

And it was breathtakingly - in a good way - beautiful.  Yes, still a little scary.  It's weird to be above the treetops.  Not natural.  But beautiful. 

Fear keeps us from so much beauty.  We plant our feet firmly on whatever ground we decide is solid, and refuse to risk safety for the possibility of something better.  We choose the known, and never realize that what may be just around the corner might be so much more.  We plod through life, looking down at the path we have chosen (or has been chosen by someone else for us), so intent on getting to our "destination" - a degree, success in our career, retirement, the other side of the viaduct - that we forget to look up and see the beauty. 

And it's true that sometimes when we step out, we will fall and get hurt.  Sometimes we attempt things that don't work out...but we learn from all of those things.  Sometimes we learn more from our mistakes than from the things that come easy to us.  But if we don't try, we will never know how things might have turned out.  

Let's stop living in fear.  Let's live in anticipation of what is out there for us.  Let's take in all that the world has to offer, and offer ourselves back to a world that needs the unique, individual beauty that each of us has to give.