I have a lot of irrational fears. They range the gamut from being a mild annoyance in my life to a crippling terror. One of my New Year’s resolution’s this year was to finally take one off the list. It’s not going well.
I think it’s interesting that fear can shift and change a lot over the course of someone’s life. When I was a little girl, I was pretty positive that at one point I was going to wake up and my bed with have floated out of the house because of a giant flood, so I slept with a bag of “survival supplies” (books, a change of underwear, and a chocolate bar). I do not have any idea where this concept came from, although I did live on a lake in Canada in a haunted house. My best guess is that the story of Noah’s Flood confused me. I was not a quick learner.
At some point my fear of flooding magically went away and was replaced with a ridiculous, all-consuming fear of heights. I fell off a chairlift and ended up dangling off of it for the whole ride up. It was unpleasant. I was maybe 10 years old. I still have a vivid memory of this incident. No bueno. Interestingly, I’ve becoming pretty good at handling chairlifts, but gondolas, tall cliff faces, large buildings, balconies, and poorly made porches are a serious no-go for me. I passed out at the top of the Eiffel tower. It was super embarrassing.
Coupled with my fear of heights is a fear I’can really only conceptualized as “fear-of-imagining-myself-falling-from-the-ceiling”. It’s almost like reverse claustrophobia in that I’m not great with large open spaces, but it’s more like I’m timid around large open spaces within buildings. I remember going into a very large cathedral in France and the space between myself and the roof was mindbogglingly awful. I was perfectly aware that I was on the ground and I wouldn’t even be going up somewhere high, but all that space above me was just the worst thing, for some reason.
Thunderstorms. I hate thunderstorms. I don’t like loud, sudden noises. I don’t know.
Do you have any awful irrational fears, internet?
Right at the end of 2012 I read an article on Cracked.com that I sincerely hope has changed my life. I read it once through and re-read it immediately, bookmarked it, took notes on it, and read it again.
If you haven’t bothered to click the link it’s essentially about a scene in the movie Glengarry Glen Ross in which Alec Balwin’s character is giving a speech to a bunch of employees. It’s a decently long speech, but the summation is this- the world doesn’t care about you if you produce nothing, so if you want to work here, get results. If you want to work here, close.
I am a self confessed non-closer. I’m pretty much as non-committal as they come. I think what’s worse is that I’m very good at lying to myself and others about how good I am at things I’m supposed to be good at, at writing, and at the six or seven petty jobs I work to buy myself shit I don’t need.
I am fortunate. I come from a good family who I adore and who adore me and who will support me in even my craziest endeavors. However, I’m beginning to suspect that I’ve been living with the deep-rooted belief that I am guaranteed a good life, and recently It’s been sinking in that if I wallow long enough in my own apathetic unproductiveness, I will one day wake up unable to dig myself out of the hole I am currently creating.
So I suppose, in my own way, this is me publicly shaming myself to do something about it. To produce. To have something to my name when I tell people I’m a writer and they roll their eyes at me. A blog about myself, for myself, in the spirit of creation. A blog I can post something on, no matter how small or stupid, every day, just to defy that little voice in my head screaming at me saying that I will fail.
Let’s roll, bitches.