I’ve been thinking about fear lately.
Not as it personally relates to me, although I have some things happening in my life that are causing me stress. Namely, the foundation people have to come to my house on a warranty issue for the front of the house – which looks like it’s trying to escape to Mexico. The rear half looks like it’s on its way to Austin and may need some more steel piers. Ah, the joys of home ownership. (As I see dollar bills flying out the window.)
The other issue is this odd spot that just appeared on my face. Care to guess how many times I looked up skin cancer pictures? I think it’s an age spot, even though I’m but a dewy blossom in the Garden of Life, but I’m trotting over to the dermatologist this week to make sure.
Put both of those things under Stuff That Happens in Life.
No, I’ve been thinking about fear in terms of Stanley. He hates anything to change in our routine. He gets aggressive when something new, be it an object or a person, appears. He shows a definite fight or flight response to unfamiliar situations.
Stanley is a dog, but he reminds me of three people I occasionally watch on YouTube. Unfortunately, all of them are morbidly obese yet they haven’t lost weight in order to cure their health issues. In Stanley’s case all he can do is bark at the offending threat. These three YouTubers all offer up excuses or what they consider as rational justifications for not doing the best for themselves.
I think it’s because they’re afraid. Food – and being, well, fat – is something that’s grown familiar. I think, in a lot of cases, that fat might also be a blanket that we wrap around ourselves, a shield from the outside world. Even though it harms our health, even though it may shorten our lives, it’s still something oddly comforting.
It is scary to do something new. You might fall flat on your face. You worry that people will criticize or ridicule you. Trust me, and you really have to take my word on this, people will criticize you no matter what you do. You might as well be yourself. The side effect? People realize that what they see is what they get.
And, in time, you realize that fear is just a paper tiger, one that you’ve made a great deal scarier than it really is.
Now, if I could only convince Stanley of that.
I understand fear. Big Time. I have a condition which colors the way I look at the world and what my responses are to what is happening around me. Not a fun thing. Most of all it has made me into a different person and that sucks.
As far as Stanley is concerned…..I get that. Sonny, my beautiful, wonderful dog, is frightened of men, small children, cars and loud noises. He does not bark at things, he wants to run home. He has determined that the house is the only safe place in the world.
Recently he has decided that he likes me to pet him. In the past he did not like me to pet him nor to pick him up. He has also decided that he loves being brushed. My point is that he has lived with me for two and a half years. It takes a long time for the pain from the past to go away for an animal. I have tried to explain things to him, but he is not always a good listener.
The things that you have described which are bothering you are things which would bother anyone. So, your fears are not unfounded. They are things which you are perfectly sensible in trying to mitigate. That is a smart way to live your life. See a problem and try to solve the problem.
Sonny is such a lucky dog to have found you, Annette. I smile every time you write about him.
Hi Karen,
I haven’t written to you in a while. I have read several articles about you talking about morbidly obese human beings. Do you know how hurtful it is to read what you write? I liked your blogs much better when you kept your conversations about your dog, your books and Texas. Obese people are human beings with real feelings. Surely in all your years of existence you can write about more productive topics. I myself am 68 years old so I don’t consider that an insult.
I have read all your books and did not expect this from you. But this is the second time I have picked up your blog and you are writing on the same hurtful topic.
Thanks. Isabel M.
Isabel, I’m so sorry you feel that way. Morbidly obese is a medical term. One that I didn’t coin. I’ve been considered morbidly obese. I certainly didn’t mean the term in a hurtful way, but I’m confused. Am I not to talk about something that affected me for years?
If you no longer read my blog or my books, that is certainly your decision. However, telling me which subjects are acceptable to you is, well, something I didn’t expect from you.
The first weekend I owned my new home, I confided to my dad that I might have bitten off more than I could chew, because I had no experience putting in a lawn. He smiled and said: Oh, the joys of home ownership. We exchanged those words a hundred times before he passed away. Your comment made me think of that and smile, because he was so proud of my home. Thank you!
My mother used to say it too, Jan. Maybe that’s why I say it so much.
Fear is an ugly beast we all have to slay.
True. Sometimes, it’s not as scary as we think.