We’re all just trying to crawl out of life’s biggest struggles, like spiders stuck in bathtubs, or like our minimal wage jobs, sacrificing our health for the corporate good, and scant hours weekly of uninterrupted leisure; if we’re not too exhausted to enjoy them. There are really only four routes. Crawl down the drain to certain death. Stay still. Keep crawling and failing to scale the bathtub’s sides. Or hope someone compassionate will rescue us.
My fears are always lingering, like when we peer out from behind the curtains of our mind’s eye out into the void where an unknowable creature lumbers, and yet, where are they really? Is it in the truck that swerves too close into your lane because of the sharper curve in the road or because of the first rainfall in weeks? Is it the passerby that might become aggressive? Do fears have a physical address?
I face my fears during every rowing set. Sometimes, it’s nothing dramatic; just investing time into moving my limbs around. Usually, I’ll focus subconsciously on some internal turmoil along with routes through that. If it was one awkward conversation, I might ruminate about how much I care about future similar awkwardnesses. If it’s addressing some lingering stress, I’ll gather up the courage to face it down. We should often practice these sorts of fear staredowns.