Fear Factor

I recently saw a really cute metal necklace imprinted with the phrase, "Each day do one thing that scares you." 


I felt particularly drawn to the inscription, considering the fact that EVERYTHING scares me, so it would actually be an interesting thing for me to consciously confront my demons. The necklace was priced at $168, so I backed away from it slowly with my hands up in the air. And hey, I've let my fears solidly run my life for twenty-five years, so I'm not sure if that'll change any time soon. It did, however, get me thinking. 


Adventure to me equals danger. All of my favorite activities involve either sitting, lying down, or standing with my feet firmly rooted to the ground. Any time wheels are thrown into the mix I become instantly nervous about the situation. 


I'll never forget the phase I went through at the end of my high school days when I decided that I wanted to  become a Sk8er Gurl. I saved my money up and purchased a beautiful Sector 9 longboard in hopes that by the time I arrived on the UCSB campus I would be officially ten percent cooler. I took my board with my friend Kristin and we practiced getting our wobbles out in our high school corridors after school hours. We quickly learned that anytime we hit a rock and the board shot out behind us as our necks and elbows lurched forward it was best to shake our heads in irritation and mutter knowingly to any spectators that "Man, these bearings are SHOT!" I'd like to think that at least one person believed us. I got really excited the day I was daring enough to roll in slow motion-- GET THIS!-- OFF A CURB!! Just right off it like it was nothing!! I then spent a lot of time purposely slow-rolling off sidewalks into parking lots, scraping the beautiful sunset painted on the deck of my board against the concrete. It wasn't until later that my brother pointed out that it was really unfortunate that my brand new board was in such bad shape, and I hung my head in shame while the word "poser" skated across my consciousness. When I'd finally gained some confidence in my ability to maneuver the board well enough, I brought it to Christmas at my grandma's house and tried to show of my savvy skills with my brother in the quiet street outside. There was... a very slight hill. Virtually invisible to the human eye, but apparently monstrous according to the laws of momentum and inertia (eww physics **barf**). I started rolling along with my ironically ugly thrift-store sunglasses and my little boys' T-shirt, throwing out peace signs and quoting lyrics from The Cure as I started picking up speed. And more speed. And suddenly, too fast too fast toofasttoofasttoofasttoofast!! I panicked, and like any other person who is lacking in common sense, I brilliantly stepped off the board. At fifteen miles per hour or so. And the pavement picked my foot up and I started doing Olympic-status tumbles down the street, my head and feet taking turns spanking the asphalt. When at last I stopped Humpty-Dumptying down Frost Avenue, I lay there on my back, trying to decide how okay I was. I was fine. I sat up and turned to face my audience. My brother had skated like a rockstar to my side and was helping me up as I saw my grandma turn with her hands on her hips, shake her head, and walk back up to the house saying loudly to no one in particular "Oh she's fine." 


So here's the thing. I WAS fine. And I was really, really lucky that all I ended up with was a scraped knee and chin I think (yeah it was so minor I don't even recall the injuries). And any NORMAL person would've laughed it off and skated back up to the house. I, however, am crazy. So from that moment on I viewed my skateboard as a loaded gun laced with mustard gas and refused to get back on the horse, as they say. (Don't even get me STARTED about horses!!!) I graphically imagined all the ways I COULD have been hurt if Lady Luck hadn't held my hand-- teeth bashing in, severe concussion, broken nose, etc.-- and I lost any desire whatsoever to master the art of the longboard. In fact, I gave it away when I got to UCSB and never missed it for a second. 


Sometimes I wonder WHY I'm so crippled by my fear of even the most mundane activities. Is it just that I'm unbelievably uncoordinated? Am I cursed with an overactive imagination narrated by Debbie Downer herself? Why is my sense of mortality the most pertinent factor in every single decision that I make? I usually play off my fears as "quirks" that make me unique... but at what point do I realize that I am living a life full of restrictions because I am terrified to do anything that could possibly endanger me? I mean, come ON, EVERYONE drives, flies in airplanes, swims in deep water, runs down stairs, pets dogs, and goes snowboarding. Why the hell am I the only one who sees them as life-threatening choices? (I'm not even joking, by the way. Walking down STAIRS scares me. I always imagine tripping and breaking my neck. I did once meet a girl who does the same exact thing, and in my defense, she's really pretty and cool, so maybe it can be an acceptable phobia.) 


I guess what drives me crazy about myself are my inconsistencies. I have a barely-used scooter sitting on my back patio collecting dust because I fell off it once and am too scared to learn to ride it... but I have a half-empty pack of cigarettes in my purse that will absolutely kill me if I continue the bad habit of smoking them, no if's, and's, or but's about it. Hm. That's pretty fucking stupid, (singlewhitefemale). 


You know what, necklace? I see your challenge and I ACCEPT!! I don't wanna get too outta hand or anything, but I might even sleep in my ghost-ridden bed tonight! And look at pictures of deep ocean (AAAAHHHH!!!!) and not even worry about having nightmares!!! Take THAT mini-staircase in my bedroom! I'm gonna skip down you wearing slippery socks and not even hang on to the handrail!!!! Okay whoa whoa WHOA WHOA WHOA. I think I gotta take it down a notch. 


I WILL however re-register my scooter and start the babysteps process of gettin' that thing on the road. Sometime in the nearish future. Ish. And I feel pret-tay, pret-tay good about that.


Thanks, necklace. You're so wise.