A Thousand Forms of Fear

Dear Friend,

I am walking through fear. It's like whack-a-mole — one pops up: "you don't know where you're going!" I bop it on the head and boom, the next one pops up. The fear tells me I'm going to fail, I'm going to die, I'm going to be rejected, I don't belong, I am lost.

I honestly don't know what I was expecting when I stepped blindly into the unknown. But I said yes, and here I am.

Last night I stayed with my mum at her field. For context, my mum prefers the wild over anything remotely city-like. She spends a good chunk of her life outdoors with her horses, dogs, chickens, and a very sweet cat called Molly. I spent a good portion of my childhood running around in nature, and I'd hoped being plunged back into all of that might offer some respite from the fear. But I am a visitor here. This is not my life, and not my destination. The fear came anyway.

We camped in her bell tent. She promptly fell asleep.

And my mind got to work.

It threw out every possible pitfall until it had completely dismantled the structures of my life — until my future, in my imagination, was that of a destitute wretch living off handouts near a temple. My body flooded with that sickening feeling, the devil's cocktail of cortisol and adrenaline, and I felt a mixture of sadness, loneliness and deep terror. What have I chosen? I've stepped out into the world with no real knowing of where I am headed. And there is no way back. I can't go back.

I tried the reassuring words of Ernest Holmes. I tried faith. I tried a meditation. Nothing worked.

And then, somewhere in the fumbling around in the dark for something to save me, beautiful music came through my headphones. Enchanting, transporting — something ancient and Arabian and utterly otherworldly. It calmed me like a tonic. I don't know what it was, but it lifted me just enough to get up and go outside for a pee.

As I stepped out into the crisp night, I caught my breath.

The sky was rich with stars. A magic blanket thrown over everything. And for one quiet minute — all the fear dropped away. All that noise in my head meant nothing under a sky like that. I was small, yes. But I was home. Home in the universe, under a sky that has been there long before my fears and will be there long after.

I haven't got through the gauntlet of fear yet, even as I write this I am filled with the dread of my small self. But I have been reminded, by the heavens no less, that whatever happens — I'll always be at home.

I love you.
I love you.
I love you.

Lizzie