A long time ago, I learned an acronym for the word fear-false events appearing real. It resonated with me in such a way that I’ve remembered it. Recalling the fact that the fears I conjure up are usually false is helpful. 

Most recently, I traveled to and from our state’s capital to attend a conference. In order to get on the plane and stay calm while traveling through the air at approximately 500 mph, I had to keep myself from thinking about all of the false events that seemed to appear real. For instance, air turbulence does not equal death even though it feels like it might.

Fearless

Though I am not a fearless person, my friend gave me something to remind me to be fearless. On the wall, above my window in the room where I write, is the word fearless, its cursive letters carved out of wood. I look at that eight letter word every time I sit down to write and every time I sit down to write, I am practicing being fearless. 

Even though I will never be absent from every molecule of fear that resides inside my body, I can, at times, sense what fearlessness feels like. Those fearless moments are little treasures of bravery and over time, bravery begins to override and replace my fear. It is a slow process, but nonetheless, I know I’ve made progress.  

Actually accepting the invitation to attend the conference knowing I’d have to fly in order to arrive at my destination shows me I’ve made some progress toward becoming more fearless. Another indicator of my movement away from emotional trembling and toward unflinching emotions is my marriage. 

We’ve recently celebrated our forty-third anniversary and oftentimes people will exclaim, “Wow, that’s a long time. What’s your secret?”

I usually say it is because of my husband; I married a wise, kind, and patient man. But, after giving it a bit more thought, there is more to this story. 

Not only did I marry a wise, kind and patient man, but I allowed this man to love me. That is the other part of the story, allowing myself to be loved. 

At the beginning of our marriage, I did not know I’d drugged a box load of imaginings attached to allowing myself to be loved. But the longer I was married, the more I discovered the ideas I’d packed into my box.

 To name a few of those thoughts: If I allow someone to love me, they will only leave me. If I allow myself to be loved, I will suffer loss. Being loved is equal to pain. 

Gee willikers, where on earth did I come up with these concepts? 

Though I could not answer that question when it first arose, the more I considered the question the more I discovered some of the answers. In more ways than one, my fear or false events appearing real had originated with my father’s suicide. Even though Dad had said he loved me, he still left me. I’d concluded that love was extremely risky. Allowing someone to love me might mean they will leave me. Yet, I went ahead with marriage and learned along the way how to let my husband love me. For the last forty-three years it has proven to be good whirl.

Moving away from our fears towards fearlessness, pluckiness, and bravery requires us to first examine the thought or thoughts behind the action or lack of action. I can inquire by asking myself, where does this idea originate from and is this idea useful or useless? Does this thought cause movement or stagnation harmony or disharmony?  The more questions we ask ourselves about our fear, the braver we become.

Why bother being fearless? Replacing our fear with bravery will enlarge our lives and our relationships.