Naked Fear

So I have a lot of wacky ideas, and I go “whew”pretty often when I realize that people can’t tell that I have these wacky ideas. Some of these wacky ideas might be called Worst Fears which I don’t realize are wacky at all until they’re over, or done with, or gone.

So it’s pretty alarming when the repertoire of worst fears start to happen one after another. One of them, lets call it the banking-related fear, played out like a bad stage play in slow motion. The kind of play you can’t get up and walk out of cause you know all the performers, but you can’t bear to sit through it and you wonder how on earth you ended up here in the first place.

Next there was the, “cop happens to run your plates on the 401” fear. You see her driving behind you. You pass a car to put someone else in the line of fire. She passes the car too and follows you. Then the cherry lights go on. Can you play dumb at that point, with a heart attack in progress?

So the scary part is that there’s a whole bag of fears where those came from. And the stressful part is that it’s tempting to think that maybe they aren’t all as bad as I imagine they will be. That they’ll happen and I’ll go, “Oh, well, now that’s over with.”

Like the time I walked Denise to the subway early one morning. I didn’t need to be up so early and decided I would go right back to bed so I pulled a dress over my nightie which was over nothing, slipped into some flip-flops and walked the few blocks to the station on a quiet blue morning. As we approached the entrance a train went by underground and my dress-nightie combo flew up around my ears. Straight up. I pushed down the front and the back billowed on. I held the back down and the front went up again. Finally, I stepped off that damn subway grate.

Then I had to walk back past all those people waiting for the bus.

In this case, I think I must have experienced someone else’s worst fear by accident cause I assure you, I wasn’t losing sleep at night fearing that I would one day be naked in front of the Junction commuter line up. I didn’t wear a dress for ten years or so.

The thing is, all these little fears sap your confidence and it makes you feel like you’re in a bit of a trap. It’s how you feel when you’re without a job, without resources, without the language, or the connections or a community to tell you it isn’t as bad as you think. (Or a family to tell you it’s worse!)

You need some kind of reference group in order to check in and realize that you aren’t public enemy number one. Then, presumably, you don’t have to learn everything the hard way.

Note to self: always be prepared – wear under garments.

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