FEAR

There have been times in my life when I should have been afraid but I wasn't.  For instance, in 1995, I was in Prague staying in a youth hostel at the end of a mile-long path past the end of the train line.  My travel partner and I were attending an opera performance at the National Theatre built in 1881 near the famous Charles Bridge.  Nancy decided to leave during the intermission which was probably a good decision made in her self interest, because it was still light in the early evening when she left.  I didn’t want to leave the beautiful music and ornate gold and red velvet surrounding, so I stayed until the final curtain call.

Which left me taking the last train out of town for the evening and walking the mile-long path with only an occasional light to the hostel.  I do remember hearing my breath as I walked, but I had many walks in the dark under my belt because I walked in the Minnesota woods from the neighbor’s cabin to ours with only a flashlight. I knew how to walk in the dark, and I didn’t consider this particularly gutsy, but retrospectively, I realize it could have not ended well. 

I should have been afraid in 2001 when I visited Karachi, Pakistan. My teaching partner and I waited two hours at the airport to be picked up and taken to our hotel.  The long flight to get there was unremarkable, but waiting outside in insufferable, oppressive heat was enough to weaken our resolve. And, I dare say, we looked like the only Westerners in sight mostly due to Susan’s long blond hair and a Barbie-esque radiance.  Alas, there was a screw up by our hosts, the Aga Khan Institute, so we were left to get ourselves to a hotel on our own….any hotel at that point.  Feeling desperate and stranded, I took my Marriott Hotel card, begged for a ride on a shuttle taking people to another hotel, walked into the Marriott, and quite by chance, found that we had reservations there! When we arrived, two guards armed with machine guns stood at the entrance. For a moment, it crossed my mind that this was a sketchy, dangerous place.

I should have been fearful In 2009 when I traveled by myself to Blantyre, Malawi to assess an educational project already underway.  Unlike previous international projects with which I had been involved, support at the local level was minimal, since I did not see the in-country project manager outside of work time--no suggestions were offered of where to eat or things to see. This left Sundays wide open to entertain myself with no cell phone as a safety measure.  On the second Sunday I was there, I became disoriented on a walk back to the hotel from downtown, most likely with an “I’m lost'' demeanor.  I was approached by a young man who offered to walk me back to the hotel. I followed him, but given the time and distance we were walking, I  doubted  his intentions.  I began limping and my exhausted face must have radiated “help!”  A British Petroleum truck slowed down next to me, and a woman with an English accent shouted out: Are you lost? Do you need help? When I yelled “yes,” the truck came back, threw a door wide open and pulled me into the cab.  

These experiences did not leave me paralyzed and, perhaps as I grew older, I erred on the side of believing the universe would take care of me.  There were only two incidents in my childhood that led to shutting down in the face of fear.

The first time was when I was getting ready to go to bed in 1948. The light in my room reflected on a menacing shadow outside my window:  a gargantuan, monstrous image that was grunting, squealing. This was not Wilbur the friendly Pig. It was a hog. I forced myself into the hall, waived my arms to get attention, and pointed to my window. There it was--the thing that frightened me into silence--never to be speechless again.

Several years later in fourth  grade, I took piano lessons on a new piano my folks bought for me. Probably they thought it was a good idea that I get acquainted with music - a legacy from my mom’s family. It wasn’t a forced march as I liked to play. My teacher held an annual recital in a large room in the back of St. Paul’s Lutheran Church on Summit Street. I’m sure I was nervous - we all were. But, it wasn’t until I was half-way through my solo piece that I began to tremble and missed important notes.. I stopped, shaking, and looked at my teacher in the front row.  “Teacher, I can’t do this,” I sobbed and went to sit with my folks in the audience.  “Momma, I think I can do it now,” I whispered later.  But those were the days before everyone was a winner and there were no second chances.