Fear
When I turned 30, I discovered an intense fear I always knew I had, but never knew the degree to which I had it. Most days, my fear is hidden, buried in the depths of my subconscious. But every now and then, something floats it to the surface and my fear rears its ugly head.
Mind you, my fear is not tangible. It’s not a shaking in my boots thinking I’m going to die fear. I won’t feel it when I’m terrified and standing in front of a roller coaster. Or when I am home alone and forced to kill a gigantic bug. And I didn’t feel it in the middle of the Northridge earthquake.
That’s because my fear is that of the unknown. Of uncertainty.
Of being 30 and still not being sure what I want to be when I grow up. Or if I’ll ever meet my beshert. Or have a family of my own.
And my fear has many triggers, which are usually quiet and often catch me by surprise. The trigger can be anything from a photograph to a sound to a word. Sometimes, my fear will haunt me in the middle of the day, when I’m out and about doing normal things. At the grocery store. At a restaurant. At work.
My fear cripples me for a moment, forcing me to look at my life in a way that terrifies me to no end. What if I never figure out what I want to be when I grow up? What if I never find my beshert? What if I never have a family?
I know those scenarios would by no means be the end of the world. And I know I can’t let my fear dictate how I live my life.
But those are the things that scare me to death.
