The Fear of Fear Itself

Lauren and I have had a couple of Kitesurfing lessons over the last few days. Great fun, especially because we're doing it together. But this morning I more or less had to drag myself to the second lesson. And during the lesson I found myself looking at my watch to see how long it would be before the lesson was over. And this is not just limited to Kitesurfing. We have brought our Laser 2000 sailboat with us on holiday and I also find myself hesitating to use it in even vaguely challenging circumstances. This afternoon the wind has been very strong, certainly in the "adventurous" range and I didn't really dare to go out on the water. 

I'm not used to feeling like this, at all. Normally, the idea of learning something new, something fun and adventurous would have me bouncing out of bed and counting down the minutes until I could start. Normally, I'd be happy to push the envelope with the Laser, to find out more about sailing it in adventurous conditions, especially in the relatively safe environment of a lake. I've been debating with myself all day about why I feel like this. Why, the truth be told, I seem to have become afraid of anything the involves an element of risk. I would have argued that it's not in my nature to be fearful. Although I have always felt fear when doing stuff like aerobatics or windsurfing, I've always felt that a careful and reasoned approach would lead to minimal risk. And it always seemed to me that if other people could sail or fly in given set of conditions, then given the right training or level of skill and preparation, so could I.

I think that the answer is possibly relatively simple: in the last years I have had no choice but to face the worst fears possible. Not only this, but my fears were realized, the worst thing happened - something that had never happened to me before. While Kay was ill, my careful and rational approach to facing down the mind numbing, body paralyzing, all embracing fear of losing her was in the end no use - I lost her anyway. As I sit here now, writing this, I can feel the residue of that fear still in my system. I can so easily recall the moments when it seemed as if my blood had turned to liquid fear, when my heart seemed to be circulating that fear to every extremity of my system, when if someone had merely clapped their hands I would have broken the record for the 100m sprint. I feel as if I've developed an allergy to being scared, that my very body has now become afraid of fear itself.

If so, this explains a lot. It explains why I've more or less completely lost my interest in flying, why I find it difficult to summon up the will power to take the Laser out. It explains why I find my job more difficult now than 3-4 years ago, why it takes me more energy to face the day. It explains part of why I find it difficult to sleep - I often find myself thinking about all the various things that could go wrong and then I start worrying about them, etc. In summary, it explains why I've become so afraid in general - I've been so throughly beaten up by fear that I'd just rather do anything I can to avoid being faced with it.

Writing about it makes this sound all very obvious and explicit, but in fact it's not. It's actually so subtle that it's taken until now for me to realize that somethings going on, the trigger being finding myself looking at my watch and hoping that the Kitesurf lesson would end before I had to try water-starting again and thinking how strange it is that I feel this way. I suppose that I should consider that this is progress. I don't suppose that a year ago I would have even considered trying Kitesurfing - in fact, I just remembered that that's true, a friend challenged me to try it last September and I backed down. I have to hope that eventually the fear of fear will pass and that I'll be able to return to being "me" again, because I've always considered my readiness to do adventurous things a fundamental part of my nature. 

I continue to be surprised and shocked by the depth and breadth and sheer insidiousness of the consequences of Kay's death and the profound effect that her loss has had on my very nature. I've been saying for quite sometime now that I would like to live a simpler and quieter life. I think that I've just understood a significant component of that desire.