Thursday 9 November 2000

Pic of the day: This picture from the farm is of a sheep alone on the meadow, apart from the flock. The low sun put it in a bad light, I'm afraid. But do you recognize that feeling?

Fear itself

Worry is good. Fear is normal. Panic is sometimes useful.

I'm not kidding you. Worry is a perfectly normal part of life, and if used right it can save life and limb. If my mother had worried more about those new "birthmarks" on her skin before the melanoma spread, she could have avoided a decade with recurring surgery and gradual destruction of body and brain. Of course, worrying is not enough. She would have to do something about it too.

Which is why I'm going to check my own spots, warts and skin polyps later this month. This being Norway, it took some time even to get an appointment. But I have the letter prominently on top of my table now. "Specialist in skin- and sexually transmittable diseases." Great. I almost expect that there will be, by sheer twist of fate, a family or two of Smith's Friends just passing by on the street as I sneak inside...

Of course, once the worry has moved me to actually do something, it has done its part. Case dismissed. I understand that some people are bogged down by over-active worry. They cannot get it to go back to sleep, it continues to dig up old bones and things that are patently impossible to do anything about. (Well, one can always pray, if one's beliefs allow that.) I guess hyperactive worry is a real drag, just like my over-eager digestion sometimes. But by and large, worry is a useful thing. Only the most simple-minded do not feel the need for it. Mostly men, of course. "What, me worry?"

But as far as we have control of our own mind, or at least are able to train it, we should allow worry to seek out new dangers, and dismiss it from old. We can change the future by acting in the present, but we can not change the past.

***

Fear is a reasonable response when we meet adversity that we cannot easily overcome. Fear makes us run away to hide or seek help. Perhaps we should do more of that, instead of carrying the fear inside us, instead of bottling it up in a hard shell and keep smiling.

Yet, it does not make sense to react with all the bells and whistles to the smallest danger. A grumpy boss is not equal to a hungry cave bear. Usually our rational mind understands this, and manage to keep our arms and legs from flailing. But if the heart still races, we still burn our bodies out.

Sometimes it helps to think of the worst, to put the small dangers in perspective. So I risk losing a little of my reputation? How does that compare to losing my language, my memory, and eventually my life? It does not compare. It is not a problem. I agree with Kierkegaard: The problem with most people is that they take too many things seriously. Death is serious. Perhaps that's why many cultures have a "Day of the Dead", or the recent anglo feastday "Halloween". To remind us of what to be scared of, and what not.

***

I probably owe my life to panic, too. In particular, I remember in one of my earlier apartments: I was in the bathroom and the lock and door handle had sprung apart as I was about to exit. I was locked in, while my dinner was cooking, and there wasn't even a window. (That came later, in this apartment.) I could have sat down and told myself: "OK, this is it. There is nothing I can do. The door is locked, there is no escape, there is no one in the house, the landlord is vacationing, and you don't have a phone. The dinner will eventually catch fire and then you'll find out whether or not your faith was true." But of course I did not react like that. I kicked and screamed and panicked, prayed and panicked again. And to my surprise discovered that the door was not massive, as I had innocently expected, but was panel filled with some fluffy stuff that I could hack my way through with a part from the washing machine. My panic was the answer to my prayers!

I've generally stayed with this recipe: If stuck, panic! It has served me well so far. I guess I'll skip a couple other stories that drive this point home. But let me tell you this: I do not intend to go gently into the night. If I have the choice.

Yet, panic without a target is as bad as they come. I've tried that too. To have very little to fear except fear itself - and that was plenty enough. Strange how, when there is nowhere to run, fear can feed upon itself. The bodily symptoms of my anguish grow to the level where they become scary in themselves: My body shivers or shakes uncontrollably, my heart races, my mouth goes dry, I gasp for air etc. It cannot possibly be healthy. Luckily this isn't the common way for me to spend my days. I have a healthy respect for mental patients now. I used to look down on them when I was young, which may be why I had these experiences. Boy was I dumb when I was young. Intelligent but dumb.

***

On a barely related note, I see that my diary was linked in the prestigious "Lives Online" by Al Schroeder. Under the section for drama. Well, that was unexpected. I do not usually consider drama part of my life. Then again, those entries were not only about my life, but my mother's too. Don't expect drama to be a hallmark here, though. Or rather, I certainly hope not! It is true that I look back on my old entries and feel that they were often a bit silly and whimsical. Perhaps I am, after all, growing up. I guess that's OK - even Superboy seems to be growing up these days. As long as it doesn't involve mushy stuff! Kissing and all that - bleeech! Now that would make me panic for real ... :)