Seems today was my day for facing other’s fears. My own,
were somewhat in check (which is good; best we not all be fearful on the same
day). No. Today was given over in large part to listening to, being there for,
helping others process their fears and since it was theirs and not mine I was
observing, it gave me pause to reflect.
Fear consumes a lot of energy. Let me rephrase: fear WASTES a lot of energy. I’ve been well aware of this for some time now, but today it was poised in stark contrast to the amount of energy I could’ve used elsewhere, (namely, getting a book proposal finished). But for the same amount of energy it would have taken to write 2,000 words and a mission statement, my mind was wrapped around the “what if’s” of more than a couple of friends, each facing something fearful and needing that proverbial talk off the ledge.
No complaints on the investment of time for ledge-talking. That’s what friends do, and I’ve had plenty do it for me, though my goal is to get good at doing it for myself, or better yet, staying off the ledge in the first place. But ledge-clinging happens. And once ON the ledge, have you ever noticed how much perfectly good creative energy gets wasted?
For all the great memories I have of my father, some of the not-so-fun times centered around fear and his worries for me in (pick your category: my job, my creations, my whacky ideas, like buying a church). He used to pride himself on worrying. He even once said, “It’s my right as your father to worry,” which used to bug the you-know-what out of me, because HIS worry was getting in MY way. If “I” had tamed my worries, why shouldn’t he tame his FOR me? But he couldn’t help it, he’d say. That’s just what fathers do.
I countered that argument, saying I was pretty certain that was not what ALL fathers did, and certainly not the best ones, citing (case in point) the prodigal son. So here’s a kid, leaves home takes half his dad’s money, to go rebel rouse and party, doing God-knows-what until finally he lands in pig poop when it dawns on him maybe he should go home. Does the Bible tell us his father worried? (I’m guessing the father had a farm to get back to, and worry and work make for bad bedfellows.) To follow the analogy to the fullest, (I asked my dad) “You think GOD worries?” I dare say God does NOT worry. That would be a waste of God’s energy. What God does, I believe, is God waits. But worry? I don’t think so, after all God could know the end to all our stories if God chooses to.
Anyone who has followed this blog for more than 2 days knows I have a fascination with the whole notion of creating, creativity and everything related thereto, and in noticing fear, (especially today in others) I could not help but notice: Fear is nothing but creativity in reverse. Same amount of gas if you drove your car backwards (only with strained neck and more coordination required). But if you’d turn your car around and go with the flow…have a little faith…your gas could be used efficiently, your car doing what cars are built to do and your life a much smoother ride.
After a couple of hours of “what if’s” and “yeah, but you’re not thinking of’s” I finally had to give it up. I had given it my all. I had countered skillfully with each dreary scenario painted. I had viable alternatives and resources available should they choose to look at it differently. I could not jump in their pits with them, but I was happy to stand on the edge and extend a hand.
But the grasping of that hand back is theirs and theirs alone to grab. I can’t make ‘em grab it. I can only be there to offer and love ‘em through the rest.
But it did occur to me as I watched not one hopeful word spoken after all this (except for me, who likes thinking on solutions, not overly long on the problem end of the equation, once established) the saddest part about fear? When you’re in it, positive often annoys. Helping hands can appear questionable. In fearful states, creativity is still alive and well, only most everything is painted dark. It sucks the life out of even the most positive (even probable) outcomes…It takes everything good and twists into worse case scenarios, which likewise, consumes a lot of energy. I get that. But I don’t get staying in that for long.
So when that time comes, I make sure to convey my concern…extend my offers of help…But to keep my own sanity, there comes a point I must remove myself, unplug, recharge, which for me means go write something, clean something or hug something. Any positive action helps recharge the spent battery. For energy spent on the opposite side of the coin can be just as creative, but mentally, soulfully, psychically, it’s debilitating.
Fear consumes a lot of energy. Let me rephrase: fear WASTES a lot of energy. I’ve been well aware of this for some time now, but today it was poised in stark contrast to the amount of energy I could’ve used elsewhere, (namely, getting a book proposal finished). But for the same amount of energy it would have taken to write 2,000 words and a mission statement, my mind was wrapped around the “what if’s” of more than a couple of friends, each facing something fearful and needing that proverbial talk off the ledge.
No complaints on the investment of time for ledge-talking. That’s what friends do, and I’ve had plenty do it for me, though my goal is to get good at doing it for myself, or better yet, staying off the ledge in the first place. But ledge-clinging happens. And once ON the ledge, have you ever noticed how much perfectly good creative energy gets wasted?
For all the great memories I have of my father, some of the not-so-fun times centered around fear and his worries for me in (pick your category: my job, my creations, my whacky ideas, like buying a church). He used to pride himself on worrying. He even once said, “It’s my right as your father to worry,” which used to bug the you-know-what out of me, because HIS worry was getting in MY way. If “I” had tamed my worries, why shouldn’t he tame his FOR me? But he couldn’t help it, he’d say. That’s just what fathers do.
I countered that argument, saying I was pretty certain that was not what ALL fathers did, and certainly not the best ones, citing (case in point) the prodigal son. So here’s a kid, leaves home takes half his dad’s money, to go rebel rouse and party, doing God-knows-what until finally he lands in pig poop when it dawns on him maybe he should go home. Does the Bible tell us his father worried? (I’m guessing the father had a farm to get back to, and worry and work make for bad bedfellows.) To follow the analogy to the fullest, (I asked my dad) “You think GOD worries?” I dare say God does NOT worry. That would be a waste of God’s energy. What God does, I believe, is God waits. But worry? I don’t think so, after all God could know the end to all our stories if God chooses to.
Anyone who has followed this blog for more than 2 days knows I have a fascination with the whole notion of creating, creativity and everything related thereto, and in noticing fear, (especially today in others) I could not help but notice: Fear is nothing but creativity in reverse. Same amount of gas if you drove your car backwards (only with strained neck and more coordination required). But if you’d turn your car around and go with the flow…have a little faith…your gas could be used efficiently, your car doing what cars are built to do and your life a much smoother ride.
After a couple of hours of “what if’s” and “yeah, but you’re not thinking of’s” I finally had to give it up. I had given it my all. I had countered skillfully with each dreary scenario painted. I had viable alternatives and resources available should they choose to look at it differently. I could not jump in their pits with them, but I was happy to stand on the edge and extend a hand.
But the grasping of that hand back is theirs and theirs alone to grab. I can’t make ‘em grab it. I can only be there to offer and love ‘em through the rest.
But it did occur to me as I watched not one hopeful word spoken after all this (except for me, who likes thinking on solutions, not overly long on the problem end of the equation, once established) the saddest part about fear? When you’re in it, positive often annoys. Helping hands can appear questionable. In fearful states, creativity is still alive and well, only most everything is painted dark. It sucks the life out of even the most positive (even probable) outcomes…It takes everything good and twists into worse case scenarios, which likewise, consumes a lot of energy. I get that. But I don’t get staying in that for long.
So when that time comes, I make sure to convey my concern…extend my offers of help…But to keep my own sanity, there comes a point I must remove myself, unplug, recharge, which for me means go write something, clean something or hug something. Any positive action helps recharge the spent battery. For energy spent on the opposite side of the coin can be just as creative, but mentally, soulfully, psychically, it’s debilitating.
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