Afraid of the Wild

I realized a while ago while visiting my favorite oak tree that I am still afraid of the wild. For all the writing and talking I do about getting into nature, there are some things I can't bring myself to do just yet. Like walk through knee-high grass in summer for fear of ticks, for instance.

My mom works for the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, and that means I grew up with a more-than-healthy concern for Lyme disease. As I stood at the edge of the trail, facing the magnificent tree that I've sat under so many times, I just couldn't budge. I'd never been there when the grass was high, so I'd never had to confront this particular fear. 

I tried talking myself into walking right through that grass without a care so I could lean up against the tree's wide trunk and take in branches and sky and Mt. Diablo and rolling hills. But it didn't work. I hiked further up the hill and sat under a much smaller tree right next to the trail where I wouldn't have to touch any grass. I felt like a wuss, like I had failed somehow. The view isn't as good from that tree; there are too many cookie-cutter houses and strip malls below. Leaf-blowers whined and car motors rumbled and there was too much smog. And right before me was miner-stripped Mt. Zion's deep ridges, a stark reminder of the damage we do to Nature. It didn't quite create the mood I'd hoped for. But, the view did echo my inner landscape: one in which I'm still afraid of bugs and diseases and dirt. A landscape of separation.

I think that's when the tiny iridescent-green beetle came to visit. It landed on my hand and stayed for a long while, tromping around. Eventually it settled on my finger and I was able to take a picture. I sat with that beetle, watching its antennae waving in the wind. It seemed to have achieved the relaxation I longed for. So I settled back and took its example, content to let the breeze tickle my face. Later, another beetle joined us. It landed in a container where I'd put cherry pits and carrot nubs. I got it to crawl on my other hand and I tried to see if the two beetles could be friends. It didn't work out. The second beetle soon flew off. The first beetle and I shared the space for a bit longer and then it left as well.

I like to think that beetle came as an ambassador from the wild. It visited to say, "Hey, we're not so bad. Get to know us. Don't shy away. And relax already." I don't know if the beetle cured my fear of ticks, but it did encourage me to slowly become more courageous about exploring the wild.

Facing Fear

I've had a lot of time to think these last nine days and it is amazing what you can learn about yourself when you step back from the world for a bit.

I learned I'm not as introverted as I thought. I'm a bit stir crazy and I miss being around people. I'm tired of my house and I want to see the world again. Hopefully I'll be up for a drive to a park later today.

I learned that I need to have more fun. I fear I've become bland from too much school and work and I need to play. For me that looks like reading fiction, for one. Over the course of the last week I finished five books, all but one fiction, and the non-fiction was a Bill Bryson travel memoir, which comes close to fiction with his exaggeration and hyperbole.

Fun also includes watching movies. I am in love with cinema and part of me dreams of working on some kind of movie some day. Maybe helping create a documentary. Or writing a screenplay that becomes an animated film created by Lance. That would be cool.

I need more time to frolic in nature, to break out my camera and tinker with my loaned Lensbaby, to mess around with my paints and charcoal. If you've been reading my blog for a while, or if you remember Feisty Scribe, you've heard this refrain before. I think, however, that the surgery finally got me through my block about this.

But the biggest thing I learned this week relates to Fear. That nasty little monster, pussy-eyed and warty, sneaks up on me regularly and laughs maniacally in my ear. He whispers the most vile things to me, making my heart pound. I saw him quite a lot this week.

However, here's what I figured out, and it seems so damn simple when I write it: Fear is worse than the thing I'm afraid of. Fear is worse! Fear, with his foul breath, his razor-sharp tail, his disgusting crusty claws. He is worse than anything else. Worse than the doctor. Worse than surgery. Worse than pain. Worse than spiders and bankruptcy and failure and all those other things that plague my thoughts.

Fear was with me in pre-op. I was so nervous my body turned to ice and the nurse had to warm up my arm so she could give me the IV. My heart raced along like it was trying to win the Kentucky Derby. I gulped the air and tried to slow everything down so I could relax. When they finally wheeled me into the operating room, though, I knew there was no turning back. I had to face this surgery. (Of course, it did help that the anesthesia took over soon after.)

When I woke up dazed and dizzy in the recovery room, I wanted to shout with joy. I'd made it! I'd faced one of my biggest fears and I lived through it. Wow.

This is going to be my new mantra: Fear is worse and there is nothing I can't handle. Nothing. I can make it through whatever this life throws at me. And even better, I can come out the other side feeling stronger than before.

Off to the Dream Conference

Tomorrow I leave for Chicago to attend and speak at the International Association for the Study of Dreams conference. This is my first time at a big conference, my first time speaking at a big conference, and my first time traveling in Chicago. I feel like the sprout in the photo above: new, fragile, and supported by those who came before me. I've spoken with several other students at JFK about their experiences presenting at this conference and their advice and encouragement has helped immensely.

I've been through all the emotions: fear, excitement, uncertainty.... Earlier in the week I felt panicky. I was having anxiety dreams and not sleeping well. So I wrote out my speech on note cards and did a trial run with Lance, and that seemed to ease the panic.

Now I've settled into excitement. I know I'm going to have a great time and learn a ton -- there are so many interesting speakers and workshops that I will probably be exhausted at the end of each day from so much learning. And the added bonus is that I get to see an old friend, Penelope, and meet Toni, a women I've known online for years. They are the icing on the cake.

Now that I'm less than 24 hours away from leaving, I see this trip for what it is: a huge opportunity for me to meet the movers and shakers in the dream world and a chance for me to show my stuff. I know in my gut there is something special in store for me at this conference and I am dying to find out what it is.

I'll be back with reports and photos next week. Wish me luck!

Leap...You Already Know How to Fly

I created this collage back in September, and somehow along the way I forgot its message. That's me in the picture standing at the edge of the cliff, looking out into the open possibility. Maybe if I had real blue fairy wings attached to my back I would not be so nervous about leaping.

I'm at a point in my life where part of me feels ready to let go. I want to shed old ideas, old messages I replay in my head that are lies. I want to fully embrace the new me, to embody her and feel comfortable with her. Right now I'm stuck in that painful, confusing middle space between the old me and the new me and I am here because part of me fears letting go. What if my wings don't work when I step over the edge?

But the thing is, they will work. And I will soar. And so, very soon, I'll take a deep breath...and jump.

Red Door Show

On Friday I trekked with Lance and Susan to Oakland for the opening of Small Work for a Small Space, the show I am in at the Red Door Gallery and Collective. I had no idea what to expect. I've been to a few art shows before, so I knew there would be some mingling, some wine and cheese, and lots of interesting art to see. But I didn't know how I would react. I wasn't that nervous on the drive out, which surprised me. But when we arrived, the nervousness started to creep in.

Those old negative messages played in my mind. They said my art wasn't as good as everything else there, that all the other work was more creative and more likely to sell. The messages left me feeling small. I guess I was a small work in a small space too.

But I also felt proud. Proud that I took the leap and submitted my work, proud that it got accepted, proud that I was brave enough to show up and be with my unease. And I learned that the messages can still be there and I can work through them and ultimately feel good about putting myself out there.

I wasn't brave enough to mingle with the other artists, so after a while we left and walked down to the Oakland Art Murmur. I was inspired by the spontaneous music that sprung up, the vegan cupcakes for sale, and the fascinating art in the galleries. I felt uplifted that so many people are willing to put themselves out there and totally be themselves, and that so many other people come out to support that. Thanks to everyone who came to the show and gave their support to art that night.