The pain of hope & the longing of fear
Eleven days ago, I posted An Ode to Black Tea and Honey. It was one of my favorite things I’ve written lately, maybe ever. It felt like I wrote from the heart, like it came from the soul. The words felt like something true.
When I was finished posting here on Substack, I went to post the piece on Instagram, as has been my habit since committing to this blog. Unexpectedly, something about the post—probably how much this particular piece meant to me—triggered a panic reaction and the What Ifs set in.
What if I wasn’t posting the “right” way in Instagram? What if this project never goes anywhere? What if people think my writing is dumb, and they only say positive things because they feel bad for me? What if people are judging me because I took time off from writing while my mom was in town, but I didn’t make a post announcing it like I was probably “supposed” to do?
The result of the What Ifs: I didn’t post my piece onto Instagram, I buried my head in the sand, and I haven’t written anything else since.
What if, what if, what if.
What if is a question birthed from anxiety. Anxiety is an emotion birthed from fear. Fear is a completely natural emotion. Fear is a problem-solver, warning us of pain and danger, trying to protect us from the things that can cut our lives short prematurely. Life is hard sometimes, and stressful, and fear is a protective emotion.
We can reframe the fear and stress. We can shift our perspectives. We can practice mindfulness and positive self-talk and reassure ourselves that we are smart, strong, resilient, and capable humans. We can continue to take steps forward even when it feels like someone poured cement into our bones.
But the fact remains: fear is ever-present. We can’t kill it, squash it, or run away from it, because it exists in our nerve endings, our spinal column, and our amygdala—and all of those pieces are part of an automatic process that functions before information reaches the executive processing center of our frontal lobe.
When we touch something burning, we snatch our hand away in the millisecond before we are even aware of the pain. This is the magical power of the protective, fear-based nervous system.
Nervous system. The emotion is built into the name.
Nervous. Nerves. Anxious. Fearful.
When the nervous system is activated, it is possible to be brave—adrenaline kicks in, heart-rate increases, muscles prime themselves for fighting, our pain sensitivity decreases. But bravery is an emotion that, by nature, requires fear. No fear, no bravery.
On the other hand, when the nervous system is calm, we can hope and we can dream. We can make plans for the future. We can look inside ourselves and decide who we are and who we want to be.
My question is: is it possible to choose brave action without relying on the adrenaline of fear?
I want to be the person I imagine myself to be. I want to do the things I imagine that I’m capable of doing. But lately my bravery is wavering in the face of my fear.
Fear of committing to this writing project. Fear of moving to Maine. Fear of putting the pieces of my life together after blowing them to pieces last year. Fear of deciding what I even want. Fear of making the wrong choices (or the right ones). Fear of falling in love, and fear that I’ll never fall in love again. Fear that I’m walking away from a beautiful life here in New York City—the greatest, most alive, most diverse, most interesting (most stressful) city in the world.
They say hope is the only emotion greater than fear, and I wish I could just close my eyes and say,
Here’s to hoping
but I’m starting to understand that hope hurts too.
Hope is birthed from longing. The desire that something might be different in the future than it is now. A heavy, bewitching, nearly inescapable emotion.
The Buddhists believe you can only truly embody life (enlightenment) when you give up hoping (longing).
Scientists believe that hope is an essential component to human survival.
Is hope a strength or a weakness? Is it a powerful and essential survival mechanism, like fear? or is it a crutch that holds us back from truth, peace, and happiness?
Whichever it is, my heart is hoping that I can stitch together shreds of bravery to help me take steps forward into my future. Even if it means closing my eyes and letting the fear wash over me. Resolution. Supplication. Faith.
Here’s to hoping.