David White, MD
I’m not sure where we found it but Dan, Gary, and I dragged the old broken-down sliding board across the yard. It’s weight and curvy shape made for an awkward carry as we also struggled to avoid touching the sun-scorched, shiny metallic surface— a mistake already made when we first discovered this treasure. With an unsynchronized lurch, we dropped the slide at the edge of the yard. The yard was flush with the newly paved country-road that was sure to grant us speeds on our bicycles that the previous dirt and gravel denied us. We giggled with excitement as we ran behind the shed where we knew we would find three abandoned cinder blocks that had long been begging us for a worthy cause. After carefully ensuring there were no spiders hiding in their cores, we each heaved a dirty block up against our shirtless bellies, leaning back for leverage as we waddled over to our prized slide.
Building the ramp was pretty straight forward from there…stack the three blocks one on the other, rest the top of the slide, curved perfectly to lay evenly on the top cinder block. The ramp was oriented in an obvious fashion—angled perfectly allowing for high-speed access from the road, though ensuring the landing would be in the more forgiving grass. As we stood back, we realized one small adjustment was necessary. The lower end of the board curved downward into the ground resulting in an 8-inch lip at the bottom. This problem was easily overcome by extending the bottom of the slide with the 3 feet of scrap wood that had long served as our standard ramp. Perfect.
Dan and I rode our bikes down the road debating which of us would be first to try. Gary would wait by the ramp, watching for rogue cars and infusing us with courage by his cheers. I would go first. I straddled my bike, bending to ensure my tube socks were pulled to their full height just below the tattered edge of my long cutoff jeans shorts. I placed my left foot on the pedal, hands twisting my handlebar grips nervously. Fear began to surge within me as I stared down the distance of my runway. Eyes fixed on the slide, I murmured, “I don’t know if this is a good idea, Dan.” Without hesitation, Dan offered me what we both at the time thought was standard and timeless counsel, encouragement and inspiration…he said, “What, are you chicken?”
Moments later, I found myself peddling feverishly, blonde hair flowing in the summer wind, eyes fixed intently on the front lip of the board that would launch me upward and onward. The sound of Gary’s cheers were silenced by a loud “BOOM” as my bike made contact with the ramp. I’ll leave the rest to your imagination but will share with you that no further attempts were made that day…or any day, by anyone.
As a physician, I often find myself in the privileged position of sitting across from wringing hands and murmurs of, “I don’t know if this is a good idea,”—people baring their fears as they stare down the road of life’s relentless challenges. Asking forgiveness, forgiving, creating boundaries, leaving a relationship, entering a relationship, parenting, tough love, getting a job, quitting a job, pursuing an education, singing a song or playing an instrument, writing, telling the truth, facing your addiction, losing weight, exercising, …the list goes on and on; issues of both great and small significance, but all revealing how fear infiltrates our thoughts, motives, and actions.
The 40 years I have lived since the ramp incident has served to nuance the counsel that I give in regard to fear. I have moved well beyond our youthful go-to of “What, are you chicken?” Yes, it is good to understand that fear can be an expression of wisdom; knowledge, and experience that warns or guides us away from what is harmful and towards what is good and safe. But the same fear born out of hurtful or disappointing experiences very often keeps us from experiencing fullness and freedom, as it whispers in our ear that the risk of expectation, discomfort, failure, or shame is too great and must be avoided.
A trusted friend once counseled me noting that “our greatest freedom often lies just on the other side of our greatest fear.” That fear is to be a counselor and guide to us but never a ruthless bully. Our past experiences, both good and bad, are what lend us wisdom; wisdom to avoid when only harm will come; but also wisdom to risk trying new things or retrying prior failures, pursuing a dream, loving, or simply being known for who we are! Usually, the sense of risk is amplified by the fear that our efforts will be met with discomfort, challenge, disappointment, or embarrassment. Yes, that is likely true, but it is on that journey that wisdom, freedom, and joy are also found.
But what will it take to stir a willingness to take such a risk? Author Anais Nin believes it will only be on that day, “when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.” Have you imagined what the bloomed version of you looks like? Don’t be mistaken, blooming is not making an effort to become something that you are not, rather it is the risky process of discovering and expressing who you really are!
Ask yourself—Does fear have me wrapped up like a tight bud? What is fear keeping me from doing? Where have I given in to the bully’s demands? Who do I really long to be? Truth is, you are probably already that person.
So, pull your socks up high, get your foot on the pedal, and ride out your fear to find freedom on the other side.
