Fears
It's the first day of the new year, and I just finished reading one of David Sedaris' essays in his new book Calypso, Stepping Out. It was about him and his obsession with getting his FitBit to acknowledge how many steps he has made in a day, until it took over his life, making him want to do 65,000 steps per day, or something like 25 miles. It was his way of keeping fit, plus other things besides.
The universe has a very funny way of making me encounter things I need just when I need them. I was thinking I was getting fat from all the holiday festivities and the months leading before them, and this fear was confirmed when I changed clothes this morning only to find that two of my jeans don't fit right anymore. "That's it," I thought. "I'm not going out today." I am absolutely aware that this fear of getting fat stems from my vanity, fed perhaps by almost limitless exposure to Western standards of beauty, which in turn was fed by my colonized brain, which in turn was fed by my not going to the psych and resolving the deep-seated issues behind my binge stress-eating. Having read Stepping Out, I set the book down momentarily, changed into working-out clothes, and started doing a cardio routine. It lasted all of 20 minutes until I felt confident enough to have burned calories of momentous significance, maybe three or four.
My fear of getting fat, however, seems inconsequential compared to my fear of heights. Nothing quite compares to the physical manifestations of my fear when I'm in high places, like, say, a Ferris wheel or a hanging bridge. I remember being on a carnival ride with the largest Ferris wheel in the country and the cabin stopping two steps from the topmost spot, and sustaining a painfully long panic attack in the process. It was made worse by my nephew sincerely gleefully rocking the cabin, unaware of how much I wanted to dismember myself in that moment. The hanging bridge is worse, because I needed to move the entire length of it using my own willpower, doubling the entire experience of it with a panic attack and simultaneously berating myself for not being able to move while people behind me are waiting.
It's like my fear of the ocean, to which we went for this holiday season, the purpose of which was to swim with whale sharks. My entire family swam in the ocean and got up close to them, while I stayed in the boat and took pictures. When we talked about it later, I said to my sister that I was worried I'd have a panic attack had I submerged myself in the water and found its invisible bottomlessness, while something the size of what could be considered a planet in that context loomed in the grayness in front of me, or beside me, or underneath me. In the depths, a panic attack would not be an option, since you're going to be wearing a snorkel and any sharp inhalation to calm yourself down will result to inhaling water instead.
I was thinking about these things while doing 50 jumping jacks, and felt I at least was doing something about my fear of getting fat. The result of this effort would be something immediately tangible, not like conquering the fear of the ocean or of heights. "At least," I was saying to myself, "I can do something about this fear, rather than any other." I was thinking, "For what would you have shown for conquering either your fear of heights or of the ocean? A picture, at the very least?"
It's a stupid way to think about it, I realize. Fears we have manifest in different ways, and the conquest of them bring different sorts of rewards. The point is, I thought as I did my last burpee, doing something about it, if it really bothers you that you're afraid of something. I'm doing something about the fatness, because it bothers me — the fear of the ocean, not so much. I was content to burn in the sun while capturing memories of my family having their own memories and experiences, and did not challenge myself to go experience the ocean any further. One challenge is enough for a person like me, who naturally seeks the path of least resistance, and if your only accomplishment for the year is that you saw it end, then that's fine, too. Fears don't need to be controlling: either you do something about them, or you spend your life evading something. Choose what to fear: there's always something else life will throw at you.
The universe has a very funny way of making me encounter things I need just when I need them. I was thinking I was getting fat from all the holiday festivities and the months leading before them, and this fear was confirmed when I changed clothes this morning only to find that two of my jeans don't fit right anymore. "That's it," I thought. "I'm not going out today." I am absolutely aware that this fear of getting fat stems from my vanity, fed perhaps by almost limitless exposure to Western standards of beauty, which in turn was fed by my colonized brain, which in turn was fed by my not going to the psych and resolving the deep-seated issues behind my binge stress-eating. Having read Stepping Out, I set the book down momentarily, changed into working-out clothes, and started doing a cardio routine. It lasted all of 20 minutes until I felt confident enough to have burned calories of momentous significance, maybe three or four.
My fear of getting fat, however, seems inconsequential compared to my fear of heights. Nothing quite compares to the physical manifestations of my fear when I'm in high places, like, say, a Ferris wheel or a hanging bridge. I remember being on a carnival ride with the largest Ferris wheel in the country and the cabin stopping two steps from the topmost spot, and sustaining a painfully long panic attack in the process. It was made worse by my nephew sincerely gleefully rocking the cabin, unaware of how much I wanted to dismember myself in that moment. The hanging bridge is worse, because I needed to move the entire length of it using my own willpower, doubling the entire experience of it with a panic attack and simultaneously berating myself for not being able to move while people behind me are waiting.
It's like my fear of the ocean, to which we went for this holiday season, the purpose of which was to swim with whale sharks. My entire family swam in the ocean and got up close to them, while I stayed in the boat and took pictures. When we talked about it later, I said to my sister that I was worried I'd have a panic attack had I submerged myself in the water and found its invisible bottomlessness, while something the size of what could be considered a planet in that context loomed in the grayness in front of me, or beside me, or underneath me. In the depths, a panic attack would not be an option, since you're going to be wearing a snorkel and any sharp inhalation to calm yourself down will result to inhaling water instead.
I was thinking about these things while doing 50 jumping jacks, and felt I at least was doing something about my fear of getting fat. The result of this effort would be something immediately tangible, not like conquering the fear of the ocean or of heights. "At least," I was saying to myself, "I can do something about this fear, rather than any other." I was thinking, "For what would you have shown for conquering either your fear of heights or of the ocean? A picture, at the very least?"
It's a stupid way to think about it, I realize. Fears we have manifest in different ways, and the conquest of them bring different sorts of rewards. The point is, I thought as I did my last burpee, doing something about it, if it really bothers you that you're afraid of something. I'm doing something about the fatness, because it bothers me — the fear of the ocean, not so much. I was content to burn in the sun while capturing memories of my family having their own memories and experiences, and did not challenge myself to go experience the ocean any further. One challenge is enough for a person like me, who naturally seeks the path of least resistance, and if your only accomplishment for the year is that you saw it end, then that's fine, too. Fears don't need to be controlling: either you do something about them, or you spend your life evading something. Choose what to fear: there's always something else life will throw at you.
good read for me. wearing the same panic shoes here.
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