Be Not Afraid

"Be Not Afraid." I recall a hymn with that title from my days in the seminary (stop your faux recoiling; it's not the least bit shocking for you to learn that upon examination of conscience [yours]). "Be Not Afraid" is not a bad motto (let's call it personal autodidactic mission statement) to live by. I've been told that "fear is the chief activator of my character defects," and I have found that to be empirically true.

Of course, fearlessness has its limits, just as fear (reasonable and prudent fear) has its uses.

Remember the 1993 movie "Fearless" by Peter Weir? The character Max survives a plane crash and his postcrash behavior is wildly fearless. (I haven't watched that movie in years. I should re-view it, if for no other reason than to check out lovely Isabella Rossellini and because of the fine acting from Jeff Bridges. And to know what I'm talking about.)

Yes, fear has its obvious utility in everyday life (e.g., having enough fear not to stand in front of a locomotive; or is that called prudence?). But I suspect fear gets in the way of authenticity. Fear prevents me from being fully alive. I admire people who exhibit the right blend of fearlessness and confidence. That's part of what I admired about Willie Mays's playing: its fearless disregard for the possibility of failure.

Is it a thin line between fearless and reckless? I suppose so.

I truly believe people sniff out fear (literally and figuratively) in social situations (e.g., the workplace) and respond accordingly, just like in the jungle.

Most of the time, in a quiet moment, I need to meditate on what it is I am afraid of. Losing what I have? Losing what I don't have? What is "having" anyway? (And does anyone "have' anything that isn't simply on loan?)

The fearful tightrope walker is more apt to trip, yes?

I didn't learn how to ride a bike until fifth or sixth grade (afraid of falling).

As I imagined myself as Willie Mays in my childhood outfield, I typically missed the fly ball (Charlie Brown-style) or missed the fastball at the plate, "stepping into the bucket" (afraid, in both cases). One day, in kindergarten or first grade, I wore my Giants uniform (expecting everyone to be in my game), and fearlessly and joyfully tossed a rubber ball against a wall, playing catch all by myself. Is that fearlessness taken to the sociopathic extreme?

In November 2005, around the time my brother Richard was dying, I attended a public preproposal meeting for work. Without getting into all the details now, at a public forum a stuffy and officious official publicly asked me to state, for the official record, my name and company name. I paused. The room of sixty or so professionals paused to listen. Then I solemnly declared, "His Lord and Eminence Pawlie Kokonuts of XYZ Brands." [Actual nominatives changed to protect the guilty.] Silence, followed by a smattering of nervous laughs. Why that outrageous announcement? I guess I felt, "You only live once, asshole. Lighten up." Fearless? Or foolish?

Maybe Mondays would go better if I had slightly more fearlessness. Or maybe I'd be recklessly fearless, and Mondays would be spent waiting for an unemployment check.

Which is not the worst thing on Earth.

I've done it before.

Be not afraid.

p.s. I'm afraid I've been meaning to give this unsolicited shout-out for a long time: Check out "These Are Me Thinks," a very clever and astute blog. Army rules!