Furious Activity
When feeling overwhelmed by different responsibilities
you dig deep to find purpose
keep in mind
There may come a day
When no one is dependent on what you do today
There will be
A series of bright sunny with potential
Days
That excite you, fire you up
The fire will die down and a lonely chill will takeover
Fear
A sentiment I hear often is that fear must be overcome.
Fear doesn't need to be overcome. It needs to be understood.
At its very base, fear is what allows us to survive. The future survival of any species is determined by how well the species knows danger, and how well the species can avoid it. You won't run from something if you don't know why you should.
Humans developed fear to keep us alive, but we began using it less and less as society progressed. We developed ways to avoid danger without ever seeing it, and as such, we didn't need to fear it anymore.
While humanity managed to overcome most necessity for fear, we started to think about what fear was. Without using fear to keep us alive, we only saw that it made us feel bad, helpless, and weak. We shunned fear.
But this approach to fear is not ideal. Fear is a basic part of the human psyche, and for good reason. From an evolutionary perspective, it makes sense, but it also plays a role in our current lives.
Fear is what makes us reconsider out decisions, perfectly crafting them to avoid danger. We could never have put a man on the moon if we didn't spend years creating the perfect system to keep him safe in the harshest environment in the universe. Fear is what makes us help those less fortunate, out of worry towards what might happen if we don't, or, perhaps more selfishly, out of fear that some higher power will be displeased if we withhold assistance. It makes us want to live our lives to the fullest, because above all we fear death. Fear is, essentially, what makes us human.
So I argue that we shouldn't try to eradicate fear. We should try to understand this crucial part of our minds.
We should see what causes us to be afraid and why: whether its more self-explanatory fears like heights or spiders, or more complex ones-the fear of falling in love, or being alone. For some these are mental disorders that need treatment, and I would never discourage someone from seeking help. But for fears that aren't born out of traumatic experiences or psychiatric problems, examining why we feel this way about certain issues can help us understand ourselves and our society.
Understanding fear is the key to understanding what we care about and why. So don't try and destroy fear. Embrace it, and see where it takes you.
Rewriting the 27 Club
“Do you know how many artists died with a white lighter on them?”
There’s weight buried here. And now every time my thumb drags across a metal wheel, begging to ignite a flame, I dig it back up. I think of your mouth. Toxic-drip of alcohol fumes. Of the way your fingers kept tugging at my waist. The white plastic, an SOS in the thicket of the night. How you thought you’d save me. The way you were just slightly too disoriented to grab the bad omen from my hand. I feel the way your thumb sat at the crook of my thigh. And how when I hid my hand behind my back your other arm slipped around me to grasp on air. Too short to steal the lighter from my clenched fist. How the second your finger tips closed on the palm of your own hand the empty air between us felt more like water clinging to my throat. Something denser than the smoky way you had been laying heavy in my chest all night. Your hand stealing at empty space. And your eyes stealing at my face. Catching at the mouth. Becoming lost as they crawled their way up to my eyes. My closed fist, a missed opportunity, sending yours to burrow into the small of my back. Kneading its way up my spine. Pressing me into something close to the shape that I was meant to be. And I remember thinking that this was it. Pressure-shift, inevitable. But then you pulled me too close. And in my surprise you tore the lighter from me. Tossed it out the window. One fluid moment. Your albatross, my beacon of hope. My mouth was disappointment-dripping. And you misread that ache. Your face pinched. The back of your hand brushing away any traces of me-disheveled. You slipped me off your lap and stumbled out of the car into the street-lamp glow. And that lighter didn’t steal my life like you thought it might. But it stole your mouth on mine. So when you held it out to me, I threw it back out into the night, thanklessly. I held my tongue between my teeth to keep from screaming. But the cheap plastic didn’t care. Your skin kept drifting farther from mine. But the cheap plastic didn’t care. Maybe when they find me wasted, rotting, that lighter will be there after all. Cheap, white plastic. Plastic-you and flameless-me. Without a care.
dissipate
My mouth is eating me alive. Letting my insides melt away until I’m all sharp edges. It’s like a balancing act I never perfect. Because the lesser part of me feels more when I neglect my plate. When my scale slowly dips digit by digit. When the clothes start to bunch and hang a bit loose at the seams. It’s like a tightrope, but I always lose. Because the disappearing side has less to hold up. And the side that’s filling itself full, all goes crashing. It’s like the weight is pulling me into the ground. Burying me, still breathing. So I empty into earthquakes. Shake, rattle, roll. Let my insides reverberate as canyon-echo tremor. And it’s like the dirt falls away with each churning shudder. Aching and stained. And I finally float.
