Tag: fear

The Immersion Fallacy

The rain was coming down in torrents.

A hurricane had come ashore in South Carolina. And now the entire state was getting drenched. Including the hilly Upstate region.

This development was inconvenient enough. But a big time college football matchup between was set to be played Upstate, featuring the Notre Dame Fighting Irish and the Clemson Tigers.

Both teams were undefeated going into the matchup. The game was slated for a primetime kickoff slot, with the promise of a national TV audience.

A hurricane was not going to disrupt proceedings.

And so, the pageantry of the weekend went on. Fans rolled into town, and so did ESPN’s College Gameday.

The premier college football preview show set up a stage in the middle of Clemson University’s campus. And despite the rain and wind, the show went on as planned, with hosts bantering from behind a desk.

I was watching at home, and things didn’t look so bad at first. The canopy over the stage and the protective gear over the cameras likely had something to do with that.

But then, I saw the crowd behind the stage. Throngs of college students appeared to be nearly blinded by the windswept rain. And the ground they were standing on had become a boggy mess.

Suddenly, the cameras zoomed in on one student with a particularly youthful face. His shoes were off, and his pants were cuffed below the knee, Tom Sawyer style.

With the eyes of America on him, the student took off his shirt. Then he took a step back and leaped, faceplanting into a pile of mud.

The crowd went wild. But as I watched from my couch, I had a different reaction.

Horror.

Many of us have acute fears. Stimuli that cause us to panic, shut down and lose function.

Mine is mud.

The slippery byproduct of water and dirt repulses me like nothing else. I fear slipping on it, getting it on my clothes, or tracking it into my home or my vehicle.

This aversion is quite on brand for me. I am a neat freak. And nothing is as stubbornly messy as mud.

But the lengths I go to when avoiding this substance are somewhat extreme.

I’ve turned down opportunities to cruise in ATVs before, for fear of getting mud on my clothes. I’ve avoided hiking or running on dirt trails for weeks after a rain event, just to keep my shoes clean. And back when I was playing baseball as a kid, I was too frightened to slide on a wet field.

I realize this behavior is totally irrational. Getting dirty is not the end of the world. And there are plenty of proven ways to clean the mess off.

Yet, I can’t help myself.

I’m not alone in this regard. While I haven’t met anyone who avoids mud the way I do, I know plenty of people who have gone to irrational lengths to avoid their own fears.

But that’s starting to change.

There is an abundance of services out there to reform the spooked. Services that dub themselves immersion therapy.

The premise is straightforward. Immersing someone in the stimuli they fear can reduce their anxiety. It can show the worst outcomes to be unlikely or nonexistent. And the process can break the spell of fear.

And so, many have covered themselves in insects, touched the scaly skin of snakes, or listened to the boom of fireworks. They’ve done all this to face their fears head on.

Perhaps this is what that college student at Clemson University was doing when he bellyflopped into a mud pit on national television.

But I wasn’t about to follow his lead.

I knew better.

What is a fear anyway?

Is it an aversion we’ve picked up through experience? Or something we’re born with?

Many point to the first explanation. They see our origins as blank slates, onto which societal stressors – such xenophobia or bullying – and individualized stressful experiences – such as dog bites or near-drownings – are projected.

This theory posits that fears are accumulated, rather than innate. Which makes it possible to unburden these fears through methods like immersion therapy.

It’s a neat theory. A tidy one. And one that might be too good to be true.

Indeed, I’ve come to believe that the second explanation for fear is more accurate. I assert that fear is part of our DNA from Day One.

There’s plenty of evidence behind this assertion. Infants can curl their bodies in a protective stance long before they can crawl, talk, or understand language. And many physical changes to human genetic code over millennia have helped shield against lethal dangers.

Fear is an element of our survival. One that keeps us from becoming an unwitting snack for a lion or from wandering aimlessly off a cliff’s edge. It’s an inextricable part of us.

Even the most societal-oriented fears can fall under this definition. It’s true that no one is born racist. But the fear of abandonment from the pack is most certainly innate.

Redirecting the source of that existential fear from the pack to the outsider is a predictable shift. Why let the fear become a self-fulfilling prophecy when it can be used to keep our pack’s competitors at bay?

We gain security and acceptance in this process, without experiencing any of the pain of our actions. It’s a no-brainer, on the most primal of levels.

Yes, fear is an inextricable part of us. It always has been. And it always will be.

So, what does this all mean for immersion therapy?

Is it a farce? A sham? A load of nonsense?

Yes and no.

It’s undeniable that immersion therapy has some positive outcomes. Those who are terrified of spiders, or heights, or whatever else can find equilibrium around the same stimuli. They can live life more freely and fully.

These are all good outcomes. Desired outcomes, really.

But these fears have not been cured in the process. Arachnophobes remain arachnophobes, even if they no longer turn ghostly pale in the presence of spiders. Acrophobes are still, at their core, apprehensive of heights.

No, what immersion therapy has actually done is reframed the fear. Instead of reacting to the previously distressing stimuli, the brain has been trained to ignore them. The reaction that the phobic experiences – the one visible to others – it’s gone.

Yet, the fear itself remains in some far corner of the phobic’s brain.

This is not a trivial distinction.

For our society has consistently misrepresented fear. We’ve determined that it’s something that can be rooted out. That must be rooted out.

And so, we’ve waged multifaceted campaigns to create a world where racist, homophobic, and anti-faith impulses cease to exist. We conduct wide-scale immersion therapy to promote a world that is more equal in terms of acceptance and opportunities.

We make progress. We inch closer to the finish line. And then the ugliness rushes right back in.

This whole process is demoralizing for those crusading against the darkness of fear. They can feel like Sisyphus – pushing a boulder up a hill, only to see it tumble back down in the end.

But perhaps a shift in perspective can get them off this hamster wheel of misery.

Perhaps those crusaders can abandon their pursuit of the root cause of fear. And perhaps they can focus on redirecting its manifestations instead.

This means eliminating racist, homophobic, or anti-faith actions – all while acknowledging that the underlying Fear of the Other will remain.

The crusaders can still turn to immersion as their preferred tactic. But they must recognize that their efforts simply constitute a rewiring, not a demolition. The ignition coil can be manipulated, but the engine remains in place.

Such a compromise might be a hard pill to swallow, particularly for those with the purest of ideals. But it’s a necessary one. Particularly if we want to attain the objectives we strive for.

The immersion fallacy is real. We must govern ourselves accordingly.

Living With The Enemy

I was at my kitchen table when a heard a muffled sound.

It was that staccato of something bumping into a thin piece of metal.

As if by instinct, I turned my head to the left to investigate. My gaze shifted upward to find the area the sound was coming from.

As my eyes reached the track lighting near the ceiling, I found my culprit — a large yellow jacket.

I was instantly paralyzed with terror.

There are few things in life that I fear. Strangely enough, mud is one of those things. (That’s a story for a different time.) But wasps are certainly another.

Wasps are aggressive flying creatures. They have a painful sting. And they often set up nests in areas that people access.

As far as I’m concerned, wasps represent an impending disaster.

And so, as spring approaches each year, I am on guard. I have pest control on speed dial as I head out onto my patio. I walk gingerly as I approach blooming brush or dense wooded areas.  For my nemesis could be lurking anywhere.

But this time, the enemy was inside the gates. I was trapped with a wasp, inside my own home.

What was I to do?

I sat there, motionless. Meanwhile, the wasp swan dived from the lights onto the stainless steel door of my refrigerator.

The insect was oblivious to my presence. It calmly rested on the metal.

As I watched it apprehensively, a thought came to my mind.

Leave it be.

I couldn’t believe myself. Was I really going to let something I feared take over my sanctuary like this. Had I gone mad?

But the yellow jacket was leaving me alone for the time being. I could at least try and do the same.

So, over the next hour or so, I followed through on my uneasy truce. The wasp and I co-existed in my home — it on the refrigerator door, me at my kitchen table.

But eventually, the wasp tired of its perch. It flew around the kitchen for a bit before landing on a doorframe. And at the moment its wings took flight, the fear came coursing back through my veins.

So, I spring into action.

I got a can of Raid, cornered the yellow jacket, and shot the spray at it. The wasp fell to the floor and stopped moving.

I didn’t have remorse for what I did.

After all, I’d removed all manner of pests from my home before — even the ones that didn’t fill me with terror.

But as I swept up the wasp and disposed of it, I thought of my initial instinct — the one telling me to leave it be. I considered how I had tried to conquer my demons, and to live with the enemy.

What had inspired me to make such an attempt? Was I going soft? Had I lost the will to take control over my own home?

No, I had not. Deep down inside, it seemed I know what I was doing all along.

Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

This is a bit of wartime wisdom, perfectly encapsulated in the film The Godfather, Part II.

Proximity to the enemy can yield abundant intelligence. And abundant intelligence can lead to effective strategy.

This is why guerilla warfare has had such a long run of success. Instead of facing off on an open field, guerillas can lurk in the midst of their enemies. They co-exist — at least until they have enough of an advantage to strike.

There is still risk in this confrontation. Casualties remain likely, if not inevitable.

But when compared to continual, open conflict, guerilla warfare can prove more effective and efficient.

And it all starts with the willingness to live with the enemy.

As I write this, we are in the midst of a crisis, as our health is threatened by a lethal virus.

It’s tempting to seek to attack this issue head-on. Or to hunker down until all the danger has passed.

But such tactics are not sustainable. For a virus cannot instantly be stamped out or indefinitely be waited out. It evolves over time.

And so, we must learn to coexist with it. To recognize that its presence might continue in the short term, even as we seek to eradicate them in the long term.

Ideally, we can avoid direct conflict with the virus through this arrangement. But some risk will still remain present.

Even so, that risk is likely far lower than it would be under less sustainable tactics.

Months after my encounter with the yellow jacket, I climbed into the back seat of an SUV.

I had dropped my vehicle off to get repaired. And now, I was getting a ride back to the shop to pick it up.

But as the SUV went into motion, I heard a rustling sound. I looked across the back seat and spotted another yellow jacket. It was exploring the window guard on the other side of the vehicle.

This was all disconcerting enough. But moments later, the wasp flew right by me and nestled on the top of my window guard.

The wasp couldn’t have been more than 10 inches away from my face, and I had no way to elude it. There was no can of Raid to save me this time.

I had no choice but to confront my fears. I would need to live with the enemy.

And so, I sat there for five whole minutes, doing my best to ignore the insect. I was projecting calm — all while quietly freaking out. Each turn in the road had me worried that the wasp would get agitated and sting me.

But it never happened. The wasp minded its own business.

By the time I got to my destination, I felt triumphant. I had committed to living with my fears. And this time, I managed to avoid breaking that commitment.

 

We can all make the same commitment.

The commitment not to hide from the dangers all around us. Or to charge recklessly right toward them.

But instead, the commitment to pause. To seek out a more sustainable path. And to take it.

It’s a subtle power, this power of restraint. But that doesn’t make it any less resonant.

Yes, our enemies may lie in our midst. But if we play our cards right, they can bring out the best in us.

Leap of Faith

I stood on the platform and took in the view.

To my left and right were palm trees and buildings, illuminated in the steamy morning sunshine.

Below me — some 33 feet below me — was a swimming pool.

I was at the top of the 10 meter dive tower at the University of Miami. And at this moment, I was wondering what I had got myself into.

Wow, I thought. I can see all of campus from here.

Not exactly a reassuring thought, as I prepared to plunge into the water three stories below.

My mind started to race.

What if I overshoot the pool and land on the concrete? What if I injure myself hitting the water? What in the world am I doing?

I thought back to the only time I had seen someone up on the platform who wasn’t on the diving team. It was a girl who won a belly-flop contest the lifeguards set up. She ran off the edge, screaming in terror until she was underwater.

We all laughed insensitively, because that’s what college kids do. But now, the joke was on me.

I looked back at the narrow ladders I had climbed to get here. They looked even more treacherous to descend.

There was only one realistic way down. I knew it. But I wasn’t ready.

I felt a pit in my stomach. The sweat from my anxiety mixed with that from the humidity.

I closed my eyes and opened them. Then I ran off the edge.

The first thing I remember seeing was the water through my peripheral vision.

No, not the peripheral vision that helps us see what’s to our left and right without us turning our heads. The peripheral vision that helps us see what’s above and below us.

We normally don’t think about what we visualize from this vantage point. After all, looking at our shoes gets old pretty quick.

But we’re normally not hurtling 30 feet toward the ground. That changes things.

I was falling, but the water still looked distant. So I started flailing my legs, thinking that would somehow soften the blow.

Suddenly, I remembered the instructions I was given: Run off the edge and make sure you’re straight up when you hit the water.

I stopped moving my legs and let gravity run its course.

As soon I did this, something unexpected happened. I felt a strange sense of calm.

I let gravity do its work. Everything felt Zen.

Well, everything except that rushing sound in my ears. It kept getting louder and louder.

That sound was the air flying by me as I was in freefall. And it was getting louder because I was speeding up.

Suddenly, the water was right below me. I was close — painfully close — to impact.

I made a last ditch effort to straighten my legs. Then, SPLASH.

I hit the water like a ton of bricks. My feet and ankles felt the sting of impact.

After dropping close to 10 feet underwater, I started to ascend back to the surface. Then I slowly swam over to the ladder and climbed onto the deck.

My classmate approached me, holding my digital camera and a few other items I’d temporarily put in her care.

This whole crazy experience was her idea.

She was an NCAA champion diver, and we were in a video production class together. She was at the pool that morning filming a promo for a class project.

She had asked me to tag along to help her carry the video equipment, since some of the clips she was filming were from the 3 meter springboard — about 10 feet above the pool deck. I happily obliged.

“Wear your swim trunks,” she told me the day before the shoot. “That way, you can jump off the 10 Meter when we’re done.”

Now, I had just that. And the adrenaline had yet to wear off.

“Oh, that was something else!” I told my classmate. “Say, which height did you win the NCAA title in, again?”

“The 10 Meter,” she calmly replied.

I stared at her, awestruck.

Diving off the 10 Meter means walking to the edge of that 33 foot high platform and turning around in such a way that your toes are just about the only part of your body still making contact with that platform. It means propelling yourself backwards off the edge, headfirst. It means contorting your body into a set of elaborate twists and rolls as you’re falling. And it means entering the water with pinpoint precision.

It takes a leap of faith just to do this once. As NCAA champion, my classmate had done this hundreds of times — often in the heat of intense competition. And she executed it to precision when it mattered most.

This was no fluke. Three years after my leap of the 10 Meter, my classmate was in London, representing the United States in diving at the Olympic games. There’s no doubt that she’s the best athlete I’ve ever personally met.

Even so, her daily accomplishments from the diving platform put everything in perspective. That acute fear I’d felt moments earlier seemed downright silly now.

I took a deep breath, and resolved not to make such a big deal out of what I’d just done.

In the years since my plunge from the 10 Meter, I’ve had other aquatic adventures.

I’ve jumped off a 10 foot dock into a lake inlet. And off the top of a party barge into the middle of a different lake.

It was fun to take flight. And on scorching Texas summer afternoons, I dare say it was necessary to plunge into cooler waters.

Yet, both times, I failed to feel the exhilaration I did after I jumped off the 10 Meter. The apprehension was gone, but so was the rush of energy.

This was not because of differences in the height I jumped from. It was because of something far more fundamental.

My 10 Meter experience represented the first leap of faith I ever took. Quite literally.

I put myself in a position to do something both novel and uncomfortable. I felt the fear and I did it anyway.

I was better for the experience. I unlocked confidence and courage I didn’t realize I had before.

This confidence and courage came in handy months later, when I moved halfway across the country to a city I had never been to and started working in a field I had little experience in.

It helped me again years later, when I switched careers and moved to another new city without a job lined up.

And it has helped me in countless other, less-dramatic scenarios as well.

Feeling the fear and doing it anyway is a vital part of growing up.

For we will all encounter a new experience in our lives. Whether that starting a job, starting a family or starting to notice changes in our physical abilities. Or maybe even all three.

There’s no reference guide for these experiences. Sure, we can lean on the knowledge of those who’ve encountered these experiences before, but that won’t fully prepare us for what we feel in the moment.

We will feel apprehension —  if not abject terror — as we navigate these experiences firsthand for the first time. This is normal.

Yet, our ability to make it through the changes, and to grow from the experience, only comes if we’re willing to take a leap of faith. To feel the fear and do it anyway.

And that journey has to start somewhere.

Maybe not on the top of a 10 Meter dive tower, as mine did. But somewhere.

So, let us resolve to be bolder. To look out upon that new experience on the horizon that terrifies us and to face it head on.

Let us resolve to take a leap of faith.

Our future depends on it.

Bridging the Gap

Differences.

They’re a constant in life.

The way we experience daily life differs from the way others do. What’s matters to us might not be of concern to them, and vice versa.

This gap is as wide between Denver and Dakar is it is between South Central LA and Beverly Hills. And it can be as present amongst our neighbors as it is amongst those further afield.

The freedom some of us might take for granted is far from certain for others. And we are blissfully unaware of the fear others face taking on what might seem to us to be mundane tasks.

These experiential differences often exacerbate divisions between corners of our society. They can provoke radical movements, some of which can turn ugly and violent. And they can serve as a barrier to unifying solutions.

This final effect is perhaps most concerning. For while our society increasingly values productive collaboration over The Self Made Man these days, it’s hard to work together without common understanding. And it’s hard to find common understanding without knowledge of differing perspectives.

To bridge this gap, the prevailing wisdom is to take a walk in someone else’s shoes. To live as others would live. To see the world from their eyes.

This is what Baba Amte did in India. A lawyer by trade, Amte encountered a leper on the side of the road one rainy night. Amte ran away in horror, but later returned and comforted the dying leper. Then he created a lepers’ colony and moved his young family to it — even though none of them had leprosy.

This is also what Daryl Davis did right here in America. Davis, a black blues musician, met with Ku Klux Klan leaders and attended their rallies. He took these actions so that he could understand the perspective of Klan leaders — even if some of those perspectives shook him to his core.

(Thank you to Mark Manson for sharing Davis’ story in a recent article.)

Of course, not all of us have the commitment or courage to do what Amte and Davis did. Indeed, it was quite dangerous — possibly even reckless — for these men to do what they did.

But we don’t necessarily have to walk in another’s shoes to understand a new perspective. Sometimes all we need to do is take a run in our own.

At the start of a sweltering summer day, I prepared for my pre-dawn run.

These early morning jaunts through my neighborhood have become a staple of my workout routine in recent years. During the stifling Texas summers, they’re a borderline necessity. When the sun rises, so does the risk of heatstroke if you’re exerting yourself.

Yet, this time as I set out, I did something peculiar. I left home without a shirt.

The previous time I had gone running, I found myself sweating through my shirt. Even with temperatures at their lowest point of the day, and the sun well beyond the eastern horizon, the midsummer night air wasn’t exactly refreshing.

So this time, I decided to run shirtless. What can it hurt? I asked myself. It’s dark out anyway.

I made it to the halfway point of my run, and made the turn for home. But moments later, a pickup truck traveling in my direction slowed down and started pacing me.

As I turned my head to the left to see what was going on, the driver rolled down the window closest to me. He hollered Keep it up. Then the truck sped off.

This incident completely freaked me out. And the last mile of my run that morning seemed to take forever.

By the time I got back home, I resolved not to run without a shirt again. I’ve stayed true to my edict, and I’ve yet to encounter any incidents like that again.

What was it about this incident that left me so badly unhinged?

Well, for one thing, I did not appreciate the unwanted attention I received. If a woman on the sidewalk had hollered the same thing to me this male pickup truck driver did, I would have been just as freaked out.

I was not seeking to get noticed that morning — or anytime I go running.

Sure, I might wave to passing runners. But otherwise, I’m in my own realm. I abhor being recognized, unless I’m in the path of a passing vehicle.

But there was something more that bothered me.

As I replayed this odd situation over and over in my mind, I kept asking myself the same questions.

What if this pickup driver had a gun? What if he had ill intentions he was hell-bent on acting upon?

These are odd prospects to consider. But so is a pickup truck pacing a runner on a road before dawn.

This is exactly the type of scenario that can lead to a drive-by shooting, or an abduction. And while there was no rational reason for those fates to befall me that morning, immoral actions are all too often irrational.

As I thought of these prospects of foul-play, I recognized just how vulnerable I was in that moment. I had hardly any recourse to protect myself. And that realization was terrifying.

Yet, as unnerving as my running incident was, I realized it would have been even worse for others.

For I am a white man. The chances of bad fates befalling me are relatively low.

Sure, I could end up in the wrong place at the right time. There’s always a chance I might get robbed, or get injured in a car accident. If I drank alcohol or hung around bars more, I would also increase my chances of something bad happening.

But by and large, I can go through my day carefree.

If I were black, Hispanic, Arabic, Asian, or Indian — well, sadly, I wouldn’t be able to say the same. If I was running without a shirt and happened to be one of these ethnicities, I would likely have been on high alert from the word Go. If noticed a pickup truck pacing me, my first instinct might have been dread, not confusion. The tension I would feel would be instant and palpable.

And if I were a woman of any ethnicity in this scenario — in a sports bra or fully-attired — the terror meter would be up to 11. There have been enough stories of women being abducted during early morning runs that many have abandoned the practice entirely.

In fact, the thought of venturing out alone at night alone — for any purpose — can terrify some women. There have been too many nefarious stories to make even a few steps under the stars seem prudent without a can of pepper spray or a firearm.

I’ve encountered this trepidation firsthand. When I worked evenings as a news producer in West Texas, some of our female reporters occasionally asked me to walk out of the building with them at the end of my shift. This made them feel safer then venturing into the parking lot alone.

I always obliged — not because I knew their fear firsthand, but because I empathized with the fact that it existed.

I still can’t say I know the fear women, or men of other ethnicities, face in these instances. But the more I think about my running incident, the more I recognize how paralyzing it must be.

And the more I want to do what I can to eradicate it.

Bridging the gap in our perspectives and experience doesn’t require the drastic odysseys of Baba Amte or Daryl Davis. It doesn’t require getting yourself into scenarios that unveil our vulnerabilities, as I did.

It only requires two things: Understanding and action.

We must be able to understand that what seems mundane to us might be terrifying to others. Even when we cannot internalize the fear ourselves, we must be aware of its presence.

And with this knowledge in mind, we must act to protect those who face these terrors.

We’d be well-served to believe women who come forward as victims of abuse. We’d be well-served to hold police when they put the lives of unarmed minorities in danger.

When walking down on the street, we’d be well-served to look upon those who look different than us with friendliness, not scorn. We’d be well-served not to stare at women based on the contours of their bodies or the dearth of their attire.

We won’t always get it right, of course. Incidents between police and citizens can be complicated, and sometimes unarmed minorities might not be innocent bystanders. Some women who come forward with accusations might have an axe to grind, instead of a true story of victimization. Some of the people we encounter on the street do indeed have nefarious thoughts on their minds.

But these edge cases are not, by themselves, significant enough for us to burn all bridges of understanding. They’re not prevalent enough for us to sever all hope of a more united, connected tomorrow.

The truth remains: There are plenty of people with innocent souls who must contend with paralyzing fear, day-in, day-out — simply because of the rotten way the world treats them for how they look.

Our collective assumption biases shatter innocence, sow division and provoke tragedy. It’s a poison pill for progress.

Yet, there is another way. We have the power to change our perspectives, and reshape the future.

We must do so.

Aspiration Inspiration

Every year, around this time, we play a starring role.

We dress up in elaborate costumes, eat way too much candy and decorate our homes as a hotel for the afterlife.

We dim the lights and turn up the creepy music. All in an attempt to spook and scare.

Yes, Halloween traditions are in full swing. And while these festivities are ostensibly for the kids, adults get in the spirit plenty.

This should come as no surprise. After all, children didn’t originate the tradition of dressing as a pumpkin, or a lion, or a Storm Trooper on the last day of October every year. The first time many kids wore a costume, they were too young to even understand what they were dressed up as.

And going door to door, asking for candy from strangers? If kids came up with that idea, parents would certainly veto it.

No, the culture of Halloween most certainly started with grown-ups. As adults, we cherish this holiday. Not only to eat all that leftover candy, but also to pass the message to the next generation that we can be whatever we dream of being.

For one day a year, this is true.

But what about all the others?

When the clock strikes midnight and the calendar shifts to November, we go from dressing like pumpkins to becoming them.

The slipper no longer fits. There’s a glass ceiling in its place.

I’m not talking about the glass ceilings formed by experience gaps, gender or ethnicity. Our society is taking some long overdue steps to shatter those barriers. (And it’s about time!)

No, I’m talking about the glass ceiling we’ve formed for ourselves.

For all our talk of aspirations, how much have we backed up that talk with action? For all the times we tell kids If you can dream it, you can do it, how often do we follow through?

Probably not as much as we’d like.

There are many times when our dreams might be untenable. Only the most talented baseball players make the major leagues. Only a chosen few can see their name in lights in Hollywood.

But there are plenty of other times that we make our dreams untenable.

You see, for all we make light of ghosts and goblins and spookiness, we all too often let fear hold us back. We let what could happen get in the way of what might be.

This is horribly unfortunate.

Fear only has power over our lives if we let it. The more we run from it, the more we turn our aspirations into daydreams.

Punting on our aspirations sets a poor example. One that the next generation feeds off of.

Over time, this makes it harder and harder for people to view their aspirations as a potential reality. The more we’re surrounded by a culture that self-imposes a glass ceiling, the more real that barrier becomes.

It’s time to break through.

Let’s go after our aspirations. Let’s inspire others to do the same.

Let’s use our actions, not our words, to promote a society where the sky really is the limit. One where we don’t have to resort to dressing up once a year for our soul to be free.

If we can do this, we can change everything.

Aspirations are powerful. Let’s use that power for the better.

The New Dynamics of Power

Power has long been a hot-button topic. But perhaps never more than now.

Many prominent male figures have fallen from grace, as details of their transgressions have come to light — in particular, when it comes to inappropriate dealings with women in the workplace. Another autocrat has ascended to the Highest Office in the Land, and used his position (and social media) as a bully pulpit.

From armchair psychologists to Dr. Phil, there are plenty of people trying to figure out what’s going on. Does power give men an air of entitlement? Is a culture of pig-headed behavior in male dominated hotbeds such as Hollywood and Silicon Valley to blame? Are people naturally bad, and does empowerment simply provide them license to act in the disturbing ways they so often do?

The truth may lie in the answers to these questions. But I have a different theory.

I believe fear is what leads to this behavior. Fear of power, to be specific.

You see, we’re hard-wired to avoid gravitating toward positions of influence for two reasons.

  1. The expectations for leadership are too lofty. Living up to the standard is therefore an exercise in futility.
  2. History is filled with cautionary tales of how leaders have fallen victim to their own success. Namely, success leads to greed, which then leads to a swift downfall.

This toxic combination has led to a leadership void. People are hesitant to consider themselves leaders, because they’re terrified of the burden that comes with it.

Yet, plenty of people do rise to positions of power and influence. This is a natural function of a society obsessed with The Next Big Thing. So, we have plenty of people thrust into a position that they’re not ready for. One they’re actually terrified of, deep down inside.

The results of this conundrum are actually quite predictable. When we’re scared, we act irrationally, even immorally. So, when a person assumes a power position they secretly fear, there’s a good chance they’ll behave irresponsibly. And there’s a good chance that they’ll leave plenty of people as collateral damage along the way.

It’s a vicious cycle. One with no beneficiary.

So, what can we do to break the chain?

We can flip the script about what power means.

Instead of talking about the dangers of power, we can focus on the light it brings. On the opportunity to make a positive impact in the lives of others by using our influence to help put them first.

By focusing on the power of We, Not Me, we can make the concept of power more altruistic. And we can make the objectives associated with it more attainable for those who aspire to inspire.

With the new dynamics of power in place, we’ll be less likely to fear all that comes with positions of influence. And we’ll be less likely to tarnish the lives of others with our irresponsible actions.

So, let’s rediscover the magic in empowering others through our influence. The world will be a better place for it, and our closets will have fewer skeletons.

And that’s change we can all believe in.

Facing Fear

Fear is one of the most powerful and universal motivators out there.

Regardless of our environment or disposition, we actively avoid situations that terrify us. Much like the antelope running from the lion on the Serengeti, fear drives us forward.

Fear inspires us to try harder, remain vigilant and avoid situations that make us feel uncomfortable. The message: Avoid unpleasant outcomes at all costs.

It’s all stick, no carrot. But it’s plenty effective anyway.

Yet, while fear can save us from being stagnant or careless, it can also prevent us from exploring the depths of our possibilities.

After all, the world is plenty scary. And we all too often remain inside our bubble to avoid facing our fears.

But, it turns out the safe play isn’t always the smart one.

While it makes sense to lock our cars and our homes, it’s foolish to lock our minds and our hearts.

Worse still, it’s futile. Because no matter how much we try and insulate ourselves from our fears, there’s a chance we’ll still end up facing them head-on.

And when we do, we might find them to be less terrifying than we’d anticipated.

I know this firsthand. For the first four years of my professional life, I was terrified of losing my job.

So, I played it safe. I didn’t take many risks. I asked my supervisors for a second opinion on my decisions constantly. And I volunteered to help colleagues whenever possible.

I did all this to make myself indispensable. To keep from losing my job.

But it happened anyway.

My second employer — the first one to give me a chance when I switched careers — laid me off after less than ten months on the job.

It was raw and painful for me at first. I couldn’t understand why I was out of a job, even though my job performance was high.

You see, I never considered that factors beyond my control might impact my employment status. That my position might be collateral damage if my employer was struggling.

(As it turns out, the venture that let me go went bust two months later.)

No, I wasn’t considering any of that at the time. Instead, I was considering myself a failure. I remember asking myself How could I ever hope to land another job with this black mark on my resume? And how am I going to be able to afford the rent?

I quickly learned how shortsighted this thinking was.

My current employer hired me within two weeks. And all that anxiety over upcoming rent payments evaporated.

I’d faced my fears head-on, and survived.

I’ve noticed a change in myself since that time. I’m more willing to take risks now, to get outside of my comfort zone, to be bold and direct.

This has made me a more indispensable and innovative employee than I was when I obsessed over my job status.

Yes, I have the luxury of being fearless now, because I’ve already experienced my fears. And I’ve discovered they’re not quite the monsters I thought they would be.

Truth is, we all have this luxury. We just need the gumption to act on it — within reason of course. (I wouldn’t recommend diving onto jagged rocks or swatting a hornet’s nest with your bare hands, for instance.)

Facing our fears isn’t easy. Such is the nature of running at something that chases us.

But it’s most certainly worth it.

So, be bold. Be strong.

Face that fear head-on, and you’ll stand to rise above it.