Reporting Live from the Pit of Fear
What do you do when you're scared of making the wrong decision?
My heart was racing. My solar plexus felt constricted and tight. It was 3:30 AM on March 8, and finally, I gave up. I abandoned my soft white cloud of linen and its promise of slumber and went to our office, where I sat on a little couch that seemed primed to hold my blitzing mind.
A big decision rested on my shoulders. It felt heavy and dangerous, like something that will surely affect my loved ones in ways I can’t predict now. All I wanted was clarity, yet answers escaped me. I didn’t want to do the wrong thing; I would hate to upset Herbie’s healing or John’s career; and I was afraid.
Over the past three years, I have written often in this space about the leaps of faith that are required for growth. They are almost always necessary, I’ve said. Leaping may be uncomfortable, but it is the way to make room for blessings, I’ve said.
I’ve almost made taking a leap of faith sound easy, like something you do on a regular day in a peaceful life. But my racing heart is here to say otherwise.
I am in the middle of taking another giant leap, and it turns out there’s something I forgot to mention when we last talked about this. Now that I am going through it again, I remember. Here’s the thing. No matter how exhilarating and liberating taking a leap of faith might sound, there is no getting around the other part of it.
Taking a leap of faith is terrifying.
Here I am, taking steps I’ve talked about for years, inching slowly but surely towards my hopes and dreams, and I am scared out of my mind. I mine courage in the middle of the night, hoping to recover whatever reserves of faith remain. I close my eyes. I breathe.
What else do I need to know about this? What am I missing? Have I lost my mind? I ask myself for the millionth time. I point the light of interrogation within, knowing that only I hold the answers I need.
Eventually, on that wakeful night, I did what I always do when I just can’t sleep. I used a few calming yoga tricks to literally wring myself out. Then I had a snack. But this time, after I pattered down the hall to climb back into bed, I didn’t fall asleep right away; instead, I did the unthinkable.
I started discussing the problem with my husband at 4:30 AM. He must have sensed it was coming, because he didn’t seem surprised at all.
“I don’t understand why this feels so murky,” I said. “I don’t want to do the wrong thing. I’ve tried everything to find clarity, but I’m still not sure about the answer.”
After we talked about the two paths we could take, agreeing on the pros and cons of each, both sides equally rewarding and terrifying in their own right, John said something that stopped my poor, scrambling mind in its tracks.
“I can’t tell if this is your gut telling you the answer is no, or if you’re just doing that thing you always do right before you break through.”
As soon as he said those words, something inside me recognized them as true. My memory lurched, seeking confirmation. Every time I have made a life-altering, and ultimately soul-nourishing change, I have experienced a period of terror beforehand.
When I began to consider leaving the financial stability of my corporate job, I was horrified. And preparing to tell my mentor that I would resign left me straight-up nauseous. Deciding to move to New York for a year, which felt both absolutely necessary and entirely too far away from my family, left me scared. Realizing we had to say goodbye to a special community in Nashville when our path pointed elsewhere made me miserable.
Looking back, there is no question that I did the “right” thing in those situations. Each decision took me closer to myself and the path John and I are cultivating for our life together. We have made every choice, no matter how difficult, with the guidance of a deep inner light that points us towards the future we want.
It is worth mentioning that in these situations, I don’t believe in “right” or “wrong.” I only believe in continually choosing the path that is most aligned with your inner vision. You can take a step that is closer to that path, or further away, but you can’t fail.
Despite my belief that failure isn’t possible, the decision we were making this month still ate away at me and pulverized my confidence. It carries notable financial, social, and career repercussions, so I didn’t want to mess it up.
Midweek, I was part of a timely conversation among writers about an archetype we all know well. She is the Fool in the tarot, the Jester in the court, the Joker in comic books. She is Merlin and Puck and the Roadrunner. She is the trickster who, as Rachel Pollack puts it in Seventy-Eight Degrees of Wisdom, goads the kings and heroes “whenever they turn away from the inner world of truth.”
In Pamela Colman Smith’s illustration from the classic Rider-Waite tarot deck, the Fool leaps blissfully off a cliff with a small canine companion by her side. She represents many things: blissful ignorance, naiveté. She is new beginnings, personified. She rests in the state of pure potential, where all things are possible and the path is not yet marked with struggle. Her actions embody optimism and courage; she has unwavering faith in herself and her life.
The cards of the Major Arcana in the tarot are said to represent the path to enlightenment, and they are numbered one through twenty-one. But the Fool has no number at all. Many think of her number as zero, the egg shape from which all life and possibility spring forth, while some put her between other numbered archetypes, wherever a leap of faith is needed to propel the seeker forward on the journey. Without the courage of the Fool, it would be tempting to stay where it’s comfortable.
The Fool is the in-between, the perfect now. She is suspended in the moment of leaping off the cliff, captured in joyful abandon. She is not yet mired in whatever the future may bring, though it always carries risk.
In her assessment of the Fool, Pollack continues: “And yet, for those willing to take the chance, the leap can bring joy, adventure, and finally, for those with the courage to keep going when the wonderland becomes more fearsome than joyous, the leap can bring knowledge, peace, and liberation.”
I am the Fool this week, I thought. I am taking a leap, yet I am afraid. Is it possible to focus on joyful abandon now, and worry about the hurdles later? Can I simply enjoy the process and stop manufacturing difficulties before they arise?
Ultimately, John and I did what we always do, though not without stress. We closed our eyes tightly, searched for our guiding inner light, and stayed true to the path that will carry us towards the life we want to live. Our dreams, we’re reminded again, will not come true unless we choose them.
This experience is teaching me something. It doesn’t matter how much peace and wellbeing you cultivate; as I’ve learned in every transition, fear is unavoidable. Sometimes, there’s no way around it. The only way forward is to walk right through its center.
But as you walk through that fire, terrified despite your own best intentions, you may be reminded of all the times you have leapt and seen the net appear. You might notice that your worst-case scenario wouldn’t be so bad, after all. You can lean into your joy and what makes you come to life. When the path is confusing, you can choose to trust yourself again, and again, and again.
Between you and me—
Greetings, dear people. When John read this for me, he sent Tao 13 and Tao 76 as possible additions. It was a fitting suggestion, because the Taoists liked to play trickster to their disciples. He was also sorry I left Yoda out.
My family and extended family need my care this week, so I am going to keep this short. Thank you so much for being here; I am honored to share a small slice of your day. Till next time — take care out there.
The audio version of last week’s essay, which explored how we might choose a more heart-centered future, is available on Spotify, Apple, Substack, or wherever you listen to podcasts.
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