I was fearless until I was 6 years old.
Life was great. I had a wonderful family. We had a house with a backyard and a dog. School was fun. Playtime was more fun. Summers were fantastic. I had lots of friends. I walked to the store, the park and my friends houses by myself.
I climbed the monkey bars. I hung out in the woods. I pet every dog I saw. I talked to strangers, wasn’t afraid to play with older kids and liked grownups.
I grew up in a small town surround by friends, family and neighbors who all loved me.
I was fearless.
My first memory of being afraid was after my parents divorced and my dad left.
Somebody told me I was now “the man of house” and needed to take care of my mother and sister.
Without my Dad around, it was up to me. So every morning I’d wake up early to creep down the stairs of our house with my belt wrapped around my fist. The buckle end swung freely – just like I saw on TV when someone had to run the gauntlet as part of a gang initiation. I’d shout in a stage whisper, “If there’s anyone there, I have a belt and will hurt you.” I was terrified a bad man had broken into our home overnight. Once I “cleared” the house, my fear would subside until the next morning.
Then we moved away from my hometown to the big city.
I had 3 days to adjust to our new house, make new friends and start Catholic School. Instead of knowing everyone, having my huge extended family around, being part of a community and attending my small town’s 4 room schoolhouse, everything was different. At school, I pretended to know cursive writing, because everyone else did. I pretended to know how to use the dictionary, because everyone else did. I tried to understand why “recess”, which used to be playtime outside, was now a regimented trip to the bathroom, a sip of water from the fountain and a silent march back to our oppressive classroom. I was afraid of the nuns (with good reason – they hit us when we made mistakes). I was afraid of being stupid. I was afraid of the bullies at school who took my lunch money. I was afraid of this strange, ugly city, of our landlord and our crazy neighbors. Those were some scary years.
Although I don’t consider myself an especially fearful person, fear has been a part of my life ever since.
Some fears came from movies, TV and the media: fear of nuclear war, fear of being evicted by the landlord, fear of losing my job, fear of killer bees, fear of being trapped in a fire, fear of economic or societal collapse.
Others fears were more real and personal: money, security, love, health, crime, etc.
Once I became an adult, my fears lessened. Experience was a good teacher for me.
Good things happened in my life. Bad things happened in my life. For the most part, I could never have imagined the best or the worst things of them.
As I got older, I learned to meditate, to talk through my fears and to take action in the face of fear. I learned to be courageous but not fearless.
Then Ellen died and I became fearless.
I didn’t realize it at the time. I just tried to get through each day however I could.
After I committed to selling my home, giving away my possessions and living on the road, others began to compliment me on my ability to persevere through my grief. They said they were envious of my “new adventure” and expressed awe in how quickly I accomplished things.
That was the easy part. I didn’t know what else to do.
I wasn’t worried though – my wife had suffered for nearly a year and then died. Nothing worse could happen.
If I was making a mistake – personally, financially or emotionally – it didn’t really matter. If I was destroying my future – whatever. If I was losing my mind – who cared?
My first week on the road I camped in parking lots and rest areas with strangers. I drove thousands of miles to unfamiliar places. I towed a trailer for the first time. I got stuck in a remote location. My trailer tire suddenly looked like it would fall off while I was driving. Now I am sleeping in an isolated, remote wilderness area miles away from civilization with nobody around.
Whatever.
I am not afraid.
I didn’t realize this until I was telling a friend I wanted to try rock climbing. He said, “That’s dangerous. If you got hurt you couldn’t do anything. If you were hurt bad, you might not be able to recover.”
I explained that I wouldn’t’t try rock climbing until I had someone to guide me who was experienced, had the right equipment and could teach me the ropes (haha).
He said it was still too dangerous.
It might be, I’m not sure I’ll ever actually try rock climbing. But if I do, I won’t be impulsive or reckless.
But I am not afraid.
I never wanted to live without my wife. Yet here I am – alive and alone.
So I take precautions to protect myself, my dog and my rig. I keep my family posted of my whereabouts. I get expert advice for mechanical issues. My finances and my life are in order.
I’m street savvy and alert. I do my best to ensure that I’m not an easy target for predators – animal or human.
Some parts of this journey have been challenging. Some have been frustrating. Some have been enjoyable.
Maybe someday it will feel like an adventure to me. Maybe someday I’ll care again about the future. But today I don’t.
I have no worries about today, tomorrow or the future.
When I was that scared little boy, I wanted to grow up and be fearless.
I have become fearless.
It’s just not what I expected.