Wednesday, June 19, 2013

Fear is an Asshole Liar: A True Story

There are these things that you want to do with your life.

In the middle of the night, in the dark, alone with your thoughts, your desire is like a physical presence with weight, sitting on the edge of your bed, pleading with you for your attention, trying to convince you that doing this thing, fulfilling this desire is the best option. Desire reminds you that still have time to be deeply, truly happy.

But in the light of day, fear walks beside you, constantly, whispering its sour nothings in your ear, convincing you that your desire is the one not to be trusted.

Fear reminds you that "You're an adult now. Let go of those childish dreams. You have responsibilities!"

As you sip your morning coffee at your desk in your cubicle (or insert your own idea of boring hell right here), Fear pulls up a seat and lights a cigarette, blowing it toward your face like the obnoxious douche he is, " would you save for retirement if you did that?" He scowls, "Imagine! You would die destitute. Or maybe," he ironically adds, "you'd get cancer in your middle age and then not have insurance!"

You know he's right. That last one sent a chill up your spine.

You sit straighter in your chair and get to work like the good, responsible, insurance-carrying adult you are.

At night over your congratulatory "I made it through my awful day; only 10,000 more to go until I'm 72" glass of wine, Fear can feel his grasp of you weakening. He senses that wine opens the door to that bitch Desire. He lays it on thick.

"You're too old, for God's sake. And you're fat! Have you SEEN how fat you are! People will laugh. And..." he leans in close so you can smell his rank breath, the death on it, "'ll surely...FAIL. Then what?"

Any of this sound familiar?

Because you know that Fear is a fucking liar, right?

Desire? She is your True You.

You should listen to her. The longer you don't? The quieter she gets, gasping from a lack of the oxygen of your attention.

And Fear? He feeds off every excuse that you repeat like some soothing mantra, lying so well to yourself that now even you can't tell the truth from the bullshit.