To my dismay, traveling the world has not eliminated fear.
In fact, it's probably heightened my awareness of it, given the excess amount of time I currently have to contemplate, reflect, and feel. So when Bobby is still in line for a smoothie and the plane leaves in 12 seconds, my heart races. And when I'm walking alone on a trail in Thailand, I'm aware. And when Bobby, with a history of seizures, says he's going swimming in the ocean for a while, I watch. And when I see the street vendor put questionable water in my soup, I hesitate. And when I have ongoing health symptoms, I google. And when the options are Donald or Hilary, I panic. And when I think about being unemployed for this long, I'm anxious.
Over the last couple of weeks, I've been intentional to sit each day and journal - a habit I haven't practiced for years. This past week, as I was writing, I felt a sense of justice and rightness about fear, almost like it needed defending. But did it? I felt the permission to justify fear rather than be humiliated by it. Why was that?
My journal spewed with sarcastic arguments. As smart, sophisticated, responsible Americans, shouldn't we fear? If the world is such a dangerous place, isn't it our duty to be concerned? Why does freedom from worry look so weak and careless? If we truly care, isn't fear our prerogative? Fear is responsible, right? Isn't self-preservation the motive?
I just reread that paragraph. It puts such a bad taste in my mouth.
Time to share some stories:
STORY #1: THE MUSLIMS I KNOW
The moment I arrived to Thailand, I was a bit on edge. We'd traveled for a long time, hadn't slept in 24 hours, and I was about to experience culture shock in a way I hadn't before. Southeast Asia was new to me. We've spent most of our time in Koh Lanta, Thailand - an island towards the south inhabited by mostly Muslims and Buddhists, but also Sea Gypsies and Thai-Chinese. They all live peacefully and harmoniously with each other (what a novel idea). The first day in Koh Lanta, I saw person after person, dressed in their hijabs and long dresses. At that time, I had two trains of thought. First, why did I just have a pang of fear? I'm an American and I'm taught that "they" are dangerous, that's why. ISIS, enough said. Remember the bombings across Thailand a couple of months prior? In a split second my train of thought shifted from fear to sympathy, and I asked, are they hot right now? These poor women are covered in hot fabric from head to toe. I'm pouring sweat and I'm barely covered. I hope they have air conditioning in their house. She's just like me; we're both hot.
It only took a few weeks of daily interaction to find that the people I know who are Muslim are tender-hearted, with gorgeous smiles and kind eyes. The Muslims I know are teaching their 15-month old little girl named "Nylah," dressed in a Mickey Mouse hijab, to greet the white folks with an exaggerated wave. The Muslims I know are enamored with the latest make-up trends and they care about what others think of them. Just the other day I saw 8 women open up what looked to be a donated bag of modest clothing. They each grabbed pieces, threw them over their clothes and modeled and giggled in their excitement of the new fashionable clothing in their possession. The Muslims I know are consistent in their daily prayers because that's what they know dedicated faith to be. The Muslims I know cram 5 smiling kiddos on a motorbike and have lemongrass sticking out the front poking one of them in the eye.
The second night on the island, I realized that I'd accidentally left 500 baht ($14.20 - which is approximately 27% of our daily budget) on our bed in an envelope in our previous bungalow. We headed back to that part of the island and explained the situation to the owner of the bungalows. We knew this put him in a difficult situation; it was our fault that we forgot the money, and chances are his cleaning people had already pocketed it. They'd all gone home for the evening. What was he to do? We told him it wasn't that big of a deal to us, and that we'd like to pay for one more night there (our long-term stay started the following day) regardless. Even though it was our error, he voluntarily put us in the best air-conditioned bungalow they offered, for free. In the bungalow that cost 5 times what we'd lost. He wanted us to enjoy the evening, and know he was so sorry for what happened.
The Muslims I know are overly generous and kind, even to foolish white Americans.
STORY #2: DONALD OR HILARY
Traveling during the election season has been an experience, to say the least. To view the process from the outside, and witness dozens of other countries in utter disbelief at the near humor of it, it's left us a bit frazzled knowing the sheer weight of it. While we were in Zambia, we had dinner in the home of a dear family. After the meal, they asked if they could turn on the television to watch the debate; they didn't want to miss the 'next dramatic episode.' I sat there with my jaw dropped, as my gaze shifted back and forth from the screen, to the people I was sitting with. I couldn't believe two people running for office would treat each other that way. I couldn't believe I was in Zambia, listening to this smart, driven family cackle at their evening entertainment. They had no stake in the game, no party preference, it was simply comedic relief at the end of their day.
We'll find out who our President is tomorrow, and, there might be a few changes for us Americans, but hope doesn't need to be one of them.
In the words of a (freaking awesome) British pastor, Pete Greig, "Please try not to worry. No matter how many times the aliens have touched down in Manhatten or on the White House lawn, the other 7 billion of us round here actually feel pretty confident that the world won't be ending next Wednesday. Even Thursday's looking good from where we stand. Nor is the messiah likely to return next week, for all sorts of theological reasons that I don't want to go into here for obvious reasons.
The thing that will happen next Wednesday for sure, as the media pops Advil and the dust begins to settle, is that the sun will still rise in the sky. Babies will still be born. Bombs will still sadly fall in Aleppo. Children will still starve in Yemen. But elsewhere farmers will plough fields and mechanics will mend cars. The stock markets will recover eventually - whatever the outcome. And my personal belief, naïve as it may sound, is that a president of presidents, a great judge who reigns supreme over the Supreme Court, will still be firmly in charge of your great nation and mine. Regardless... May you know a far deeper reconciliation in your nation. Please try to unclench your fists, your frowns, your buttocks. Whatever. We barely recognise you when you look angry. Or scared. May you begin again to smile at those who think differently. Breathe deep America. It's honestly going to be OK. On the other side of hype there is hope."
STORY #3: I THINK I'M DYING
There are two kinds of people in the world; those who frantically google all of their physical symptoms when they arise, and those who don't. Can you guess which one I am and which one Bobby's not?
When we were in Africa, one day towards the end of the trip I found myself barely able to walk I was so fatigued. I was nauseous, had heart palpitations, was tired, had a headache, and without getting too explicit, had a bunch of weird colon problems. Or maybe I should get explicit, because then you'd understand why I was panicking. Nevertheless, whenever we had wifi, I found myself googling my symptoms and hoping I'd find some answer and some magic cure. After a few days of waking up, I realized I actually wasn't dying, and with Bobby's gentle, loving, patient coaching, decided to wait it out. It was going to be okay.
Less than 2 weeks later, in Thailand, all the symptoms reemerged and the googling continued. What was wrong with me? We'd been dabbling with an idea, and it was time to capitalize on it. So, we walked to the pharmacy down the street and purchased the $1 medication, for parasites.
Within 24 hours I was fine. I'd wasted way too many hours fearing I was dying of some foreign disease, when in reality, I just had 260,000 eggs per day hatching in my intestines and needed to take 2 measly pills to combat them.
It seems for too long "concern" and "fear" have co-existed, and they just don't need to. Maybe we can be people of (reasonable) concern and let hope be our pillar, instead.