Back in
July, BlogHer Family editor, Jenna
Hatfield posed this question, “What would you do if you weren’t afraid?”
I’ve been
working on Fear: Is It Friend or Foe for more than a week now, but it’s just
not ready, Friends.
I feel this
Fear piece needs as much of my undivided attention as this
courage composition had, but right now my thoughts are a bit jumbled due to
the early back-to-school hours and the stress of trying to compensate for the
restructuring our district has done.
As I pulled
it out this morning to work on it, a thought reminded me of an essay I once
submitted for consideration to Newsweek’s
My Turn column. It’s a reflection on an
event that happened in my tiny town in the days following 9/11.
This work
wasn’t selected for that magazine, but now it has a home here, at The Five Facets.
It’s especially
poignant given that today marks yet another anniversary of those terror
attacks.
Twelve
years.
So long
ago, and yet so, so very recent…
Like so many,
I still remember exactly where I was when I first heard the strange bit of
broadcasting news, and then the DJ’s shouts that the second tower had been hit.
I remember
the panic of not knowing where in the world or on what airline my businessman father
was…
I lived three-and-a-half
hours from the city center and some six-hours from the Pentagon.
The
devastation wreaked on our nation that day rippled out far and wide and in more
ways than we can count.
My heart
goes out to each and every person who was affected by the events on that
September day.
There were
so many types of losses that day: loss of life, limb, financial and emotional security,
faith…
But we are
here, Journeyers, we are standing. Together.
Some of us have
reconciled our conflicts while others are still grappling with the tragedy,
trying to make sense of something so senseless.
Separately,
yet jointly, we are recovering.
If you are
still struggling, please know that you are not alone. Reach out. We are here for you.
It’s The
Five Facets’ slogan and a truth that I believe to the bottom of my heart: “We
are neighbors in grief and allies in healing.”
As you read
this article, ask yourself if you see Fear holding you back from love or
kindness or dreams…
Hugs and
healing, Journeyers…
A Bouquet of Fear
Written August
2005
I doubt
I’ll ever forget the stranger who gave me a red rose. Or the fear that ensued. “Have a nice day,” the elderly man said as he
presented me with a single rose from the dozen or so he clutched in his hand.
There I
stood, minding my own business, filling my gas tank at a station practically in
the middle of nowhere, when this unknown person approached me. What’s he doing? I thought as I hesitated to return the
smile and accept this disquieting symbol of kindness.
When I
finished pumping the fuel, I tossed the rose on the passenger seat of my car
where I left it for about a week. Day in
and day out, I questioned my fear of the potentially tainted flower but I
couldn’t overcome my apprehension. Thus,
I watched it shrivel into dark, brittle waste.
This event
took place three-and-a-half years ago, a few miles from my home in upstate New
York. Despite living in a rural
community four hours from NYC and some five hours from Washington, D.C., I
breathed the threat of chemical attacks that followed 9-11.
People
don’t hand out long-stemmed red roses to strangers for no reason. What if it’s coated with anthrax? Or worse? I tried to
convince myself that the man’s action was nothing more than an innocuous
gesture of good will and cheer during one of the most somber times in our
nation’s history. In addition to daily
body counts, the media were reporting ubiquitous acts of selflessness. It is possible he’s just being nice…
After
all, hadn’t I bestowed my own kindness on strangers? I gave blood.
I convinced a friend that we needed to go to NYC within weeks of the
attacks on the Twin Towers. I’d insisted
we could help the then-struggling Broadway and make a statement: We’re not afraid. NYC stands; it will flourish again, and I’m
going to help make it happen. And,
that’s exactly what we did. We drove
into NYC, stayed in a Manhattan hotel just miles from the carnage, ate at local
restaurants, took in a show, and taxied into Soho to browse the art galleries.
Every once
in a while, something happens to remind me of that trip to NYC or that aging,
rose-toting gentleman. Most recently, it
was yet another stranger offering random kindness.
About eight
weeks after the Twin Towers collapsed, my eldest son began training in the
sport of weightlifting. Today he’s a
national-level competitor and recently received an invitation to represent the
U.S. in an international competition in Mexico.
To offset the cost of the trip, we began selling raffle tickets.
One of the
first door-to-door stops we made was to a tenant-house. We chatted for a few minutes with the
neighbors we hadn’t previously met. The
couple purchased one of the five-dollar tickets, and my son and I continued on
our way.
The next
day, the husband, Joseph, from that same house stopped by to say he ran a
delivery route of two-hundred-and-twenty customers, and he’d be happy to sell
tickets for us. When my husband told me
about the offer, I was skeptical. We
don’t even know this man. What if he
absconds with the tickets and the money?
Too many tenants move out in the middle of the night, never to be heard
from again. Why would he go to such
trouble for someone he doesn’t know if there wasn’t something in it for
him? Afraid of offending him, I gave
him the twenty tickets he requested.
The next
night I answered a knock at my front door.
There stood Joseph, smiling and holding up an envelope on which he’d
written: “17 tickets, $85.” He actually apologized for not selling all
twenty, explaining that three of his customers had been out.
I could
feel the blank expression in my smile as the simplicity of his kindness
vaporized my doubting brain.
“I’ll be
happy to sell more if you’d like me to…” His words seemed to jumble in my
stupor. “… anything to help out the
kids.” I thanked him profusely as I
handed him another twenty tickets. I
shook my head and smiled after I closed the door. And then, I remembered the man at the gas
station, and it saddened me to realize how distrustful I am, how fear-driven
our society is… There really are
truly nice people in the World who simply do things from the goodness of their
hearts.
In addition
to raising money for this trip to a foreign country, I’ve been reading tourist
tips: Don’t carry a purse or a bag
because thieves can slice it open from behind… Don’t drive at night… A driving
accident will likely land you in jail… A well-intentioned acquaintance warned
me against giving money to beggars, regardless of how young they are: “With your blonde hair and blue eyes, you’re
going to stand out like a sore thumb.
You’ll be mobbed if you start handing out money.”
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