A philosopher once wrote that hell was a life lived in fear. I think I understand what he means. For me, a life lived in fear is like living in hell. Maybe, as the philosopher suggested, fear is Hell, and we are just not awakened enough to see it.

I’ve lived in fear for much of my life, and I expect it will shadow me in some form or another for the rest of my time. My experience with it has changed, though. It rarely runs my life, forces my decisions, makes me a refugee in my own life. I am sleeping well these days – for the first time in my life. Herman, my scary voice in the night, has gone to work for cable news, free-lancing online.  Last week, I told Maria I was conscious of having felt little or no fear for some days. A shocking thing for me, something I never said before. A glorious thing. I wanted to weep with joy. I remember the little boy who first felt fear in the night, and sometimes I talk to him now, and I say, we did it, we did it. It turned out all right.

Fear, like death and grief, is universal and like those things,  is  individual. We each experience it differently. Fear shaped and crippled me, nearly did me in. Fear is a life-killer.  But I have learned a lot about it, and made a great deal of progress with it. Doctors once told me my fear was probably genetic, that it ran in my family, and that I probably would need medication. That has not turned out to be so. Some long nights, but good nights.

I think I began to come closer to dealing with fear when I realized I would have to change the way I think. Tricky. Like dog training in a way, you just have to persistent, consistent and patient.  Meditation helped me to see how my mind worked, and I can’t say I was impressed. But fear is hell, I think. It kills love, stifles creativity, vanquishes hope and empathy and compassion. It is not healthy. It is not rational. I have rarely feared the things that happened to me, usually fearing only the things that did not. Fear and anger are first cousins, each feeding the other. When I feel fear – or anger – I stop. I wait. Something is wrong. In our culture, fear is marketed like candy, and it sells big-time. I think it is a drug now, like crack. Sold on every street corner, by journalists, doctors, lawyers, weather people, insurance companies,  politicians, bureaucrats, corporations, even some religions.

I am so grateful that I did not accept the idea that fear was a biological part of me, and that I ought to numb it with medication or accept it as a permanent part of me. That is a perfectly good choice for many people, but not for me. I think the philosopher was right. Living in fear is Hell, and I vowed not to end my life that way. I honor and encourage anyone strong or brave enough to live someplace else than in fear. I want to get up on some rooftops with a megaphone and shout, “don’t give in to it!  Don’t believe people who sell fear for money. It is just a space to cross!” But I can’t do that for other people. And I shouldn’t.

They have to want to do it themselves.