Fear, Less

Accused last night of being a fearful person, I am indignant. I have fears, but not like he thinks. Fears are irrational things; if we can rationalize them they are not fears anymore. I am afraid, of: crickets, jumpy dogs, kelp, being touched by cold noodles, burning to death. I am not afraid of people. What could be done to me that is scary? Nothing. I could be killed, I suppose, but then I would be dead with nothing else to worry about; I don’t fear death. I cannot be hurt by people, I am much too strong for that. I suppose that is my only fear involving people: I am afraid that I am stronger than I could ever imagine, and I am afraid of finding that out for sure.

Cautious, now that’s something I can get behind. I don’t like people getting too close to me, I don’t like people assuming they know me or know what’s on my mind. I’m cautious about the situations I put myself in, I’m cautious about people who make the hair stand up on the back of my neck.

I think that I can likely handle anything that might happen to me, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t appreciate having people who look out for me. There’s something tiring in always having to do everything yourself. There’s no weakness in accepting the support of your friends.

And so, Senor Colorado, I arrive at this conclusion: you need me to be a fearful person because it makes you uncomfortable that I don’t need you. You need me to be fearful because you don’t know what else to make of me. That’s fine, and there’ll be no convincing you otherwise. Thing is, I have nothing to prove. I know who and what I am, and I’m quite content to just take care of my own.