Is When You’re Afraid, and You Do It Anyway

“Having a grandmother is like having an army. This is a grandchild’s ultimate privilege: knowing that someone is on your side, always, whatever the details. Even when you are wrong.” Fredrik Backman

“Good morning Grammie.”

For the last four days, I have opened my eyes to this message most mornings in the form of a text. My granddaughter has repurposed her mother’s old phone, she doesn’t have an account, but my daughter set up the phone, enabling Audrey to text a few people via email.

I have to admit. Her messages ground me. They are simple, direct, and concise, unencumbered by ulterior motives, mixed messages, or passive-aggressive schemes. Am I hanging some dirty laundry on the line? Yes, I am, and I bet I’m not alone.

The messages go something like this: 

Audrey, “I love you so much.” (with a heart emoji)

Grammie, “I love you more.” (with a heart emoji)

Audrey, “I love you to infinity.” (with 4 heart emojis)

Grammie, “I love you to the moon and back.” (moon emoji)

This mutual adoration club abruptly stops from the time she leaves for school until she returns home in the late afternoon. 

Then it starts up again with a heart emoji or a message of love.

One time I asked her how her day was going, and she responded, “good.” 

So damn refreshing. 

And by the way, happy International Women’s Day. 

We are the product of many things, are we not? Biology and lineage, grit and humor, water and air, but also the summation of all our fears and perceived boundaries. For me, it is also the grandmothers, their blood pounding through my veins, and the knowledge that their grasp was not meant to hold me back, but instead, to hold me together. 

It is ever so clear to me now. 

I admit I’m clinging to any form of simplicity as my life spins erratically out of control. Okay, not out of control, but outside of my comfort zone, which is narrow and compact, founded on years of prudence (not to be confused with prunes) and restraint. Yes, I come from a long line of martyrs and wannabe saints. What can you do?

I’m doing things I never dreamed I would do, and it’s forcing me to Grow, Damn It (sorry, couldn’t resist). It’s as if I’m trying to find my way out of the Winchester Mystery House, in the dark, during a catastrophic storm. 

If you know anything about this mysterious house or Sarah Winchester herself, you’ll know that she built corridors that twist and turn but go nowhere, barren stairwells, and obscure doors that open to solid walls. 

She was trying to outrun her fears, but as we all know, this is not possible. 

They’ll find you. Eleanor Roosevelt says you should do one thing every day that scares you. I thought looking in the mirror every damn morning qualified, but apparently, she meant challenging, not startling. 

I notice how my fears follow me around as if a shadow, their familiarity is unnerving, and in the early evening, they stretch, reconfigure, and appear deformed. 

They say fear is just an illusion, but I think she’s pretty damn realistic, one that masquerades as imposture syndrome when it suits her. The trick is to keep moving forward despite the pounding of my heart or the screaming in my head, “who are you trying to kid, turn around before it’s too late.” 

I read somewhere that life is a series of events, and if you step back, you will see how they are connected. They might seem random, but they’re actually linked, a sequence of opportunities designed to demonstrate your courage and grit. Why am I just getting this now?

I watched Audrey recite a script today at school. She was acting as an art docent, and each child represented a famous artist, explaining not only their artistic style but a little about their history. She’s been practicing this speech for weeks. I’ve witnessed it at least a dozen times. But today, in the classroom, with twenty sets of parents (grandparents and great-grandparents) in the audience, I could see she was nervous. But she did it anyway, with every recitation, her voice grew stronger, along with her confidence.

It’s interesting how fear shoves its way to the forefront of our minds, threatening judgment and humiliation should we stumble over a word or, God forbid, forget our lines. But what I noticed is most people are much kinder than we expect, tolerant of our foibles, and generous with their encouragement.

Those who are angry, jealous, or mean, are not worth your precious time, move on, create some distance.

We allow our fears to prosper when we base our decisions on them. We all have cumbersome scars, phobias we developed when we disappeared into ourselves, or aversions formed by tragic, sometimes inequitable, and unfair experiences. They not only exploit our insecurities and self-doubt but will ravage our future if we allow them to do so. 

For me, they trigger the false idea that love and acceptance have to be earned, that we have to prove ourselves, or, at the very least, sacrifice our own priorities in order to be loved. Why I continue to drag those same misconceptions around is both mysterious and exhausting. 

Remember the liquidation of the wicked witch from the Wizard of Oz? It’s the same with fear. Courage is as if a baptism. It dissolves that bitch.

I love what Ruth Bader Ginsburg said (thank you, Rachael, for posting). She said, “whatever you choose to do, leave tracks. That means don’t do it just for yourself. You will want to leave the world a little better for your having lived.” And this is going to take our collective courage.

Aw, to be young again, to know unconditional love, to trust in the unknown, to feel omnipotent, with an endless future stretching out before you, yet to be imagined. Audrey, Cora, and Sienna remind me of where I started, where I’m going, and when I veer off course.

This is the blessing of being a grandmother. You lay down tracks whether you are aware of it or not because you are linked, as if a train, to your legacy. 

When I was young, I never let my inabilities get in the way of what I wanted to do. Like expressing my needs without a strong vocabulary, finding a friend in a room full of strangers, or riding a bike without training wheels. 

You just did it. 

I recently told my publisher when he scolded me for not referring to my press kit before asking questions. I said, “the publishing industry is like learning a new language. There are all these words I’m suddenly expected to recognize, but they have no context. It’s daunting.” 

I might be stumbling around this Winchester Mystery House of the publishing industry, but I’m doing it anyway because fear is not going to get the last word.

I tried to sell my book to a bookstore. Seems like a good fit? I have a book, and you have a bookstore, but nothing could be further from the truth. No wonder places like Amazon are thriving, and our local bookstores are struggling to survive. 

I finally convinced Robin Stern to place a few of my books at Books Inc. If anyone needs a copy. Grab one, they are signed, you’ll be supporting a small business, and the truth is I want to prove Jeff wrong. 

I’m still trying to make sense of this world, to find my purpose, and then I remember when I was young, I used to find it in literature, embedded in the words. As Lao Tza claims, being deeply loved by someone gives you strength while loving someone deeply gives you courage.

“Good morning Grammie.”

“I love you.”

“I love you more.”

I’m Living in the Gap, trying to be the heroine in my own life for Audrey, Cora, and Sienna.

Talk about courage. I did a podcast, link here if you want to listen.

Link to Grow Damn It if you want to order from Jeff.

Or Link to Books Inc. at The Pruneyard.

Also available at Black Rose Writing here.