Finally.

Daily writing prompt
What’s the thing you’re most scared to do? What would it take to get you to do it?

I see this question two ways.

Imagine that.

What are you scared to do? And, what are you scared of doing? What is it that you fear to attempt versus what is it that you have done but are fearful of doing again. Seperate avenues of life to share and elucidate.

To be honest, haven’t really given the former much thought. I might be willing to sky dive, but never really held much interest. Since I really do not have a bucket list, there isn’t a spot to put that one on pause. Don’t have the cranial makeup to scale sky scrapers like Alex did a week or so ago in Taiwan.

Swimming in the ocean is amazing. Jumping off a schooner and snorkeling in the middle of an ocean off the Virgin Islands. Taking a sailboard out in the same waters without a clue was a total blast. Cold calling businesses and turning them into associates and customers is fun to this day. Interviews are fun. Giving and receiving. Speaking to crowds? Fulfilling and missed. Jumping off a third floor fire escape into snow during winter break just because? Well, just because we were stupid. “Skitching” over the snow covered streets in Hinsdale as a teen. Deciding to play college football, and then playing every game for four years.

There are others. But I guess when it comes to being scared to or having a fear to, I think the fear of failure holds the cards. A certain level of embarrassment too. What if I blow it? Get lost? Laughed at? Contusions and abrasions? Fractures? They say “no”? Die? Having never done something before, trying and then having it turn out one way or another is one experience. You get to move on.

But then again, being scared of or having a fear of doing contains many of the same risk factors, but from an entirely different depth and direction. The potential damage to one and others extends far beyond band-aid boo boo’s or a walking boot.

I am scared of and have a fear of letting others down. Again.

Of making bad choices. Of acting out of character. Of behaving like I have all of the answers, that I am the Grand High Exalted Mystic Poobah, and that I know what is best for all everytime and all of the time. Of resentment.

Of not understanding my true worth. Of not staying present. Of withdrawing and building a protective fortress along a steep escarpment.

Of allowing others to determine my value, assess my potential and define my capabilities.

Of not ever realizing who I was.

The therapeutic side of the daily prompt is evident this exact moment.

By discerning what I am scared to as it relates to what I am scared of, an epiphany has enjoined my spirit this weekend.

Those things that one is scared of are those that one is scared to discard, move on from and grow in an entirely different manner and direction. Perhaps being possessed by them for so long offers a twisted, unhealthy and known sense of comfort and security. A bizarre sense of peace brought forth in allowing oneself to be held captive by them. Being scared to finally understand and move on was allowed to be overwhelmed by being scared of allowing that change.

To finally grow. To finally understand. To finally forgive. To finally connect. To finally live.

To finally be.

Finally.

Nothing to be scared of.

Whatsoever.

Finally.

“Meno.”

I have found great joy in reading the gospel each morning in three different versions, emailed to me overnight. Each provides one with some key insights to ponder for the day to come and really gets those creative juices flowing. As you can probably tell. Presenting me with words I was kind of aware of, thought I understood, but really did not know from Adam.

Sorry. Helps sustain my humerous daddus affliction. But I digress…

This morning in the first reading  of 1 Maccabees 2:15-29, there was a retelling of the enforcement of a king’s apostasy and Mattathias’ reaction.

Akin to the mother and her seven sons and how they chose the after life in lieu of an affirmation of not only a false prophet but false view of life.

I went back to “apostasy” and discovered the origins, the Greek word “apostasia” meaning “defection, rebellion or abandonment”. Recalling my fondness for Etymology class with Mr. Paris in high school back in the 70’s, I went a little deeper. Who knew today would start with some archeology.

“Apostasia” is formed from a prefix “apo” meaning “away from” and the verb “histemi” meaning “to stand”. “Thus, the literal meaning is to stand away from”. 

Since this was first written long, long ago it has taken on a variety of meanings each of which are related to discarding ones faith. At this moment of of my personal reclamation project, however, I prefer to apply it from its original, literal meaning.

“To stand away from”.

My apostasia involves standing away from the ill conceived habits and thoughts that took me away from my true self. Beholding the notion that I had all of the answers and that I could do everything for everybody. Equipped with the double edged sword that is ego, I wounded humility for the sake of pride. All of which simply made me an island, surrounded by an ocean that ebbed with low self esteem and flowed with no forgiveness.

But as I have increasingly sacrificed the tenets of a choices poorly made and a life ill lived, a true fellowship beckons. One that called to the mother and seven sons. One that touched Mattathias and the multitudes of those that have followed. Removing me from a self-designed poverty and enriching me with an altogether serene and peaceful wholeness.

You may not realize it at first, but when you simply let go and stand away from what you were, you can genuinely become what you are meant to be.

My “apostasia” began with moving away from being alone as self-induced outcast. It has since evolved into allowing Him in and truly living.

“Meno”.