My least favorite feeling in the world is fear.
I used to think it was fear of the unknown. I know some people enjoy
that feeling. I've been asked "isn't it exhilarating not knowing where
you're headed next?" No. The answer is no. I like knowing where I'm
headed. I enjoy having a steadfast goal to move towards.
I've been thinking, however, that fear of the known might be worse. I'm
sure it depends on the exact situation and there are a trillion
scenarios that perhaps each have a different answer.
But at the moment, I'm talking about the scenario where I'm packing for my ten day holiday in Malaysia.
Last year I went to Italy. It was my second time, and I was so excited
about how prepared I would be this time around. I would be returning to
one of my favorite places in the world, and I wanted the trip to be
perfect. This means that most of my favorite items of clothing were a
must. I would bring my grubby, well worn capris I bought in high
school. They had seen Italy, Greece, Paris and Barcelona, had wine
spilled on them on a beach in Thailand, been slept and swam in, my
boyfriend had patched them up after they tore while hiking, and they
were one of my absolute favorite items of clothing.
(I even remember buying them. I was in Zumies with one of my best
friends and when I went to try the capris on in the dressing room, a
male employee about my age asked "Do you need help with that?" I have
no idea now if he meant to be insinuating or not, but at the time we
giggling girls thought it was quite hilarious.)
I would also bring my favorite black strapless maxi dress-- incredibly
comfortable, it could dress up or dress down. I knew the Italians
valued style and I wanted to be sure to bring a few items for when we
wanted to dress up for dinner a bit. I had bought this item at Target, a
great find, while in college. While it hadn't yet traveled abroad it
had accompanied me on many evenings out, including seeing Les Miserables
with my mom and sister.
And at the very last minute, and I mean the very last-- folded right on
top of everything-- I added my most favorite sweater. Bought at
Nordstrom Rack on super sale, it went with everything. Had perfect
pockets, could again dress up or down. It was relatively new, but I had
worn it almost every day since purchase. I almost didn't bring it, but
the color simply reminded me of Tuscany and I could just picture
wearing it in the evenings while reading my book and drinking a glass of
Chianti.
These items were not monetarily valuable. But the sentimental value was
priceless. I know getting attached to material things is slightly
shallow and every philosopher known to man argues against it. But I
don't care-- I loved my well worn clothes, and these three items are
just a few of several that are simply irreplaceable.
And what happened to all of these items I held dear? Somewhere between
Portland, Amsterdam and Florence my bag vanished. No record of where it
could have gone. The airline company Alitalia was the exact opposite
of very helpful. While almost six months later I was monetarily
reimbursed for my loss, (mostly to the thanks of my Chase credit card,
which provided me with travel insurance because I had bought the airline
tickets with it-- something to keep in mind for future flight
purchases...) almost every favorite item of clothing I owned was gone. I
hadn't even really considered the possibility of my bag disappearing
forever-- my name, address, and phone number were written in permanent
marker inside the bag, not to mention the several luggage tags attached
to the backpack itself. It might sound silly, but this loss left me a
little traumatized.
It reminds me of a diving experience I had. I love, love love love to
scuba dive. Diving in Thailand, I'd heard about the infamous trigger
fish. We were taught what to do if the fish decided we were threatening
its young and attack. Usually their territory is within a sort of
upside down triangle, or a "v" shape with the point radiating from the
nest, and when you swim out of their territory they will turn around,
leaving you in peace.
On a fun-dive, with a group of about six, we were attacked by a trigger
fish. And by "we" I mean mostly our dive master and myself, and by
"attacked" I mean it was aggressively biting whatever it could reach.
We did everything we were supposed to-- blew bubbles at it with our
spare regulator, kicked our fins toward it. All this resulted in was
few holes in my fins. This was one pissed off fish, and I'm pretty
positive it did not stay in its triangle. Or maybe it was just a really
big triangle...
Eventually our group had to surface before the dive was over because it
wouldn't leave us alone. It was a scary experience-- a big fish with a
few teeth comes at you underwater, it's not really a fun time.
Especially when earlier that day you'd heard a story about someone
needing stitches after one assaulted their arm.
After we got back on the boat, it seemed like just a fun, slightly
harrowing story to tell. Every diver needs a few good dive stories,
right?
Then I got back into the water. Scuba diving is like meditation to me.
Peaceful, tranquil. Until you're cautiously peering around every
corner, waiting for the angry trigger fish to lash out at your face. I
now know, and fear, the possibility of what's out there. Rationally I
know that this was a pretty freak incident; I saw divers getting close
to trigger fish and filming them, and out of the thirty-odd dives I went
on in Thailand no one on any of my boats was ever attacked other than
our experience, and it's fairly unlikely that it will happen again, at
least with that persistent of a fish.
Just like I know the possibility of having my bag permanently lost again
is very small. But knowing that yes, it can absolutely happen, makes
packing a quite miserable experience. Who wants to pack when you feel
you should only bring items you can live without, while trying to bring
clothes you'll feel cute and comfortable in?
I realize that a lot of this sounds quite petty. With so many problems
in the world, trigger fish and lost luggage don't really amount to
much. But in my little life where really very little goes terribly
wrong, (knock on wood many times) sometimes the little incidents lead to
larger questions.
What is scarier? The unknown or the absolute knowledge of what can and
does happen? Which breeds more anxiety? Which makes you hold your breath
a little longer while your heart flutters a little faster? Which
creates a larger ball of lead forming in the bottom of your stomach when
you really stop to think about all the possibilities that you know
about first hand, and then the ones you don't?
Fear is my least favorite feeling, and overcoming my deepest fears and
moving on is I think my biggest personal challenge in life. So here's to hoping my things arrive safely with me in Malaysia and to the absence of Malaysian overly aggressive trigger fish : ) (Again, knock on wood a few times). Cheers!
