Fear: Catalyst or Handcuff

The night I was kidnapped.

A few years back, during a coaching exercise with a bunch of friends who are entrepreneurs, our coach, Jonás, had us dive into some core emotions: anger, distress, surprise, and fear. The task was to embody these emotions, not just think about them. So, when it came to anger, we changed our breathing, taking sharp inhales through our noses, clenching our jaws, and tensing up our whole bodies. For distress, we went in the opposite direction, relaxing and taking deep breaths through our mouths. This exercise helped us connect with our feelings and gain some self-awareness.

But then came the fear exercise, and I was stumped. I couldn't recreate it. This exercise left me wondering, and that's when it hit me—I hadn't experienced genuine fear in a long time. I tried to rationalize it, as I tend to do with most things. I told Jonás, "I've got concerns and worries, sure, but having fear? Nah, that's not in my playbook".

Over the next few days, I couldn't shake the thought and why I seemed to be missing that feeling of fear. A vivid memory resurfaced, and there was fear right before me. The last time I'd felt fear was over 16 years ago, precisely on December 23rd, 2007, when I was kidnapped.

The Day I Felt Fear

It was just a hot and muggy summer night in Buenos Aires. And like always, I had saved all my Christmas shopping for the very last minute. So, we went to a shopping mall with my college buddy Agustín, from Las Flores, a small town in the Buenos Aires province. We spent the whole afternoon there, and when it was time for dinner, we met up with my then-girlfriend Marian, her sister, and her mom in the food court.

We had a lovely meal together and chatted briefly, and then Agus and I figured it was time to head back to our respective homes. I distinctly remember Lili, my ex-mother-in-law, saying, "Agus, why don't you stick around a bit longer and leave later?" But, being the stubborn person I am, I decided to exit. Little did I know that my life would take a wild turn if I had stayed just a few minutes longer.

How It Started

My friend Agus was temporarily living with his grandparents in Buenos Aires, over in the Flores neighborhood. I dropped him off at his house in a bustling intersection with an ice cream joint and plenty of people around.?I stopped the car to get the gifts from the trunk, then hugged Agus. We wouldn't see each other for a few days since he was spending the holidays with his family. A maroon Volkswagen Gacel pulled up behind us right then, and three people got out. We brushed it off initially, thinking they were neighbors from the house next door.

But within seconds, those three men come rushing at us, pointing a 22-caliber gun at our heads. Two of them hustled Agus inside his house, while the third, who we'll call Kidnapper #1, ordered me into my car, taking the passenger seat.

It all went down so fast, and my mind spun, trying to wrap itself around what the f*ck was happening. All I knew was that this person was almost my age, about 18 years old, and he was pointing a gun at me. He asked for my wallet, and since it had just five pesos, he laughed it off and returned it. That's when I mustered the courage to ask him to quit pointing that gun at my head. I needed to stop thinking he could end everything with a single finger move.

So, I told a white lie. I said I had a cardiac arrhythmia in the upper left ventricle of my heart (I guess having a cardiologist's dad made me pick up this random knowledge) and that if he kept pointing the gun at me, it could trigger a heart episode, making things super complicated. Somehow, he decided to buy into my story and lowered the gun.?

After a few minutes of silence, he said, "Let's head inside". I had no idea what was happening with Kidnapper #2 and Kidnapper #3, whom we'll call Berenjena. While we were outside, Kidnapper #2 and Berenjena woke up Agus's grandparents—or maybe "shocked" is the better word. His grandma managed to get up, but the whole thing just paralyzed his grandpa. Their request was pretty straightforward: they wanted valuables.

Once I got inside, they made me sit on the living room couch with Agus while they went through the place, hunting for anything valuable. Plus, they took their keys and phones (pulled the batteries out, so there's no tracing them). As we just sat there, waiting, Berenjena appeared. I'm telling you, I can still see him like it was yesterday. He's a living nightmare in my mind. Back then, he must've been around 30, tall and thin, with tan skin and unforgettable facial features from his cheekbones down to his twisted mouth.

Berenjena terrified me. He seemed high on drugs and alcohol, unable to properly get a single word out. He was like a ticking time bomb, ready to go off any moment. He was the definition of irrationality, pure chaos, and unpredictability. The first thing he did when he saw me was stick his gun at my head and violently snatch a gold chain off my neck, a gift from my mom from her trip to Colombia.

On top of that, Kidnapper #1, the guy who'd been with me in the car, was telling Berenjena not to get violent because I had "heart problems." Minutes that felt like hours passed until Berenjena said the worst thing I could've heard: "Kid, get up; you're coming with us."

As we headed downstairs to the front door, they grabbed all the keys and left Agus with his grandparents, locked inside. I'll never forget my friend Agus and his grandma's looks as they watched us being taken away, helpless. And I don't think they'll ever forget the sheer panic written across my face.

The Terrifying Driving Tale

Kidnapper #1 and Kidnapper #2 got into my car while Berenjena jumped into the maroon Gacel. They said, "Start the car, do as we say, and everything will be fine." Driving under those conditions felt like an eternity. Whenever we stopped at a traffic light or turned a corner, I'd gaze at people on the street, wishing I had telepathic powers, desperately trying to signal for help with my thoughts.

They gave me instructions on how to tail a bus so that when we reached the police checkpoint marking the border between the capital and Buenos Aires province, they wouldn't spot us. I kept driving and driving until we ended up at a place I couldn't make heads or tails of... and there I met two Gendarmerie officers holding shotguns who seemed like mere window dressing at an entrance. And there it was: "Welcome to El Ejército de los Andes Neighborhood," better known as Fuerte Apache.

Fuerte Apache

A few blocks later, we stopped in an entirely dark open area. Berenjena, the guy driving the Gacel, parked in the middle of the field. Then, the car burst into flames in the blink of an eye. It felt like a scene from a movie. At least, that's what I kept telling myself (you know, that “This can't be real, it's not happening” kind of denial). Berenjena staggered over to me, trying to mutter something, but he was so high that I couldn't make out his words. He playfully tapped me on the head with his 22-caliber gun while laughing.

If there was ever a moment I thought I was about to meet my maker, that was it.

Just like in the movies, my life started flashing before my eyes. I was there, in the middle of nowhere, with a flaming car, in the dead of night, all by myself, unable to say my goodbyes to anyone, and stuck with someone who was in a pathetic state, holding a gun that could end it all with a flick of the finger. And he did. Berenjena pulled the trigger of the gun right at my head. I heard the 'click.' (Recalling this still gives me chills, and tears start welling up). That was it, the end. But no, the sicko was laughing. He'd only done it to mess with my head because he had the safety on. I can't help but say he was one sick and twisted freak.

They shoved me back into my car, but Berenjena took the wheel this time. Kidnapper #2 sat up front, and I was stuck in the back with Kidnapper #1. Berenjena drove like a maniac, speeding and hitting speed bumps. The car's chassis was sparking every time it scraped the road.

After a while, Berenjena had a new request: “Tell us where your house is; give me the address.” I don't know what came over me, but I was dead on feeding them lies. After he'd pulled that trigger on me, my perspective shifted. I'd already lied about my heart condition, so I figured I might as well keep it up. I told them my place was way far off. He was insistent about going, but I explained that it'd be more trouble than it's worth, a half-hour drive with loads of checkpoints and cameras. After a heated debate among them, they dropped the idea. The last thing I wanted was to picture my mom going through all that. There was no need to put her through it; at that point, I couldn't care less about what happened.

As we kept driving, something completely unexpected happened: my phone rang. Yep, my phone rang. The kidnappers grabbed it. They told me to answer and put it on speaker. My mom was on the line, speaking with a completely shattered voice, "Hey, Agus, are you okay?".

They told me to reassure her I was okay and on my way home. Then they took my phone, took out the battery, and, once again, Berenjena insisted on heading to my house. My response remained the same: "No."

The B-Side of the Story

While all that was going down on my end, a different story unfolded at Agus' grandparents' place. Always the quick thinker, when they made him go into his house, Agus pulled a slick move – he whipped out his keys. He flicked them on the ground so they slid away, keeping them out of sight (back in the day, teens were all about having a surfer ribbon on their keychains and showing it off like it was the coolest thing outside their pocket). I guess that little trick came in handy later.

So, after those bad guys split, Agus started hunting for his keys, dashed outside, and sprinted toward the street with his grandma by his side. He found a payphone and dialed my mom's place. She picked up, and the conversation they told me about went something like this:

— Hey, Nora, I was wondering if Agus got home.

— But, Agus, he was with you, right? Wasn't he?

— Yeah, Nora, it's just that... (and that's when his grandma butted in): — Agus, tell Nora the whole deal now.

So Agus spilled the beans to my mom about what went down. Without getting into all the gritty details, she told my dad to brief him and decided to get the cops involved. That's when the Federal Police anti-kidnapping squad stepped in.

Plot Twist

Meanwhile, I found myself in Fuerte Apache. We'd ventured into one of those apartment complexes, and they had placed me in a room, effectively locking me in. After a bit, I heard a woman saying, "Get the kid out of here; they're looking for him." We quickly left that place, and the chaotic situation began anew: back in the car, with Berenjena at the wheel again. They didn't know what to do with me, so they cruised around the Caseros neighborhood.

Then, out of the blue, something entirely unexpected occurred. A family with two little girls was opening their garage gate to head home. Berenjena hit the brakes, catching them off guard, and they barged in.

Fast forward a few minutes, and I sat in the living room with the family dad. The kidnappers were hyped, searching the place for anything valuable. It being Christmas and all, a shiny new air conditioner was right next to the Christmas tree, still in its box. They loaded everything they could in the family's van (yep, including the AC). Berenjena returned and told me to relax and not do anything foolish, saying they'd leave the stuff behind, and he'd be right back. All the while, he kept playfully tapping me on the head with that 22-caliber gun. They took the keys and left us locked in.

When I Got Away

They took off, and I started talking rapidly, trying to explain everything to the guy in the house. It was distressing that he didn't know who I was or why I was in his living room. After a bit of back-and-forth, he mentioned he thought he had the keys to the back door of his house.

We headed outside, and I faced those towering, classic dividing walls - made of concrete mixed with bits of glass bottles. They make it a pain to hop over without getting hurt. He gave me a hand, and I jumped, landing in the walkway of a townhouse. I took a few steps and knocked on a neighboring house's window. A neighbor yelled, not quite getting what was going on. Once again, I started talking, asking him to lend me a phone, while the guy shouted from his place, asking him to help us and confirming my story. They handed me a standard white cordless phone.

After a while, my dad rolled up with the anti-kidnapping squad. At that point, I was trying to wrap my head around the situation. Everything was jumbled, with all the questions and lights in my face. I was wired with adrenaline, recalling every little detail, from how those folks looked to the exact location of the apartment in the complex, among other things. Then, even though I was physically and emotionally exhausted, the bureaucracy meant I had to make statements at multiple police stations.

The Day After

So, the morning after that terrifying experience, many things went down. I saw my parents again and shared a big bear hug with Agus. My girlfriend, Marian, had been up all night with her family, so there was much hugging there too.

Then, the cops called, asking us to head back to Fuerte Apache to look for the apartment. But my parents weren't having it, and I was still freaking out.

But guess what? The story didn't stop there. The kidnappers kept on with their crime spree, which ended in a shootout with the police. Two cops got hurt, and an unfortunate lady got struck by a stray bullet and didn't survive. They managed to apprehend Kidnapper #2, and Berenjena, the guy with the vegetable nickname, got shot five times and somehow lived. "Crazy, right?" as my friends would say.

The Year That Followed

It felt like it would never end. I went to therapy, and the therapist tried to spin it like it was a positive experience about how I handled things. "No, thanks, lady, there's nothing positive about it," I'd tell her.

I had to make many trips to the police stations and the Federal Superintendence of Scientific Police to look at photos and confirm the suspects. I even had to go to a courthouse for a lineup with other people who'd been through the same thing. It's hard to explain how it feels to see those who messed you up so badly on the other side of a glass, unable to hurt you anymore. At least not physically.

Today

My life took a crazy turn when I hit 20. Suddenly, I wasn't just a teenager anymore. All those teenage worries and problems? They became small stuff. Nothing felt as significant as I used to think. I went from kid to adult overnight. And my memory? Well, it decided to erase a bunch of stuff, even up to today. They say that's a pretty standard, like your brain's way of protecting itself after a significant trauma.

Now, 16 years later, I'm still piecing together memories, but it's a slow process. I've also got some lingering issues with feeling secure. I'm the guy who still looks over his shoulder while walking or gets a bit jumpy when a stranger approaches on the street.

Fear messes with you in ways you can't even imagine. It can overwhelm you, push you around, or just paralyze you. And after it’s done, it leaves its mark. It's like you start seeing life through this filter where everything is extreme, and you forget about all the shades of gray. Getting out of that mindset is challenging. It's like a constant workout, changing how you see things, not blowing stuff out of proportion, not seeing everything in black and white. It's all part of living and feeling.

If you've stuck with me this far, I appreciate it. Please think about the last time you felt scared and how it affected you. Don't run from it; embrace it, work with it, and think about how to use it to transform yourself. And remember to keep things in perspective. What's worth worrying about in your life? What would you do differently today if you decided to use fear as a motivator?