Fear and Puppies

Around this time last year, I was spending the final days with my beloved, elderly dog. Her name was Mishki, inspired by Seinfeld’s indomitable Sue Ellen Mischke (whom you may know as the Oh Henry! bar heiress who wore a bra as a top). I wanted to name Mishki after a strong, confident woman. Perhaps, in hindsight, because I didn’t feel like one myself.

Like many of my Gen-X brethren, I grew up in a culture that shunned vulnerability and fear. Being comfortable was safe, which meant discomfort was dangerous – at least that’s the narrative I bought into. If something scared or overwhelmed me, I made sure to avoid it. In a professional setting, this translated to chronic passivity. I was committed and performed well, but I went where the wind blew me.?

For the most part it worked out. I took the first job offered out of college and steadily built a career helping others express themselves (the irony is not lost on me). Role changes were progressive but not risky. Hell, I even spent two decades promoting the virtues of risk management.??

Occasionally I would daydream about what I’d do if I were free of pesky obligations like paying rent. For a few fleeting moments, I’d glimpse a future version of myself. She walked purposefully and radiated joy, but I never saw where she was heading. Instead, a wave of nerves would overtake the fantasy. End of scene.

For years that knotty gut feeling was my personal Defcon 1, and I’d do anything to evade confrontation – even if it hurt. Sublimation became my subconscious path of choice, and I replaced fear and discomfort with nasty self-criticism. Despite its cruelty, harsh judgment seemed safer; it kept me in a cozy little rut.?

Now back to Mishki.???

As a puppy, Mishki would hide under the bed when she got anxious or scared. Sometimes the trigger was thunder, sometimes it was the TV. Sometimes it was me yelling at the TV. Whatever the stimulus, she bolted to her place of refuge, dust bunnies and all.?

Did I scold her, or blame the behavior on something arbitrary like the floppiness of her ears? Of course not. I was tender and understanding. I gave her time to chill out and rewarded her joyfully when she emerged. She always emerged.

Fast-forward 16 years. It was only today, as I scanned through old pup photos, that the similarities crystallized. I’m a-ok with thunderstorms but still struggle to embrace the unknown. I can continue to beat myself up whenever the chance to take a chance presents itself, or I can try kindness. And patience. And treats.?

The epiphany reminded me of what Elizabeth Gilbert said way more eloquently in her book, Big Magic. Getting willingly familiar with fear — not as a nemesis to crush but as a companion along for the ride — can take us to places far beyond our expectations.?

So, I’m going to apply this newfound awareness as I plot the second half of my career, although I may choose a pedicure in lieu of a chew toy. Maybe that recurring knot in my gut has been trying to point me somewhere new all along.

I’ll let you know how it goes.