Fear is a funny creature that preys upon us, elevates our heart rates, spikes our senses, raises goose-bumps and arm hair, makes us shiver and, for the unfortunate few, can paralyse us in our tracks. Some fears are more common - spiders, snakes, celebrities getting 'papped' without their make-up. Some, however, are, lets face it, just out and out strange!
If you ask me what I am scared of, moths will feature highly. It is not that I find a moth itself a terrifying sight to behold, it's the flying moth I fear. The moth that randomly approaches, no pattern in its flight - you can never be sure where it is heading. Although inevitably, it will always try to attack me, burrow into my hair and try to get into my ear - at least that is what I fear. Irrational, I know, but woe betide a moth be waiting for me when I go to bed. The moth will be victorious as I will not, no, actually, can not, sleep in the same room. It is at times like then that I miss my youngest brother, my official appointed moth killer/remover/trapper.
So, what is it about them that scares me so much? I do not know for sure. I have tried to tell myself that they are 'just furry butterflies', but my fear is too smart to be fooled. It, instead, deeply ingrains into my subconscious that they are 'evil butterflies' out to get me. In fact, I can not think of two such similar things as the moth and the butterfly which entice such polar opposite reactions in my body.
I remember a summer afternoon, living on the farm, when I decided to sit out in our garden and draw our family home (built circa 1600s). I was deep in concentration in capturing the aging bench below the sitting room window, when the most beautiful butterfly swept in and graciously perched itself delicately on my left knee. I daren't move or breath for danger of scaring it away. It flexed its wings and seemed to be curious about me. Seconds passed so slowly as I admired the outstanding colours and detail woven into its wings. After about a minute it swiftly took to flight and soared up over the roof of our house only to arch skywards and perform a perfect loop-de-loop and returned boomerang-style to my knee. I felt so privileged this outstanding beauty had thought me special enough to revisit! In a bizarre way, I felt it knew I was no danger to it - it didn't fear me, despite my colossal size in comparison. It had learnt to trust me.
My other, ridiculously embarrassing, fear is floaty bits in washing up water. I instantly turn cold and snatch my hand away as fast as lightning as whatever-it-is brushes against my hand. A shiver ran down my spine just now simply imagining it in detail enough to explain it to you. I think, again, it is related to the unpredictability of the situation. It could be anything! Well, realistically, it could only be a limited amount of foodstuffs from the dinner just cooked. But my mind will not accept that logic and still tells my senses that it could be seaweed, or worse, jellyfish!!! Euuggh!
These, of course, are the fears I am comfortable sharing when asked what I am scared of. My deeper seated fears are of failure, of rejection and of loss. But these, are more socially acceptable fears. Quite unlike my strange ones, and those oddities told to me by friends - elastic bands, cotton wool and (!!) the little white bits that grow out of potatoes when they have been left in the cupboard for a while. Now, that is so specific and outlandish even I don't understand. But, that's not the point. Fears are very personal, and for her, it is very real.
I am aware, dear reader, that I inferred from the title of this post I would also talk a little about hopes. I have not forgotten. I am getting to that now.
Hopes are generally characterised by those we wish for a new born baby - health, happiness, love and success. Upon these basic hopes, we overlay our values. I truly believe we should treat others as we'd wish to be treated ourselves, and, without actually directly believing in 'karma', it does ring true that, generally, what goes around, comes around.
I don't believe this is a cosmic balancing out of human rights and wrongs. I believe it is in our nature. We have scientifically recognised aspects of ourselves which would lean towards the result of karma. For example, our capacity to remember. Who can honestly say we forgive and forget? We don't actually forget. We learn from experiences and only grant future faith, favours and good will to those deserving of it. To do otherwise would just be crazy. In addition to this we possess greater awareness than scientists give us documented credit for. We somehow know when we meet someone who is 'not very nice'. People definitely give off what can only be described as 'vibes'. I am lucky to own acute instincts, and in the main, they serve me well. But, sometimes 'lucky' is not how I feel as sometimes these instincts can land me in awkward situations - such as when I know someone is telling me a lie but they reassure me they are telling truth. In situations such as these, without 'evidence' it is a very difficult thing to explain how I know what I know. It isn't because I have a 6th sense. I genuinely believe that I have the ability to pick up tiny cues from people, even if they are not aware they are sending them out, and I have honed a skill to read them correctly.
My one true hope for myself is that when I die it has mattered that I have lived. I do not mean that I will leave grieving loved ones behind - I hope that is a given (and I don't mean I am wishing them future unhappiness, but, if they are not upset when I do go I might just come back to haunt them just for the sake of it). What I mean is that I hope there is physically part of me that is left behind. The most obvious way of achieving this is in having children, and my children having children, and so on and so forth - even though, admittedly so, it will be an increasingly small part of me which will live on through them. The incomprehensible fact about this is that if I do not have children all of those future children and grandchildren will not exist. Well, theoretically, they will half exist as whomever was going to be their father will still meet a different mother and the 50% that would have been me will simply be 50% someone else. It is just too weird to discuss further.
Another way to live on would be to do something outstanding for the world, like finding a cure for cancer. I am guessing I have no real chance of that, not having pursued the sciences for my career choice. But, consider this: What if my £15 monthly donation gives Cancer Research just enough money to hire the scientist whose research in five years strikes upon the answer? What if, without my measly £15 they didn't hire him? Or her? Actually, yes, in my random scenario it is a lady, let's call her 'Rosie'. What if, without my tiny donation Rosie is not hired and hence she does not make her incredible discovery? Instead to pay back her student loan she has to take a job in sales, although I have no doubt she will be brilliant at what ever she does, as let's face it - she is the girl that would have found the cure for cancer!
Or, we can write books. We can live on through future generations reading our carefully crafted thoughts captured as printed words on the page that we publish to share with the world at large, forever. This is why I think it is criminal (am I being too harsh? Is jail really an appropriate sentence?) when people do not read books. They have been made specifically for us to read. The author spent valuable time, care and attention to creating it for you to read, and if you don't... did they waste their time? Their life?
Perhaps, dear reader, these words I write for you will be the only part of me to live on, albeit somewhere in cyberspace rather then the physical page. Although, given the reliability of 'Blogger' this past week, I do not hold much Hope! ;)
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