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Episode Three:  Why I'm Finally Kicking My Regret Habit and Shedding Those Last Five Pounds Of "Fear Weight"

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Episode Three:  Letting Go


First of all, I'm almost positive "fear weight" is a thing.  And even if it isn't, it should be.  It's mostly in the belly, but sometimes resides in the heart.  Or the face.  It isn't always measured on a scale or in the snugness of one's denim.  It presents in its victims as an overall feeling of heaviness and/or dread.  My research shows that it is highly contagious and very serious.  I'll look into getting this into the PDR and I'll get back to you.

One of the initial causes seems to be regret.

I have a lot of things I regret in my life.  (And I regret that too.  See how coo-coo this gets?)  The beautiful, life-affirming way to see it is that I've always been a risk-taker.  That I pushed forward in my life and wasn't afraid of failing.  That I had hope and passion and enthusiasm out the wazoo.  But to be very honest, I mostly just did things without thinking of the consequences at all.  And I mean that.
At.
All.
I think there are a fair number of us who don't consider consequences.  I think when it comes to health especially we are a people who do love our vices.  We won't even admit that some of them ARE vices.  Instead, we call them "relaxing", "unwinding", "decompressing" or my personal favorite "me time".  That's just stupid.
A lot of it has to do with escaping.  And that's not really such a good thing.

So, for a second, let's turn and face what the real problem is.
Escaping.
Regret.
Shame.

Suddenly, I don't like this idea.  This is very uncomfortable and very tight.  I think I just gained another 7 pounds.  And so what do I do?  Anything.  Everything.  Except sit down and be still.  Be quiet.  Listen to the smallest, scariest part of my heart that hasn't been heard from since I got my first Walkman.  We drown out a lot of our worry and fear and regret with so much background noise and insist that it doesn't exist.  But it's still there.  Lurking.  And late at night when your defenses are down and your mind isn't distracted by the myriad of devices and remotes you love to lose yourself in, a fist will squeeze your heart.  A shiver wracks your body.  Your face contracts in a grimace.  And it hits you.
I'm so terrified.

There are plenty of things to be afraid of these days.  Even right in our own bathrooms.  (I'm sorry, but whatever that thing is that keeps building its nest behind my toilet has got to GO.)  But I don't want this to become a list of all those things.  I don't want to sit here and feed, inform or create one single moment of that.  (Except for that thing behind the toilet.  Seriously, what is it?)  I wanted to get it out there that I'm working on a way of actually seeing the fears for what they are.  Being honest about it.  Hopefully it makes room for some of that old hope and passion.  My wazoo got emptied out a long time ago and apparently it doesn't automatically refill.

I'm going to this semi-cloistered monastery in Big Sur today.  I'll be really quiet because they asked nicely and hopefully I'll get the chance to see some of the fears up close and personal.  It'll be like Sasquatch hunting.  But different.  I'll try and hold them close and whisper to them that I'm better these days.  I understand that the reason they appeared in the first place was because of that time before.  When I acted without thinking.  And the consequences were so much worse than I ever could've expected.  That the hurt and pain and losses I caused myself and unfortunately so many others were indeed very scary.  But being afraid to try again - being afraid to risk again - isn't the answer.

The empty space that I might create from shedding this old story seems the scariest thing of all.  Who are you if you aren't all your old stories?  Some of us have gotten very comfortable with the worst possible pictures we've painted and the idea of creating a better more beautiful one seems like a lot of work.  That will hurt.  But hopefully it's what you can do with five days of silence.  Or at least, get a very good start in prepping your canvas.

Alright.  The writers in the crowd just punched their desks in agony at all of the mixed metaphors I just deployed in that last bit.
Forgive me.  I'm excited for my trip.

Wish me luck!  I'll be sharing a shower and I don't plan on shaving my legs.  (I'm not sure how those two things fit together but I'm sure it's something that Bridget Jones would have a field day with.)  I want to come back nice and rested and possibly with a lot of souvenir love to hand out.

And maybe a new career!  Who knows - maybe I'm onto something with this whole "Wazoo Refills" thing.
Cottage industry here I come.

Next week:
How I Sold My New TLC Pilot: "Sasquatch Monks: Getting Feral With the Lord"