What's your biggest fear?

and asking the right questions

OK, so I’m afraid of water. Can’t swim, never have liked water in my eyes and ears and up my nose. Whether that’s in the shower or the pool. I think it’s a fear inherited from my mother, who couldn’t swim, didn’t like the ocean, and sat on the beach while my father, a champion swimmer for his county, tried to teach me to swim. I was terrified as he held me in the water on my back, gradually letting his hand slip away from me - whereupon I always sank. I even sat on the bottom in the shallows of the Dead Sea, where I truly hoped to float. I have an alacrity in sinking.

Actually, I love water - when I’m walking by it, along its edge, overlooking it; in all weathers, as long as I’m appropriately dressed. It’s one of my happy places, somewhere my spirit soars.

As long as I’m not on it - the Channel Tunnel is just wonderful - or in it.

walking the south west coastal path in Cornwall with my fully loaded backpack

But that’s nothing compared to the fear instilled into me by my mother, all those years of living at home: ‘what WILL people think if you …..?’

Fear of other people’s perceptions. Whether it’s what I wear, what I do, how I look, how I speak (never mind what I’m actually saying), where I go or who I meet. What WILL people think of you?

And that fear, so deeply instilled into me, has kept me inside my birdcage, fearful to fly out, fearful to be myself. I’m stuck on my perch, just in case people shouldn’t think well of me for letting my spirit soar.

I long to tell my younger self:

We would worry less about what others think of us if we realise how seldom they do.

It’s easier to acknowledge now that I’m no longer so young (although I identify as a young person) and frankly am beginning to care less about what others should think of me. They’re probably too busy wondering what I think of THEM! Which I don’t because I’m worrying about what they think of me …….

And don’t we often secretly admire, if not envy, the free spirits who don’t seem to give a damn about what others think and are totally free to be themselves in any way they choose.

Does it matter what others think of us? If no-one was looking and no-one cared, what would you do? Who would you be?

Frankly, I think those are the wrong questions. They are what the world teaches us to ask. They prevent us concentrating on what’s really important. Because if I’m focusing on the perception others have of me, worrying about what the world thinks, limiting my living by living less free, I’ve nothing left to pour into beauty, simplicity, authenticity and what truly matters.

Too often I’ve made decisions based on dread and fear, instead of what helps my spirit soar. The fear, the worry, the perfectionism, the doubt, have all pinned me to my perch.

So now I’m giving myself the grace to grow into gorgeous me. The me God created me to be. Here’s one example: I love to wear bright colours, especially bright cobalt blue, electric blue, blues with greens. Wear navy, my mother advised, you won’t stand out; so she did, bless her. Wear navy that is. And never green with navy or blue. And not red, she insisted, nice girls don’t wear red.

my lovely mother, aged 90, on the day before the fatal car accident. Wearing navy of course.

It’s just one small example, like wearing purple with a red hat that doesn’t go. Wearing ‘my’ blue gives me great confidence, lets my spirit soar and feels far more liberating and creative.

In DC last week

It’s one very small change.

It makes a vast difference to my perfectly imperfect life. It’s a small yet significant flutter.

What small change could you make as a first flutter of your wings towards the open door of your cage?