Fear

A Familiar Stranger

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Fear’s been my shadow for as long as I can remember. It knows me too well, like a friend who’s overstayed their welcome but won’t leave.

I used to think I’ll outgrow it. My dad was fearless — or seemed that way — fixing broken things and staring down life like it owed him something. I’d watch him and feel like I was failing, like fear was a flaw I’d sand off someday.

But the older I get, the more I see it’s not that simple. Fear doesn’t just vanish; it changes shape, gets sneakier. It’s not the dark or falling off stairs I’m afraid of anymore — it’s the choices I might get wrong, the time I might waste, and the hypothetical versions of me I’ll never become.

Some days, the fear of losing someone close overwhelms me. It’s so real sometimes, I can feel it coming. Most times, it’s not even rational, just this sudden, suffocating dread. I guess fear doesn’t care about logic. It just stares long at you and says, “You’re alive, and that means you’ve got something to lose.” And it’s right — I do.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about that a lot — how fear might point to what matters. I’m terrified of failing the people who count on me, and that tells me how much they mean. I’m scared of putting…