A Meteoric Bad Week

Last week a meteor blasted across the skies of Russia with many a car camera catching it’s unforeseen flight.  At about the same time, people gathered in other locations with their telescopes to watch a much larger but predicted asteroid slide harmlessly past the earth. The two events were completely unrelated according to all the news reports I read or heard. But, I can’t help thinking they feel connected. Like one caused the other or made the other more likely. And they smacked of catastrophe or like we dodged catastrophe. Setting all rational science-minded wisdom aside, I say: “That’s weird. Two hunks of rock and metal swiping us in one week.”

That’s the way this past week went for me in my personal life, too.

Here is a short list of the deaths and near deaths that touched my life. Tuesday the 12th was particularly ugly.

• A three month old baby, whose struggles with genetic anomalies I have followed, passed away.
• My dear friend’s husband died after many years of living with cancer.
• Another friend’s father-in-law nearly died from a heart that stopped for reasons the doctors still do not understand.
• My mother’s cousin passed away after a long life.
• My cousin experienced public violence that touched his life on the island of Guam.

That was the week’s list. It felt heavy, dark, and like the stars were aligned to bring both death and meteors. I know. Silly superstition. I’m usually an annoying Pollyanna type. When I start to have a bad day, I can most of the time shake myself out of it by expecting something better for the rest of the day. Just not last week.

Here’s to a better week to end up my February and begin the spring.

A Shocking Fear

Two weeks ago I took a class entitled “I EAT FEAR” taught by Kristin Bair O’Keeffe as a part of her 38 Write series. After some self reflection, I chose to eat my fear of electricity. It wasn’t easy, and I didn’t triumph. But here’s what I wrote for the class:

Electric shock. I abhor electric shock. And my teenage son happened to get a god awful shocking ball as a Christmas present from relatives who know him well. He loves it. The sight of it makes my stomach lurch.

I called my son who is at his dad’s house for the weekend and asked him where to find the electric ball in the wasteland of his room. It’s the size of a baseball, and deep inside it’s the color of a blue ocean with yellow writing shouting ‘warning’ with illustrations of bolts of electricity. 18 dime sized metal pieces lay around the ball over clear plastic. When I look through the blue interior, I see a nest of electric wires connecting the metal pieces.

My teen told me I needed to use a pen to click the on switch through the center of the ball. He said it would shock in 5 seconds and then again every 20 seconds. My ‘conquer the fear’ plan today was to lay the toddler down for his nap, take my own nap and then shock myself with the ball.

The napping parts of my plan went smoothly. But when I picked up that ball and held the pen over the switch, my heart lurched like my stomach. Again my rational mind said it couldn’t hurt that bad. My son does it for fun. FUN. But I couldn’t get myself to push that button. Could not.

Forgive me Fear Eaters, but I’m waiting till the teen gets home. I’ll watch him enjoy the shock first. Then be brave enough to do it with him watching. This, I’m hoping will help me in two ways. First, he’s very supportive, and I know he’ll be kind in walking me through this. Second, as his mother, I’ll feel obligated to show him that I can face my fears. Mother guilt is a powerful motivator.

I wish I could do this now. It’s the blasted assignment, after all. But I am proud I even picked up the ball from my son’s room and examined it to describe it here. Baby steps.

And even though I didn’t conquer today, playing with the shocking ball makes me feel more alive. Not blissed out in a state of Zen-like peace alive. But bolts of electricity coursing through me alive.

 

Because I know you’ll ask, yes, I did zap myself with the rotten ball when my son got home to help me. I didn’t procrastinate with a nap like before. It also helped that the ball didn’t even wait the 5 seconds to keep me in suspense. As soon as Kieran handed it to me, it got me.

I believe my exact words were, “Oh! That hurt and I didn’t like it!” as I quickly handed it back to the brave pain loving boy.

But here’s the thing. The pain wasn’t as bad as the fear I’d had of it. I’ve started trying out Eleanor Roosevelt’s advice since then and tackled new heart pounding moments. It turns out that it’s fun to peck away at my fears and do what scares me. Even with stupid electric balls.

“Do one thing every day that scares you,” -Eleanor Roosevelt