February 8, 2023

For reasons I don’t fully understand, I’ve been relatively gripped by fear since our last correspondence yesterday. I didn’t sleep particularly well last night. I wasn’t particularly present with our family last night or this morning. And, well, the last 24 hours just haven’t been particularly enjoyable.

So why write about it? Well, that’s what’s occupying my mind; trying to write about something else would be challenging and disingenuous today. The challenge is that fears don’t emerge as fully fledged thoughts. They surface as images, which we then must piece together as best we can. So here goes my effort to process today’s fear in hope’s of capturing the needed learning, so that I can let it go and move on.

First, some background: for years (a decade? more? less? I’m honestly not sure) I’ve had a recurring nightmare about being stuck precariously at a deadly height. Curiously, the location changes (on top of a tall building, on top of a mountaintop cliff, etc). But each time I suddenly realize that I am stuck thousands of feet off the ground. I then spend all my energy clinging to what little security I have (the side of the mountain or building, for example) while I look desperately for a way down. Invariably, I see no escape, and no hope of rescue.

The worst nightmare I can remember happened a few months ago. This time I was on top of a hot air balloon, floating high above the earth. You might recall that the very top of a hot air balloon is moveable, to allow the hot air to escape as needed. So I was standing just off to the side of the top, so that the surface was tilted. There was nothing to hold so balancing was hard and seemed impossible. I was a slip or a wind gust away from falling. Suddenly, you and your brother appeared on the balloon with me. You both were scared, and relying on me to keep you safe. I knew I couldn’t keep all three of us balanced on top of that balloon, and I had absolutely no idea what to do. I felt completely and utterly powerless and out of control. Oh God, I would have done anything to secure your safety; I think it was the most scared I have been in my life.

What do I think it means? Well, for one thing, I’m afraid of death. Somehow the idea of leaving you and your brother fatherless terrifies me. I feel so lucky and grateful to have my father (your Grampa) in my life. He’s helped me discover the type of husband, father, worker, and man I want to be. I can’t imagine not being there for you and your brother as you navigate the transition into manhood and (hopefully) marriage and fatherhood.

Fear of death overwhelmed me somewhat yesterday. I suspect it’s related to quitting my job. One of the reasons for quitting was that I recognized I had been putting my health on the back-burner for several years (since we moved back to the US four years ago, really). I won’t say that I “couldn’t” both work and be healthy; I will say that I “wasn’t” being healthy. I wasn’t eating well, I wasn’t exercising, and I was gaining weight. I didn’t like where I was health wise, and I didn’t like the trajectory I was on. So I decided to quit, partly to free up lots more time for me to work out and plan and prepare healthy meals (but also, honestly, so that I could write these letters to you).

My suspicion is that, so long as I was *planning* to quit my job, I was able to avoid confronting any fears related to health and longevity by convincing myself that I would address my health when I finally left work. Now that I have quit, my hypothesis is that months worth of suppressed fears surfaced all at once, in rather overwhelming fashion.

I am on day 3 of my mini-retirement. So far I have exercised all three days. I have meditated all three days. I have eaten pretty well all three days. But the enormity of the task ahead hit me a bit: I have lots of weight to lose and lots of fitness to gain. The path will be long and arduous. Like you, I am impatient by nature: I want to be fit *now*, even though I know I haven’t put in the work.

As an amusing aside, I had a similar frustration with these correspondences today. I have so much I want to say, so much I want to convey. I want it to be done already, or at the very least I want to be much farther along than I am. I am so very tempted to put long hours into writing or exercise, neglecting other aspects of my life in order to accelerate the process of writing or getting healthier.

Because I am impatient by nature, I have to remind myself this is a journey of 1,000 steps. I’ve learned that the first steps are the hardest: you sense the enormity of the task ahead, but don’t perceive the progress made to date. It’s important but hugely challenging (at least for me) to redefine success: taking the daily step. I worked out today, and I wrote today. That is enough for today. I will resume tomorrow. And someday I will compile enough steps to be able to look back and say “how far we’ve come”.

But that day is not today. Today is my day to practice patience, and to chuckle knowingly at my restive nature.

I love you,

Dad

P.S. regarding the nightmares.

In fact, I prayed to God with you and your brother up on that hot air balloon, in my dream. A messenger floated up and held a mirror in front of my face. I’m still not entirely sure what that meant. My interpretation was that God was saying “you got yourself into this mess”. My coach’s interpretation was that God was saying “you have all the tools you need”. Perhaps our interpretations are not so different.

Yesterday I had the nightmare again. This time I was walking a plank suspended in the air (or perhaps it was attached to a very tall building). Only this time I became aware in time to stop walking, but instead I willingly stepped off the plank. As I floated toward the earth I was overwhelmed with fear, but accepted that there was nothing I could do but live with the fear. I was overwhelmed with sadness (at the thought that my life was ending), but also with gratitude. More than anything I felt a profound awareness of all the love and beauty in my life and in the world. In that moment I realized that I felt fully alive.

And perhaps that points to the other learning from my nightmares: not only am I afraid of dying, I am also afraid of living life fully.