The body in the photo above, casually floating in space halfway down the (depending on who you ask) 20-30 foot tall cliff, is mine. Sorry, Mom and Dad. I had a point to prove to myself.

It's a tired trope, analogizing jumping off a cliff to risk-taking in general, but like most cliches, it retains its power because of the truth at its foundation. So even though I was going to write about work this week, I hope you'll forgive a brief interlude to instead discuss fear, its role in our lives, and the conquering thereof. I assure you, the banalities of the day-to-day aren't going anywhere and will be captured in short order.

A caveat: I haven't conquered fear, nor am I claiming to know the best way for you to do it. This is more of a reflection on my experience with fear and my own best practices for steadily chipping away at its grip on my life.

The myth of fearlessness

By way of background, I am NOT by any means a fearless person. I am gripped by crippling anxiety every time I have to call someone on the phone. I lost a considerable amount of sleep last night over a small spider perambulating one of my bookshelves. My first attempt at jumping off the above cliff resulted in my taking two steps toward the precipice and actually DUCKING INTO A CROUCH at its edge. You get the picture.

A certain amount of fear is healthy. Fear tells us we might be in danger, and turns into hyperdrive all of our senses and reaction mechanisms in case we have to make a run for it or fight for our lives. We are naturally afraid of heights because, in reality, jumping from them can pretty easily smush us.

Too much fear, however, and we become helpless bunnies scampering from one tree to the next, hoping for some cover from the onslaught of a cruel world out to get us.

So how to conquer fear? Given its fundamental role in securing our safety, I don't think fearlessness is the right goal (where I come from, we call that sort of behavior "acting a fool"). Instead, consider treating a healthy relationship with fear like a practice, taking controlled, regular steps to engage with fear and reflect on the experience.

Do one thing a day that scares you

I know. It's another cliche. But as a perpetually terrified person, I actually try to follow this advice. Not dogmatically (I'm not going around trying to find trouble if I'm spending the day watching TV on the couch), but it's something I consciously aim to notice and work with on a regular basis. If there's someone I'm intimidated to approach, a dark and cobwebby hole I'm scared to stick my hand in to get a thing I need, a risk I am scared to take, I pause. I take stock. I go through a series of questions to assess whether I'm letting the fear take over, and whether I'm okay with that.

These are the questions I ask before I leap:

What am I afraid of? This doesn't always have a rational answer, but when it does, and that answer is that it's a sensible thing to be afraid of (yeah, let's NOT walk into that bonfire because we might die), sometimes the next step is just to decide not to do the thing. And that is absolutely okay. And if it's less obvious or I decide it's a lame reason to be afraid (e.g. EVERYONE WILL LAUGH AT ME), move onto:
What are the consequences of not leaping? If you're going to be saddled with weeks or months or a lifetime of regret over having passed up this opportunity, then sometimes even when the fear is a rational one, you might have to leap anyway. My parents are pretty firm believers in this notion and, even when I came to them with some terrifically questionable life decisions, they steered me in the direction of the action NOT taken being the bigger regret. And they're right. After I dove off the above cliff, my friend went through a (painfully realistic) assessment of how long he'd have to hear my neurotic self-flagellation at mealtimes: "Oh god, do you think I should have jumped?" "Do you think I'm a wimp?" "We'll get to go back to Devil's Well so I can jump next time, right?" and so on. Spare yourself and those around you these questions and just do the damn thing.
Who has my back? Often, fear makes us forget that we have a support system -- people in our corner, rooting for us to succeed. As I stood on the cliff's edge between my first (recall, the ungraceful crouch) and second attempts, my friend in the water below shouted up at me, "I'll catch you!" This was, of course, completely nonsensical and taking her at her word would likely have maimed or killed us both. But it was the reminder I needed that my friends were here, they were cheering me on, and they would pick up the bloody bits of me should things go terribly wrong.
This last one isn't a question so much as a reminder: it's okay not to leap. It's okay not to conquer the fear every time. Like any practice, it's a process, and it does no good to beat yourself up and fall into a death spiral of despair over failure. There are always more cliffs, and more opportunities to be brave, and you don't have to ALWAYS do the brave thing to be a brave, or good, or complete person.

The remarkable thing about being human, a defining characteristic of our condition, is our ability to choose whether we act on our instinctive emotional response or not. We possess the unique muscle of discernment that allows us to decide: do we give in to our fear and respond accordingly, or do we flex the muscle, say "fuck it" and leap? Like any muscle, though, it atrophies from disuse. With enough lethargy, we can become paralyzed -- locked in a state of being totally driven by our anxieties -- and that paralysis is antithetical to growth, which by its very nature requires some amount of discomfort and venturing into unknown territories. So I say practice being scared, embrace it as an opportunity to show up.

But whether you leap or don't leap, know that I've always got your back.