Fearless?

Fearless. It's a word we hear a lot. Used to describe innovators, athletes, titans of industry. Fearless. A word waved around like a badge of pride. Fearless. A word that at some point we all secretly hope to embody.

Fearless. It's a word very familiar in my world, often used in reference to our daughter. Our 11-year-old is a competitive ninja (as in "American Ninja Warrior"), and as people watch her feats of strength and daring as she literally flies through the air, that's the word they use to describe her. It's the word that I too have used to describe her. 

But what most people don't see in the videos is the very real and sometimes paralyzing fear that Gabby experiences. They don't see the almost cartoon-like widening of her eyes when a new, scary obstacle is introduced. They don't see the tears form in the corners of those same eyes as her brain becomes flooded with scary worst-case scenarios. They don't see her glance back at me and shake her head "no" in terror as she vetoes a new obstacle before she even tries it. They don't see her dejection at having given up on an obstacle out of fear, running into my arms devastated, crying "I didn't even try!" They don't hear her covet what she perceives as the fearlessness of her friends. 

But here's the thing: Fearless doesn't exist. There is no such thing as being completely without fear. We all have fear. Our fear actually protects us. It helps keep us out of danger.  At the same time, it can also stop us from taking chances, moving forward, achieving our goals. The aim is not to be without fear; our aim is to manage our fear. Courage is not the absence of fear; it is having fear, and doing it anyway.

This video shows a particularly scary moment for Gabby. From the minute the opposing team's coach introduced this obstacle, Gabby's tears started flowing. She looked at me with that familiar terror, shaking her head. "I'm not doing it" she mouthed. Her coach had to take her aside and talk her through it. Each team is given eight minutes to practice the obstacles before the competition and I whispered to another mom, "there's no way she's trying that obstacle."  Not my proudest moment; but I had seen this happen again and again. I've watched Gabby become overwhelmed and overcome by fear. And then something amazing happened. 

Gabby, through all of her fear, her anxiety, her terror, climbed the poles up to the top of the rafters. She reached her foot across the rafter, over ten feet of air beneath her feet, legs quivering and tears in her eyes. What the video doesn't show is the full minute she stood there, crying and shaking, in full amygdala hijack. "Flight or freeze!" her brain demanded. But this time, she didn't allow her fear to dictate her next move. This time, she took a big, deep breath, leaned back, and let go. She let go of the apprehension. She let go of the voice inside her head telling her she couldn't do it. She let go of the fear; and she flew. 

The entire gym burst into applause and cheers. We were all on that journey with her. And maybe in that moment, we all considered our own fears that have held us back. The fears that have frozen us in place, that have stopped us from achieving new heights, that have caused us to quit before even trying. We all took that big breath with her, and when she jumped off the rafters and took that leap, we considered what our own leap would look like, would feel like. What heights and distances could we reach if we only took a deep breath and let go? Gabby showed us what courage can look like, and where it can take us. 

So now when people watch Gabby and awe at her fearlessness, I correct them. She's not fearless; she's courageous. She has fear; but she pushes through it, no matter how painful. She has fear, but she has worked hard to manage it. She has fear, and sometimes she succumbs to it. And that's okay too. Because as she's always saying to me, it's about progress, not perfection. 

"What if I fall?" she's always asking me. And so often I respond with the quote by poet Erin Hanson, "Oh but my darling, what if you fly?" Falling, like failing, is inevitable. We all fail. We all fall. And every so often, we can fly. But flying takes courage; and courage takes fear.