Paper Tigers

Cascada de San Ramon

Isla Ometepe, Nicaragua

Fear is, too often, nothing but an apparition. It’s a ghost that takes form only when we look at it.

Its existence lies in the hands of the holder.

It is real because one believes it to be.

Long has it been since fear purposefully enacted its roll to signal mortal danger. Much of what we fear has no leg to stand on, except the stool upon which we prop it.

And, yet, it is real. We feel it in our bodies. Our panic still revs us from the inside out. It makes our senses stand on edge. Sometimes it is a terrorizing jolt that shocks our system.

Other times we feel naught but a magnetic draw to escape the deemed danger.

Our salvation lies in the uncloaking. Beyond the veil of fear is the truth: it lives because we feed it. We breathe air into its being.

It is when we look at our fears and question their subsistence that we find nothing but a limp belief in ourselves. Our logic is flawed. We’ve already survived it all. What are we fearing, really? The fallout? The whiplash? The cease of existence of someone in our life? Do we forget we’ve lived life without them before? Do we forget that life is about a thousand million endings? That the whole point is for us to grow, & that we only do so in the face of great challenges.

We mistrust our ability to move through the valleys of life, blind to the miles we’ve already traversed. We fear falling when we’ve long since picked ourselves up. 

We are caged & confined in the plight of the problem. We see only the bars closing in around us, failing to notice the key that lies nestled in our pocket.

We are trapped by our own unknowing choice. We forget our brilliance, our resiliency, & our innate power.

After all, if our fears were to actualize, if the worst were to happen, are our spirits so bleak so as to crumble? We forget that we can and will handle whatever life throws our way.

Our power is infinite. The fears are paper tigers.

Unless, of course, they’re real tigers.