It’s just as thrilling the second time you get a bike for Christmas.
My
new (pre-loved) motor scooter was outside the window when I woke up. It
had been decades since I got a new bike (a bicycle back then) and I
felt the same rush of excitement.
It
was raining. I tiptoed outside in my bare feet, took a seat and
gingerly hit the starter button. As the bike lurched forward, I
accidentally accelerated, falling over and bruising my leg. My daughters
laughed, not unkindly, but there was a subtext: aren’t you a bit old for this?
For a few days after that I stared at the scooter through the window as the thoughts ramped up:
- It’s too heavy for me.
- I won’t be able to handle it.
- This is a very windy city.
- I should have test-driven it first.
- I got hurt. What if it happens again?
Fear. It had me by the throat.
As
a psychologist I knew it, I almost smiled each time a new negative
thought came in. But it was a smile through gritted teeth. What worried
me more than the negative thinking was that age was beginning to bite.
I’d
had a motorbike when I was younger and, even though I’d come off a
couple of times, I was never afraid of it. I loved it; I loved the
freedom, the crisp air, the songs I sang loudly to myself under my
helmet.
I’d
always tried to be a fearless person, throwing myself off bungy
bridges, trying new (sometimes stupid) things, not taking the expected
path. It made me feel like that old cliche, like I was living life to
the full.
But
now? The scooter had given me a jolt. I’d seen too often in clients
what happens to people as they feel the pinch of age. Instead of seeking
and grabbing new opportunities, they’d back off, lose confidence, play
it safe.
I’d
heard the line “At my age, I can’t…..” too many times to count. And
often from people who were still in their 40s. I didn’t want that to
happen to me, and yet here I was scared of a scooter.
It
was time for some therapy. I know the treatments for anxiety but I knew
that meditating and box breathing weren’t going to do anything for this
one. So I sat myself down on my own couch for a little chat. It was a
one-liner that went like this: “Feel the fear but don’t be a baby with it.”
Then I wrote myself, in my head admittedly, a four-point plan.
1. Notice the fear.
Notice,
acknowledge, but don’t fight. We’re all afraid of something; fear is a
bunch of thoughts that we’ve grabbed onto and are giving far too much
attention. Sit with the thoughts for a while and you’ll realise thoughts
on their own are harmless. They’ll only strike out if you hand them the
power.
2. Strike a deal.
Remind
yourself of the importance of walking towards the fear. Especially if
there is another player in the game — in my case, age. Fear is always up
for the game and will be thrilled if you back off, avoid or hunker down
to whatever the challenge is. Because it has won.
3. Do one small thing.
If
you’re scared of flying, book on a fear of flying course. Go to the
airport. Learn breathing techniques or coping tools. Ditto for any other
fear. If you’re scared of motor scooters put on your helmet and go sit
in the lounge. No-one has to see you do this. The point is, step
forward — not back.
4. See the big picture.
This is the biggest because it gives you some perspective. Ask yourself what kind of life you want to live.
If you genuinely don’t want to fly anywhere, ever, or speak in
public — and you can live with that, fine. But if you say no to
something you might enjoy or might help you make progress or do good
things in the world, that’s wrong. It’s still your choice though.
Remember,
fear wants to make your life smaller, when our aim, as long as we can
breathe, should be to supersize it, in whatever ways we can.
I
ride the scooter most days now. The smile beneath the helmet is
genuine. The songs are still loud. My daughters will NEVER ride on the
back.
But I’ve got this. It’s not about the bike. But you already knew that didn’t you?
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