Once Upon a Fear and Some Worries

Once upon a time there was a girl who was afraid of many things and worried about most things. She was afraid that starting a story off with “once upon a time” was too cliché, but she proceeded anyways. She was worried that she would never pursue her passion for writing, or that she would start some silly story that would just fall on its face and never become anything great. She was worried that she wouldn’t be able to express her emotions or that she would be so overwhelmed with them that she would not be able to set pen to paper and describe a few, since it was impossible to write about more than a few but also impossible to pick out only a few to write about, since they always seemed to meld together. She was scared that what with all of her worries, people would think she had an anxiety problem, but really, she was just a girl, and she just really wanted to write, and this is what she really wanted to write about at the time, and so she proceeded, despite her fears and worries about doing so.

She was worried and scared about some silly things, but then again she wasn’t sure if they really were so silly, and indeed they did bother her quite a bit, and she worried about the ways she reprimanded herself for being silly when she knew that she had valid worries. Or, at least the worries seemed valid to her. And then she worried that if they were only valid to her perhaps they weren’t valid at all. But in the end, the “silly” things were too much to keep inside, and so she wrote on.

She worried about beauty a lot. She worried about whether music was more beautiful than life and that’s why people created it, or if people saw the beauty of life and that inspired them to create music, or was it both? And if it was both, is that possible? And she just didn’t know. She wondered if people lost themselves in things like music to escape the present realities, or if they used music to enhance their present situation, or both? She also considered the possibility that there were alternatives that she hadn’t thought of, but had to proceed based on what she could think of herself. She wondered if music really had transcendent and transformative qualities. For her, she really believed that it did, but wondered, did it really? Whatsmore, she worried about needing music to make the world sparkle and come alive to her. She worried about the power it had to turn a dull moment into one of entertainment, a moment of grey into a moment of color. She wondered if music was the aggregate contribution of the human race trying to escape their present situation or their way of making it significant or their way of creating beauty-combining notes and chords and fifths and sevenths just for the sheer melodious pleasure it afforded. What she really worried about, however, was that music was more beautiful than the world and life. And she realized that she was being repetitive, but she didn’t much care. She didn’t think she was really “silly” for wondering these things, but saw that they were important to her and so that they were important in general. Not to say that she would impose the importance she placed on those things onto others and expect them to find them important as well, but rather, just that they were actually important. And if anyone was upset about this she felt very badly but would hope that people would stop reading her work if it was upsetting them, because she really didn’t want to make people upset. Perhaps she wanted people to think about things, and perhaps she was hoping that they would give her some answers, but in the end, it was just her, alone, sitting on her couch writing, and she decided she must press on alone, without the help of others.

She was scared that people were no longer truly experiencing the world. She saw how the mass media preyed upon the inhabitants of America. She didn’t like it. Not one little bit. And this worried her. She saw advertisements for companies like American Eagle, where the models cast flirty and mischievous glances at those around them as they ran through lovely green forests. She thought it ironic that these models looked like they were truly living, truly enjoying each other and nature and having a good time. But then she remembered-these models were just acting happy in a fake forest posing for a camera so they could get money and then go to stores and buy things and see more pictures of people looking like they were living but weren’t really. What a vicious cycle. She was disgusted by the way these advertisements lured people into stores-the place usually least close to providing people with a fulfilling existence! And mind you, this is just what she thought, she knew that others found fulfillment (but perhaps she didn’t know that they found fulfillment but more likely thought that they thought they found fulfillment) in these shopping extravaganzas. And then she got mad at the way the advertisements worked on her. As she flipped through the glossy pages of Seventeen and saw loads of people who looked like they were living, she enjoyed a sickening sense of false happiness and peace. These advertisements made her feel like she was alive too because she would see the models and proclaim “Yes! I want to do that too! I will live too if I gaze at these pictures and feel and imagine myself to be running through that lovely glade as well!” Now, she had sense enough to know that she didn’t need those silly products (and this time she was really happy with using the word silly) to get her these experiences. What she did realize, however, was that watching people fake live in a magazine was about the furthest from living that she could get, and she found herself sitting alone at her kitchen table flipping through glossy pages that were no longer as inviting as they had once been.

She wondered, and of course worried, about how people could have genuine experiences anymore. The ones in the magazines and movies looked like so much fun, but she wondered, are they possible? She was scared to lose herself in things like books and movies, because they weren’t real, but what was? Would life be utter boredom if we couldn’t watch movies and read books and buy things and gaze at enticing advertisements? She was scared that it would be. In short, she was worried that things like music, books, advertisements, etc, made the world seem like a more magnificent place than it actually was.

She knew people said things like “Oh, those things only happen in movies.” And that made her mad, mad at the movie-makers. Damnit, she thought, why do you guys keep making things that look like such wonderful experiences but are untenable. That’s just great, show us something to want and long for with no possible way of getting it. And again, she thought about the people in the movies and how they looked like they were living and they were never bored and they lived and loved and laughed a whole heck of a lot. And they felt. My how they felt everything. And sometimes she was envious. And thought things like why can’t I have those experiences. But then she considered some alternatives. Perhaps she didn’t want to live a story from one of her favorite movies, because maybe real life that went on for more than an hour or two was more fulfilling than a fake story. And because perhaps life was more beautiful because it was really happening and she could control to an extent the experiences she would have. But then again, what was a true experience. If everyone was so caught up in just watching the fake experiences of others in movies, music, books, advertisements, etcetera, how was she supposed to have true experiences. Now she knew that some of these “fake” experiences weren’t fake and that they really had happened to people or that certain people really had truly felt things that led them to create music, books, etc, and this lead her to her next thought. She really thought that humans were mainly relational creatures, like their lives didn’t derive significance unless their lives were surrounded in or even put into the context of others. But if most people were fake living and she was trying to true live, what should she do? Should she go off into a corner, become a Chris McCandless? The options didn’t seem favorable. And then she wondered if perhaps life was more of a balance. If it was ok to watch and observe some of the time and enjoy the work of others, but then at other times more important to create things of her own.

She new it was good to question the world, even though it wasn’t always easy. And she noticed as she continued telling her story that her worries and fears had gave way to a degree of wonder. And frankly, those worries and fears were still there, but she was quite tired of worrying about them and being afraid of them. So she decided to give things a rest. To give the world another shot. Because hey, it was what she had, and she was going to work with what she had.