I just dropped my four children off at summer camp. As I walked out of the auditorium, a chilling thought made me stop: What if a gunman enters and harms them? I envisioned my youngest, just four years old, crying for me as danger approached. I replayed the morning’s conversation with my oldest, who hesitated about going, and I couldn’t help but think: Did she sense something? Why didn’t I heed her feelings?
Sitting in the parking lot, I couldn’t hold back the tears, overwhelmed by the vibrant colors of the camp’s flags which seemed to mock my fears. It’s too much to bear. I envy my children, who remain blissfully unaware of the horrors that lurk beyond their innocent worldview. In their reality, good triumphs over evil, and everything is sorted out like a simple game. Yet, I know their sheltered existence will inevitably collide with the harsh truths of life: Bad things happen. Terrible events occur. And the belief that we have control is just a comforting illusion.
Despite this, I refuse to let fear dictate my life. Do I really want to scrutinize every decision through the lens of potential danger? Should I analyze if a restaurant is a target for violence or consider staying in rather than going out with my family? Since the Colorado theater shooting, I’ve only managed to watch one movie; throughout the entire experience, I was on high alert, consumed by anxiety, completely disconnected from the enjoyment of the moment. It’s shameful to admit that I don’t even remember the film or the meal we had. My mind was clouded with dread.
This is exactly what those who wreak havoc desire—seeing fear reflected in our eyes. Even though I wasn’t in that Orlando nightclub during the tragic event, the relentless coverage keeps the horror alive in my mind. I dread logging into social media, where I might unwittingly encounter footage of a victim’s final moments, my heart breaking for their families. I find myself searching the internet for explanations, trying to make sense of the senselessness, even though I know it’s a futile endeavor.
We’ve all heard that famous Mr. Rogers quote about finding the helpers in times of trouble. The truth is, this notion terrifies me. It requires us to look away from the perpetrators, and I’m just not ready for that, Fred. I’m still engulfed in fear, anger, and profound sadness.
I cannot control what has unfolded in Orlando or elsewhere, but I face a choice: Will I succumb to despair, or will I actively seek out the helpers? Will I remain paralyzed by my fears, or will I bravely engage in everyday activities, like going to Target or watching movies? Will I embrace life, pointing out the playful dog in the car next to us, or will I let suspicion cloud my judgment? Will I set up a tent in the backyard for my kids to stargaze, or will I forgo that joy out of fear of the unknown? No. I refuse to let the darkness overshadow the beauty of the stars.
The next day, we might go to a movie, despite my apprehension. I’ll guide my children up to the ticket counter, encouraging my shy eleven-year-old to face her fears. As I praise her bravery, we’ll enter that theater, even though my mind races with reasons to stay home. I’ll pass on the wisdom of choosing the perfect movie seat, a cherished tradition, counting rows and chairs until we find the ideal spot. Yes, it could be a target for a shooter, but more importantly, it’s the best place for a memorable movie experience. We’ll settle into those seats, focusing on the joy of the moment, and I’ll feel a shaky sigh of relief as I share popcorn, grateful we didn’t let fear dictate our choices.
This article was originally published on June 20, 2016.
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Summary
This article reflects on the pervasive fear stemming from tragic events and the struggle to maintain a sense of normalcy. It emphasizes the importance of confronting fears, living fully, and finding joy in everyday experiences, despite the unsettling realities of the world.