When you don’t face what you know is there, it haunts you.
That’s what happened to me this morning. While getting on my bike to go the gym, I saw a large dead possum on the road.
At the gym, I forgot about it but riding back, I realized that I’d need to pass in front of the animal to access the gate. A knot formed in my stomach until, turning the corner, I noticed the road was clear. I breathed, grateful for whoever spared me the sight by removing the dead body.
But when I reached the gate, there it was: someone had taken it from the center of the road to a patch of grass three feet from the entrance to my building.
After catching an unwanted glimpse of the pinkish long tail and the thin claws, I turned my eyes away. But even as I walked to the stairs, that dirty fur and pointed muzzle scared me.
So much so, that when I later needed to go to the store, I plotted how to avoid the sight again. I could make a left instead of a right––even if that meant walking a whole extra block––, close my eyes as I passed by it, or fix my gaze straight ahead.
In effect, I was constraining my life by giving oversized power to my disgust.
Realizing the stupidity of my behavior and baselessness of my fear, I walked by the possum and glanced at it on my way to the store. It wasn’t a pretty sight, but it was harmless. Its head was bent, almost humbly. How could that poor being scare me? Instead, I felt I had to honor it. Something in my chest relaxed open.
By refusing to look at the lifeless body on the grass, I’d made up a threat. I bought into the fear and limited my freedom.
But when I faced the reality, I saw it was powerless.
What will you dare to see to shatter one more barrier to your freedom?
Love,
Carolina
Carolina Perez Sanz 