From the definition you gave, I copied the following and pasted it into my letter (giving proper credit of course): “The world seems threatening to cowards. They seek the false security of a life void of great challenges….and in the end erect the bars of their own prisons.” The words fit perfectly. They imbued precisely the seed of truth that I was attempting to convey. But, in the process of cutting and pasting the quote, something else happened that I did not expect. I caught a glimpse of my own face, as if reflected in a mirror: “Coward!” shouted the reflection that shouted back at me from the words printed on the page.

You see - that definition of “coward” fits perfectly a certain aspect of my life, a certain internal conflict that never has been resolved. For many years I have dreamed of leaving my country (the U.S.) and going to live elsewhere in the world, even eventually giving up my citizenship if necessary and taking on the nationality of a new home. Mexico, Brasil, Europe (Italy, England, elsewhere in Europe) - all of these were possibilities on my list at different points. When I was in my early 20’s I even contemplated emigrating to Australia, which I would not do now, but at the time seemed incredibly alluring.

I lived for a year in Mexico, and could have tried to stay, I suppose. In Italy, as well, I lived and worked for a year, and probably - had I been determined enough - could have found some way to extend that stay indefinitely. I was once married to a Brazilian; I could have moved to Brasil. But, I just kept waiting to make that move, that decisive break with my homeland, thinking that someday the perfect situation would present itself - that I would find the perfect place and the perfect circumstances to guarantee an easy and smooth transition. Well, of course, that never occurred. Then something else happened - I had my daughter.

I don’t know what it is about parenthood, but, especially with women, I really think some chemical change occurs in the brain which renders us much more cautious and careful, seeing potential danger around every corner after we have children. Parenthood, in this sense, is almost like some sort of debilitating and irreversible disease: one day your a normal person, the next day (or should I say, nine months later) you are certain that the Grim Reaper, in some form, is waiting just around the next bend. You’re suddenly terrified to attempt the things you used to do without a second thought.

Example: I used to cycle. And I don’t mean just a little Sunday ride now and then. I cycled for many years, mountain biking, and when I lived in Italy, even competed a bit. At the peak of my training, I was averaging 300 miles per week in the saddle. Basically all I did was cycle, eat like crazy, and slept. Among many other more minor accidents, I once, in Mexico, came around a bend in the road, hit a herd of goats, and slid off the side of a mountain, puncturing a hole in my kneecap. Twice, I was hit by automobiles. Once, shattering my left wrist, which had to be rebuilt from other bits of metal and bone. The second time, breaking my right wrist, and fracturing three ribs. None of this fazed me in the slightest bit - I still continued to ride. I even rode one handed, with my other arm in a cast. When I got pregnant, I slowed down just a bit, took corners a bit more carefully, but that was all. I continued to ride, up until I was seven months pregnant, until my belly, sticking out like a balloon, started to get in my way and hamper my ability to bend forward and reach the handlebars properly.

I couldn’t wait till my daughter was born, so that I could get back to the love of my life - cycling. So, as soon as she was a few weeks old and the mid-wife gave me medical clearance to begin cycling again, I left my daughter with the nanny, got my bike out of the closet and hit the road. But, as soon as my backside hit the saddle, I realized that something was different, very different. I was terrified!!! I could not get the thought out of my mind, “What if I get hit by a car…? What if I die…? Who will take care of my daughter?” Well, of course, the answer is God, the Divine, the Universe would take care of my daughter. Who takes care of the lilies of the field and all that, I reminded myself. But that sort of logic somehow fell short. It suddenly had no meaning for me. It just didn’t work. I was terrified of dying, and that was that.

A similar change occurred in my thinking in terms of that all-too-long-awaited move to another country. Suddenly, though the allure was still there - especially at the thought of Europe, where the quality of life excels by a thousand times that which we know in the U.S. - I could see nothing but hardship and trial and potential misery awaiting us at the end of our journey. And it’s really the thought of the unknown that does it: I think, “How will I learn a new language at my age (unless we move to Italy or England)? How will I find a good school for my daughter? Who (again, especially in Europe, where age discrimination seems so prevalent) would hire me at my age? Where would I find a job - doing what? And medical care? What if my daughter got sick? Where would I find a doctor if we aren’t EU citizens? And where will we live - will I find a place that I can afford?” And on and on…. These are things that I never would have even considered before becoming a parent. I would have just gone - just bought my plane ticket and let the rest take care of itself, or least not worried about it in advance, just dealt with the challenges as they arose. Considering it in the way that I do now - as though I have to have all the answers to all the questions, have all the solutions before I set out - it truly is an overwhelming undertaking. Even though, almost more than anything else in the world, I want to give both my daughter and myself a better quality of life than we will ever know here, the aspiration of moving to a new country, seems nearly impossible.

Which brings me back to that same quote: “The world seems threatening to cowards. They seek the false security of a life void of great challenges….and in the end erect the bars of their own prisons.” Here I have a large house - free of charge. Here I have twenty-five acres of wooded land - paid for. Here, in this tiny village nearby, the pace of life is slow, expectations of achievement (especially for women) are few. My family’s one expectation of me, their one hope for me - not that I write the book I have dreamed of writing, not even that find a great career in teaching or some other profession, but just that I mary, in my aunt’s words, “find a good man.”

In other words, life here is safe, and simple, and easy, predominantly free of any externally imposed challenges. Here is not the thrill and the terror of learning a new language. Here is not the excitement and uncertainty of exploring an unknown city. Here is not the exaltation and risk of creating a life anew, from scratch. So, I see that in seeking the false security of a life void of great challenges, I have, in the end, erected the bars of my own prison, and possibly also my daughter’s. Except that this is not the end of the story - not yet!

Thank you so much, Paulo, for this blog and your words which so often bring wisdom to light!

Sincerely,
Savita

It is not the sign of a coward to feel fear unless we keep telling the same stories over and over again with it, like stuck records. Instead we can use the fear to find another way, face up to anihilation and realise that we are far more than our egos and that, whilst the ego personality may die, we are infinite beings and death is merely another form of birth. We may use our fear to imprison ourselves but we all hold the key to set ourselves free.

Love and blessings

Rebecca

hugs from the sun.