It’s said that there are only two core emotions in this world: love and fear. We oscillate between the two as we move through our lifespans.
They’re binary opposites—yet one cannot truly exist without an understanding of the other.
So, what do you fear?
Fear implies loss—loss of what matters to you:
• Freedom
• Possessions
• People
• Life
The list isn’t finite. The more meaning we attach to something—or someone—the greater our fear of losing it.
And with loss comes grief. Sometimes even the idea of loss is enough to trigger it. There are five commonly acknowledged stages of grief, but the journey isn’t linear. Each sentient creature experiences it in its own unique, tangled way.
But what if we leaned into our fear? Saw it fully—face-on—instead of turning away like a small child, hoping it will disappear?
Today, I turned toward a fear.
The fear of the limbo I’ve been stuck in.
My friend had died.
But while she was alive… she lived.
She created gob smacking art. She played with horses. She loved and was loved fiercely by her family and friends. She was not done!
She LIVED.
That’s what I’m afraid of. I’m not dead. But I haven’t been living.
I’ve been afraid. And when I turned toward that fear, it asked me:
“What do you have to lose?”
The answer?
Time.
Connection.
Mistakes.
Laughter.
I was losing life—not because I have a brain tumour, but because I was afraid to feel.
And that… is an appalling waste.
This afternoon, my sister and I walked the dogs through a cut wheat field.
Storm clouds galloped across the hills of Wales, throwing rain onto the land. Swallows glided low. The wind came first—sharp and sudden—and we laughed as we made the foolish, perfect decision to take the long way home.
The wind pushed at our backs, and the cold drops stung our bare arms. I thought of the horses—how they always turn their backs to the oncoming weather.
And in that moment…
I felt alive.