MY BIGGEST FEAR
four writerssharethething that makes
them quiverintheirboots.
By
Caro
Cooper
Tell me your biggest fear. The
request from frankie’s editor came
like a threat. Little did she know
her simple, if somewhat unsettling
request had thrown me right
into my biggest fear: choosing.
I listed what I consider to be my
top-tier fears: irrelevance – ending
up just another cog in this cycle of
Earth’s life. Being trapped – in the
wrong relationship, job, life, path,
lunch. And finally, making the
wrong choice, from the small to the
big decisions. Looking at the list,
it became apparent the first two
were just examples of the last. It’s
all about making the wrong choice.
It’s probably no surprise that this
is my biggest fear – I’m a white,
middle-class Australian woman
with an education and the luxury
of choice. Too much choice. For
those with less than me, my fear
might seem like the ultimate
gift. I’m spoilt and I acknowledge
that, but that perspective
doesn’t ease my decision-making
meltdowns when every choice
seems a catastrophic curse.
People speak of option paralysis;
mine is more a lurching option
convulsion. I throw myself from
yes to no,fromgotostop,reeling
aroundlikeacontemporarydancer.
Simpledecisionscantakemedays,
and arefraughtwithanxious
hand-wringing.I’mpermanently
aware oftheButterflyEffectof
my minorchoices.Declinethis
invitation,neverbeinvitedagain,
die alone.It’sallconnected.I take smallchoicesoutofmylife
where Ican.Isticktoroutines
and schedules,packmylunch
and wearaself-imposeduniform
of jeans,blackt-shirtandapair
of raggedsocks.Idon’thavea
uniforminaneccentricgenius
kind ofway,clearly.It’smore
akin toaschooluniform,designed
for parentswhowouldhaveto
navigatenuclearmeltdownseach
morningifchildrenhadchoices.
Like thosekids,iffacedwith
choice Iwouldleavethehouse
in a hystericalstate,dressedin
layers ofmismatchedclothing.But it’sthebigstuffthatgets
me, too.Ispentayearfuriously
hyperventilatingwhiletrying to
decide whichunidegreetoenrol
in, becausehowcana17-year-old
who hasbarelyventuredbeyond
her suburbanQueenslandbackyard
know whatshewantstocommit to
for life?AndstillIchosepoorly,
furthersolidifyingmybeliefthat
I cannotbetrustedwithdecisions.Historyisdarkenedwithexamples
of peoplewhomadethewrong
choices–choicesthatseemedso
right atthetime.Thedoctorswho prescribed thalidomide
for morning sickness; choosing
hydrogen for the Hindenburg
airship; Napoleon’s invasion of
Russia. They all thought they were
making the right choice; they were
convinced of it, enough to risk their
jobs and the lives of others. They
might as well have tossed a coin or
used Eeny, Meeny, Miny, Moe. Their
company does not reassure me.All my fears – probably all of our
collective fears – are at their core a
fear of death. Of not making enough
of the time we have on this planet;
of not having a positive impact; of
not being able to somehow cling to
life in death by being remembered.
To give up on this hope of eternal
life and enjoy the freedom of
not caring – imagine that? Yes,
suffering is real and the days
feel long, but if you’re not curing
disease or saving the environment,
why not just abandon clinging to
careers and goals, clothes and toxic
relationships, hard work and the
hope of being remembered when
you’re dust? (Don’t look at me for
answers, I’m just spit-balling here.)There are two ways I could look
at my fear of making the wrong
choice. I could see it as a sign
of hope: that I have things to
live for that I value; that there
are things I have to lose. Or I
could see it as a weakness: a
deficiency of assertiveness, of
control and power. There’s just
one very obvious problem: I can’t
decide which one to choose.writers’ piece