I have come to the conclusion that most of the world must be completely terrified.

Yesterday, while walking on the gravel path, I came to a violent stop, seeing what I can only imagine was some sort of hybrid weasel. My heart raced, but my legs could only tremble. He gave me a solid look, then walked back into the brush. I had to get by this area to continue my walk, so I did the only logical thing — the only form of defense I learned from the age of five — to walk briskly past the imminent danger while speaking very loudly. (Because surely nothing would harm you, not robber, intruder, ghost, nor weasel, if they assumed you to be in the midst of a conversation.) 

Obviously I made it home, or I would not be typing this today. After hearing my short tale of woe, Dominique replied, “Well, he was much more frightened of you than you were of him.” Again, I didn’t believe this at 5 years of age, nor now. He sauntered easily down the hill, while I ran on tippy toes yelling out my best franglish, never hearing any random weasel chatter. Clearly, I was more afraid.

And that’s exactly what the hybrid weasel mother told my pathmate.

As with most fear, I suppose, I’m laughing about it today. A lesson I keep learning. Filling my pockets with evidence of things survived. Maybe one day these pockets will be filled, and I can walk through this world with complete confidence. Until then, I will keep pulling out what’s needed, the proof of “look, you made it through this day.” The evidence of “you survived that, certainly you can survive this.”

I will stroll today’s path. Perhaps more curious than confident, but I’ll take it. I don’t want to miss out. I’ve got things to do. Things to see. And pockets to fill!