Dear friends,
I don’t know about you, but I find that fiction provides a safe and entertaining way to see yourself in the story. And, for me, it’s also a way to escape the madness of real life. (I highly recommend.)
Halfway through the novel Middlemarch by George Eliot (for the second time!) I noticed its subtitle: A Study of Provincial Life. Maybe you don’t consider yourself provincial, but to Eliot, provinciality was both a narrow state of mind and a narrow plot of land. It’s as if Middlemarch itself is a character in the book.
I’d venture to say that most people in my narrow plot of land, this “character” called Clarkston, love it like I do. I wonder if this kind of love is why most big cities have neighborhoods that enjoy a unique identity apart from the urban giants in whose shadow they exist, and why people do both sane and insane things to protect those neighborhoods!
Love is protective, yes, but love—the kind that breathes life and joy into our lives—can be ruined by fear. I’m sure you’ve seen a mild form of provincial fear in weirdly controlling HOA rules, “no trespassing” signs on pristine lawns, and all the ugly comments about everyday shenanigans on Nextdoor (let me tell you, Nextdoor would have eviscerated the Murray boys!). And now we are seeing provincial fear on a wider scale, weaponized by the convenient label “those people”–whoever we call the people we fear will take away our liberty or our morality or our safety or our money.
Weaponized fear may generate reactive change, but I’ve yet to see it create any healthy change in our neighborhoods or in the wider world. In fact, I’d go so far as to say it creates a clear path for dictators and oppression in the end because, as George Eliot says, “the religion of personal fear remains nearly at the level of the savage.”
And so, friends, I suggest we figure out a way to jettison our fear. I’m not talking about adopting an unrealistic, naïve take on frightening news. Rather, I’m reminding us all that when we base our beliefs, words, and actions on fear, we are giving our fear god-like power even as we are helping to perpetuate savagery. May it never be so. My next sentence was going to be: The fear of a life predicated upon fear makes me scared to death of it. Gosh, that’s nonsense.
Or is it?
Twenty years ago, my husband lost his job for the first and only time. It was a hurtful season, and I struggled to take the high road with him. Then I went to a wedding shower where I sat next to a woman who talked, unprompted, in great detail about her husband’s job loss with obvious bitterness and an even more obvious determination to stay angry. I asked when it happened, and she said, “Eight years ago.”
Eight long years of bitterness about our own situation stretched out before me in my imagination, and so I began to earnestly pray that I could shed my own fresh bitterness. When I read the conversations and inner thoughts of the notably fearful people in Middlemarch, I’m filled with a similar resolve.
People, both the real and the fictitious, can be mirrors in that way. And mirrors help us see our lopsided lipstick, the broccoli in our teeth, or our uneven buttons so we can right ourselves.
Bottom line: My reason not to fear is rooted in self-knowledge, in an awareness that fear all too easily edges out love. And love, I think you agree, is worth fighting to maintain.
Fearlessly (for the most part) yours,
Kitti
P.S. – I’d be so grateful if you would consider forwarding any of these emails that you find meaningful to friends!
P.S.S. – If you wrote in to take issue with last week’s email, I’ll get back to you! Thanks for the respectful comments. For now, just know I’m not at all against the orange whistles! Just wanted to go deeper, and please know I am aware that there are plenty of whistleblowers who act lovingly in many other ways.
