This morning, we went to the Department of Motor Vehicles (DMV) to register our new RV. Everything went fine, but I have to say that government offices freak me out. You wouldn’t know it to look at me, but I am a bit of a wreck sitting and waiting for my number to be called.
On the day I turned 16, my mom took me to the DMV in White Plains, NY so that I could get my Learner’s Permit. From that day forward, I experienced what I now know to be a fear of authority. It has come up at some jobs and with high school teachers and college professors. It’s always the same – a part of me feels like a little kid who has been sent to the principal’s office.
Ironically, it doesn’t matter that I am 63 years old, a white male, 6’ 3” tall and 250 lbs with years of experience as a performer, leader and educator. It doesn’t matter that I know there is nothing logically fearsome about the DMV or their employees. Still, as I stand at the counter, my hand shakes and I stop breathing while waiting to see if this polite woman will yell at me for missing a document or actually give me the registration for our vehicle.
Fear is not logical. We know monsters aren’t real, but who likes going down a flight of dark stairs or walking alone down an empty street at 2am?
When I’m inclined to take a risk, I can use my tools to get through most any situation. I could probably jump out of an airplane with the right amount of preparation and support. In my career, I have dealt with just about every embarrassing or difficult thing that can happen onstage in front of people including forgetting my lines, having the PA stop working or falling on my butt and knocking over a set piece.
Still, I fear that someone who has the power to reject me might do so. I hate that it bothers me, but I am learning to accept that it’s an old, childhood trauma that I can manage, but not erase.
Perhaps I can be more understanding and empathetic with the person who has their own worst fear? It might not seem like a big deal to me, but that does not mean it doesn’t freak them out.
And maybe, just maybe, when the Chicken Little part of my brain starts fearing the worst, I can look up and say, “That sky is beautiful,” and leave it at that.
