Dear Fear of Choosing the Wrong Line,

It happens again at the grocery store.

I’m clutching a carton of oat milk in one hand, a bag of frozen dumplings in the other, my grip tightening as I scan the checkout lanes. To my left, an elderly woman shuffles through her purse with trembling fingers, her face tightening in frustration as she fumbles for exact change. To my right, a father wrestles a squirming toddler, his voice strained but patient as she thrashes against his chest, a box of fruit snacks clutched defiantly in her tiny hands.

My breath catches. Which one? Which line will move faster? I start to step right but hesitate—just for a second, just long enough for someone else to slide into place ahead of me. Guess the choice is made. I stay left, watching as the other line glides forward, the father and child already arriving at the exit—I haven’t even gotten to set my items on the conveyor belt.

A familiar weight settles in my chest, the bitter taste of regret pooling at the back of my throat. Another wrong choice. Another small failure. Another reminder that hesitation costs me.

And maybe, in a different life, I’d shrug this off. Maybe I’d tell myself it’s just a few extra minutes, a trivial miscalculation. But it’s not just about the line, is it?

It never is. It’s about every decision that has ever pressed itself against my ribs, every moment where I wavered just long enough for life to choose for me.

I think of college—of the nights I sat in front of two screens, one filled with logic gates and algorithms, the other with half-finished stories that ached to be written. I had once dreamed of creating worlds, of spinning constellations from ink, of giving breath to characters who could carry humanity to the stars. But I went with the safer path, the one lined with job security and predictable outcomes. Computer science made sense. It was structured, logical, clear.

But at night, when the world is quiet and my laptop hums softly in the dark, I sometimes open a blank document and wonder—wonder if I had silenced something inside me that was never meant to be quiet. Wonder if I have spent years optimizing for safety at the expense of the parts of me that made life feel electric.

I think of love—the first one, the one I stayed with too long, trying to solder together something that had already melted through my fingers. I believed love was supposed to be work, that if I just held on tight enough, it wouldn’t slip away. And then the second—the one I let go too soon, mistaking fear for wisdom, mistaking silence for strength. Sometimes, in my dreams, I hear his voice like an echo in a hollow room, feel the phantom weight of his hand in mine. And I wonder: Had I been too careful? Too measured? Too unwilling to risk the messiness of the unknown?

And the dog.

The one I always meant to bring home. I pictured him curled at my feet, warm and steady, an anchor on the loneliest nights. I told myself I just needed a little more stability, a little more time. But time didn’t wait. And when I was finally ready, my body wasn’t. An allergy I never knew I had slammed the door shut, and I was left staring at a future that could never be. I think about that version of myself sometimes—the one who didn’t hesitate, who just reached out and chose life over practicality. And I wonder if she is happier.

Regret is a heavy thing to carry. But fear is heavier.

The cashier hands me my receipt, and I step out into the cold air, tucking my chin into my coat. Across the parking lot, the father is still there, kneeling beside the open car door, his daughter bundled in pink, her tiny hands gripping his sleeve. She’s no longer fighting him. She presses her face into his jacket, soothed not by explanations or reasoning, but by presence. By the simple, unshaken certainty that he is here, that he chose to be here.

And I wish that were enough for me.

I wish I could believe that it doesn’t matter what line I pick, that life is not a sequence of optimized moves, but rather a series of moments—some beautiful, some aching, all irretrievable. I wish I could embrace the waiting, trust the slowness, surrender to the unknown without needing to solve for the best outcome.

But I’m afraid. Afraid that the minutes do matter. Afraid that the wrong choices add up, that they calcify into a life that is less than it could have been. Afraid that there is a right path, just out of reach, and I will spend my life missing it by inches.

Afraid that I will wake up one day and realize I have built a life that is safe but small. Afraid that I will look back and see the moments where I should have leapt, should have loved, should have risked, should have chosen more.
The fear does not disappear. And maybe it never will.

But today, I step forward anyway. Still calculating, still unsure, still afraid. But moving.

And maybe, for now, that’s enough.
Yours still, but trying,
Me.

Style score: 80%

“We are going on vacation.” He says to me with a look of seriousness that tells me he isn’t making the statement to appease me, for the moment, until my stress disipates and I later forget.
“We are going to Jamaica with our 2 best friends and the tickets are already purchased, so make sure you have your things packed and ready in 5 days because that’s when we fly out for our vacation.”
In the 10 years of being with my husband, he had never taken over planning anything to leave me with little to no weight on my shoulders.
A very shocking yet sweet surprise.
His genuine gesture wasn’t the only surprise. The thought of getting onto a plane became almost unbearable in my mind.
You! You’re the theif that crept into my body and took over completely.
You brought, with you, panic that set in to cause uncontrollable tears and the bouts of hyperventilation. The empty feeling that launched itself into the pit of my stomach and caused an eerie unshakeable feeling of sickness to overcome me. An overwhelming sense of dread that covered my entire body like a blanket of snow that covered my grandparents’ yard as the aftermath of a cold Missouri winter storm.
The enormous lump that, from nowhere, seemed to form in my throat…leaving me unable to swallow.
Who knew that you could completely dibilitate a person with such a quickness and seemingly cunning ease?
I do now because I had the opportunity of experiencing your “work” firsthand.
You crept in and gripped onto me as if I were a nut stuck on a bolt and you the vice used to hold me in place in order for me to be broken free.
You wasn’t letting go no matter how hard I tried to fight you away.
You won the battle that day.
You may end up winning the war…honestly.
To this day I can’t bring myself to step onto a plane. I can’t even entertain the thought of it without you peeking from around the corner. Reminding me that you are still there.
I shove you away, along with any thoughts I may have of flying, so that I don’t have to experience all that comes with you. It’s easier that way
Maybe oneday I may have the courage to face you, but until that day comes I’m perfectly fine carrying on with my life keeping you at bay… Staying away from stepping onto any aircraft to take flight.

(73% Style Score)

Dearest Absence,

My heart pounds at the mere mention of your name. I hold you near day in and day out. I see your presence in the eyes of my children and in the shadows, always lurking when he is around. Where once you were just a dream, now you are a reality. I do not fear the one who brings you, for he is but mortal man. No, it is your patient hunting of the hearts of my children that causes the shuddering of my soul. The threats of your untimely arrival are all-consuming. However, the uncertainty of what is best, to welcome you with open arms knowing my children will find refuge in your aftermath, or to hold them closer and flee your threats, is my greatest fear. Is it selfish to run from you or selfish to seize you? I honestly do not know, but, dearest Absence, we are a pair. Where I go, you go. You are always within reach. Your presence does not comfort me, however. No, instead it riles me. And that burning inferno pushes me to fight another day. And so I bid you farewell, even if for just a night while I enjoy the love saturated presence of my children.

Good Day,

A single mother

Style score 100%

Dear fear,

  Do you know anyone who blasts classical music and loves listening to it? Despite daily bullying and microaggressions, who remains committed to their cultural values and traditions? Who is indifferent to their clothing choices, aside from specific situations, and has no interest in alcohol or drugs? Me! I do not care for all these things. I believe in myself. I have unwavering faith in my potential for greater achievements. I am the biggest culprit with holding myself down. As Marianne Williamson says, “Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”  Williamson, from A Return To Love: Reflections on the Principles of A Course in Miracles. 

I choose not to follow any particular faith, but that quote resonates with me. You do not have any power over me when I have an army that includes God, ancestors, angels, and divine beings, all of whom resonate love. I believe love conquers any fear, yet we still need some fear getting through this thing called life. We reduce ourselves, and our peers contribute to this, making us feel inadequate. My most fulfilling life experiences have come from conquering my greatest fears. For instance, moving to Texas from California, on my own and being able to transfer my job. I had the help of my amazing cousin, who has been a steadfast helper and who has been more of a brother than a cousin. We have to learn to lean on others and trust the process. While it always requires hard work, manifestation’s power is so profound it alters realities. I also took a chance on dating and found someone wonderful who is showing me I deserve a man who is chivalrous, gentle, kind, sensitive, and loving! Who would have thought Facebook was good for dating?  

People do not realize what you ask the universe to give to you,the universe will deliver! It is a simple idea, but it is a fact. Watch/read The Secret, and you will see what I mean. I am not very good at describing other people’s ideas, but I can tell you mine. Why would you want to waste your time hating people, things that are bad/evil? Why don’t you choose love instead? Love your friends, family (I know it’s hard), and everyone else. We do not practice true love in this world anymore! What is true love? The ability to wish someone well even if they did something bad. Have a little more empathy and try to do good! Counter fear with good, not tit-for-tat! I can only hope more people realize this. 

Love

Asma

I see you there, holding all that weight,
A heart cracked open by fear and fate.
You tremble in shadows where love should have grown,
Haunted by voices that chilled you to the bone.

Your Mother’s hands, meant to heal and hold,
Instead left bruises, silent and cold.
And yet, the fear of her being gone
Cuts deeper than words could ever spawn.

Grandmother’s warmth was a flickering light,
But even that slipped into endless night.
Now grief sits heavy, a ghost by your side,
While old wounds and memories silently collide.

Anxiety whispers, “You’re never enough.”
Depression replies, “Why fight when it’s tough?”
PTSD drags you back to those days,
When safety was fleeting, lost in a haze.

And still, the walls feel thinner each day,
Threatening to crumble, to drift away.
What if the roof gives in to the storm?
What if you’re left out in the cold, far from warm?

But hear me now, in this fragile line:
Your pain does not erase your shine,
You’ve survived storms darker then the sky,
And though you’re tired, you still try.

The house may shake, but you are stone.
Built from scars and standing alone.
And even if the walls fall down,
You are not lost, you will not drown.

Breathe, even when it hurts to start.
Hold space for the cracks in your heart.
You are more than the shadows that chase,
More than the fears you quietly face.
So, when the night feels far too long,
Remember: you are still here. You are still strong.

With love,
Your Inner-self

Style Score 100%

My Dear Fear,

When the bell tolls do I answer the call? When our lips touch does it mean I’m the object of your desire or am I walking on a high wire and blaming only me when I land in the den of lions below.
The Phoenix cannot rise when the ash is heavy, the weight of the buildings colliding, collapsing on a softened soul who only wanted to exist in a time a space for as long as she had control, which was not possible.
Why wait for the kids to be born for the family to leave to establish the role of the terminally ill the wasted life the fear factor the scare tactic the one to run from.
I was not to have
I was to hold.
I was too old
I wasn’t me enough to be accepted…rejected on the regular my aching achievements taken away all I worked for is gone in a day with the wind in the depths of our sins and the weakness to which we subscribe.
I on one hand oblige, I walk side by side with the sky but heaven doesn’t appear to my eyes there is no space to connect the two. Sky fitting heaven, weakened and beaten but how can I attach to a world that has discarded me and told me I don’t belong here how do I hold on to the light the traveling of roads and being alone it’s too much on days and nights alone with my stash and a little extra cash from some savvy dealings.
Yes I am appealing but not to the right ones. Why can’t I attract better than demons?
The outbreak of a plague and the repercussions of 600,000 dead in the streets and yet I sit amidst my sheets and hide and wish to die quietly without fanfare or long drawn out goodbyes.
It’s the suffering of anticipation that makes it so unbearable.
For children for the grief I absorb and should push forth instead onto those who should own it.
I am not the one.
Rotating around an unknown sun…looking for my son in the light of summertime.
The Catskills shine and burn my eyes the mountains are watching, waiting for me to die it’s torture it’s torment but what can be done, when your time is up you just can not run.
Frozen, heart open but cannot move an inch for fear of being pinched hard by the universe and the depth of the thin lines on which I travel and wish for solid ground.
I want to be found…out here in the mountains where my family took bullets and then their own life and where do we go from there?
Watch the news read bad reviews of art you could never create. Like being a subjugate matter for the destined courts of judgement to decide on when and where I go or stay.
Is it a realm just next door is it a far off universe is it a black hole of darkness where I can’t I see my friends, my babies again?
It doesn’t work that way my child he said. He being the god of fairy tales and fantasy. She being the true mother of earth and the universe.
She is me
and I am she
and we are we
and god is only here.
I have the control yet I let it be in the hands of the lost and ones who are crossed along their own crucifixion and shame.
I will never change, a deranged beauty with a strong sense of shame but still must I die with this stain on my name?

Style score 89%

Fighting My Fear

To the monster at my tail,
The all-consuming darkness,
The demon eating me from the inside out,
My persistent bipolar depression –
Know that you will always fail.

You grabbed me when I was small,
Still innocent and naïve,
Oblivious to your existence,
Just trying to grow and get along.
How swiftly you made me fall.

The first battle you almost won.
You withered away my body and soul,
Tricked me into paranoid isolation,
Carried me willingly towards death,
Made me think that you and I were one.

Somehow, I grew stronger,
Shed off your heavy skin,
Almost retrieved my childhood,
Discovered who I really was,
Lingered without you a short time longer.

Then you slyly snuck back inside,
Returned with a vengeance like cancer,
The tumors hidden, but painful,
Taking over my mind and spreading fast.
I thought I had died.

Again and again, you returned,
Both of us fiercer each time.
Each of us learning new tricks,
Straying further away from sanity,
So far away from those concerned.

Yes, you almost won the war.
More than twice I nearly died.
You stole my memories,
But I remembered what mattered.
I got in touch with my inner core.
 
Day and night, I labored away,
Building a new me without you,
Still rubbing out your stain.
I always thought I was strong and tough,
But I had failed to keep you at bay.

I worked muscles long forgotten,
Learned how to love and trust –
Not you, but myself, and select others.
Living became bearable, more navigable.
With my growth, you began to rotten.

Honestly, I still fear you,
Weak and small as you’ve become.
I continue to build my defenses,
Recruiting more soldiers for our next fight.
When you do return, I know what to do.

Pro-Writing Aid Style Score: 79%

as if she actually trembles before the glance of the beautiful but so frightened sea

I stare with revelation as I look upon the waves and sounds before it can even look back at me

see sea, maybe the ocean isn’t what it’s watered up and down to actually be

blue, beautiful water and boats with many more things filled with so many animals that we can even hardly name see sea, what I mean?

trusting that one could float above what’s attainable to feel without the fear
that follows me
which shadows us
they eventually think
can grip you tightly?

but one tends to fight one punch up in the atmosphere gasping for some type of fulfillment that this individual could eventually catch a break

stopping for a second to breathe, breathe, take deep breaths for a moment, and allow whatever tension to ease like the breeze sea, now you see what I mean?

Lifeguard, please help quickly! Someone is drowning!!!!

Dear Death;
My life has rapidly changed since suffering a fall in my classroom back in the Spring of 2022. I was preparing for our school’s Open House, placing student artwork on my classroom walls when I fell backward and hit my head with such force that I broke two molars. I ended up in the emergency room with a diagnosis of a concussion and also a back injury. The exam was not very thorough because two days later, cracks in my teeth finally gave way while I was eating; I ended up spitting out broken pieces of two teeth.
For me, that accident truly changed my life forever. Eventually, I received a diagnosis of Post-concussional Syndrome. I often felt loopy, my back continued to cause pain, I frequently suffered headaches, I was often quite irritable, and I was always tired. In time, I ended up on disability, although I recently retired from 20 years of teaching.
Fast forward to the Spring of 2024. After several falls and other minor symptoms, I received a diagnosis of Parkinson’s disease. I was worried about that diagnosis, but then I knew I could live a long time with Parkinson’s symptoms, which seemed scary. I was prepared to fight, but then as the summer continued and my symptoms got worse, my original diagnosis changed to Progressive Supranuclear Palsy, a disease I hadn’t ever heard of. Unlike Parkinson’s Disease, PSP is a rare, incurable neurodegenerative disorder that, in time, will damage brain cells, causing issues with movement, balance, vision, speech and swallowing. A PSP diagnosis is terminal. Shortly after receiving this news, the idea of death seemed too great, too painful, too real. Surprisingly, the thought of death crept into my life. However, early on, I decided I would not allow the complications from this debilitating disease to control my life. So, death, I have decided not to welcome you into my life.
I have gone from a non-disabled person to someone who now relies heavily on my husband to take care of everything–but we’ve been together since we were 14 years old. For 50 years, he’s been by my side. We both know the reality of my prognosis-but we both need to live with hope and lots of love–because really, what else is there?
This past year has been an exciting one! One year ago, we bought a cabin at Lake Almanor. This purchase followed two previous home losses. You see, in 2018, we lost a home we owned for 30 years in the Camp Fire in Paradise, California. Tragically, 3 years later, our beloved lake house burned down in the Dixie Fire. The purchase of our new-to-us 75-year-old cabin has been such a wonderful project to work on—a labor of love. My husband, who has his contractor’s license, completely tore the cabin down to the studs and has completely rebuilt every inch. The only outside help was the hiring of an electrician and a plumber.
This project has allowed us to focus on our future, which includes a gorgeous view of Lake Almanor from our deck. We spent the last year buying furniture and decorations to fill our new home away from home. All our furnishings are in a storage shed we purchased to store the collection of special items. I bought two sleeper sofas, an antique Hoosier, and a vintage table and chair set. I purchased an antique entry table, two side tables, and a beautiful electric fireplace. My collection also included several paintings and antique knick-knacks. We are ready to move our belongings in–I’d probably say that I was ready the moment Randy finished hammering the last nail! There are still a few last-minute tasks from Randy’s punch list to complete. Those will not take long.
There is one purchase that I’m eagerly waiting to take up to the lake: a newly reupholstered chair that at one time belonged to my momma, who died of metastatic breast cancer in 1997 at the young age of 59. When I sit in the chair, I feel my momma’s essence–it was her absolute favorite chair to sit and ponder life. So that’s exactly what I’m going to do–I’m going to ponder my life and its greatness. I will contemplate how crazy and sad it can be, but I will certainly spend more time thinking about how wonderful it has been. This message is for Death; you are not welcome in my home, not now, not soon. I have way too much to live for. In my life, it’s Lake Almanor or BUST!!!

Style score: 100

You’ve been lurking around here for a while now
Taunting me.
Haunting me.
Creeping around every corner, waiting patiently in the shadows, camping out in the attic,
Gripping my throat with your ice cold claws when I’m at my lowest.
You step onto the scene and
Dread locks in.
The sweat glands in my trembling hands kick into overdrive. The rapid beating of my heart leaves me breathless.
You know you have won when I isolate;
Turn out the lights.
Close the curtains.
Lock my doors.

But I’m done.
I’m done opening my door for you.
Done pushing everyone away just because you told me to.
I’m done letting you own me and degrade me, telling me I’ll never measure up, telling me I’m alone in this world, highlighting my insecurities.
I’m ready to fight back
Stand up tall, shoulders square,
Jaw set in defiance.

You’ve been lurking around here for a while now
But I see you
And I’m turning on the lights
Because you can’t control me anymore.

This is my house
My family
My planet
And you don’t belong here anymore.

There is no room for you in my victory.

Death,
I got a text from my dad today. A photo from the back of an ambulance, captioned, “Just busted my face in the driveway”. Three days in the spring semester of my first year of college, here I am, researching the soonest train that would take me the 300 miles back home. Sure, my mom told me I don’t need to come home, that everything will be alright. Sure, I have classes that I shouldn’t miss. Sure, he’s going to be fine—but what if he’s not?
At the ripe age of seven, my best friend was my aunt. That is, until you took her from me. When I found her, lying still in bed, asking me to call 9-1-1. I was seven when I saw my best friend for the last time, carried away on a gurney.
Mortality is something every one of us has to face. There’s a reason people say, “The only guarantee in life is death and taxes.” But, for a seven-year-old, death shouldn’t have been on my mind. I should have been wondering which friends to invite to my sleepover or what doll I wanted for Christmas. Instead, I was facing great existential crises, wondering, If my aunt could die, does that mean my mom will die? Does this mean everybody I love is going to die? What’s going to happen when someone else dies? What’s going to happen when I die? Oh my God, I’m going to die. Now, twelve years have passed, and you still consume many of my waking (and sleeping) thoughts.
I didn’t see my beloved aunt before she died. Years later, I learned that she died at home in hospice care, not an uncomfortable hospital bed. See, that’s what happens when you are seven years old and experiencing such a tragedy—the adults don’t let you in on the details. They all wanted to protect me from the darkness in the world, but it was no use. I had already seen firsthand the darkest force of them all: you.
So. My dad hit his head, is going to the hospital, and I’m galaxies away. I feel like I’m seven years old all over again, so helpless to the world’s random whims. The homework due at 11:59 PM tonight now feels daunting, and I can’t focus as the worst-case-scenario thoughts raced around my head. Closing my textbook, defeated, I started writing this letter as some sort of therapy. They always say that facing your fears is the way to overcome them, after all.
When I was fifteen, I tried exactly that. Taking matters into my own hands, I decided that if I ended it all myself, then you’d be less scary, and maybe I could regain some semblance of control. It was silly to think that I could have the upper hand against you, my foe. You’re the boogeyman, the mysterious force hanging above my head, lurking in the shadows. You’re arrogant, taking what and whom you please with no remorse. You, death, are my worst fear, my enemy, the one thing I wish I could make go away and the one thing I know I can’t.
But maybe your inevitability makes you less scary. There’s serenity in the uncertainty, if I really think hard about it. The unknown can make one appreciate things more, live life to the fullest, so long as you don’t let the anger and grief and questions weigh you down. I’ve never been good at that last part, but I will get better. I have to.
You may be unavoidable, but that won’t control me as it did at seven. I see now that you want me, all of us, to submit to your all-powerful force, to feel your misery encompass us. Well, let me tell you this: I won’t let you win. No matter how much fear and hate I hold towards you, you are still the only guarantee in life—at least one can evade taxes. But I don’t want that daunting fact of life to paralyze me anymore. I will conquer you and your ugly darkness by living a light, beautiful life. A life without fear, without constraints, without you.
I don’t think my dad is actually going to die today. But, on the off chance that a strange, unknown force of nature decides it’s his time, I won’t make the same mistakes I did when I was seven. If, God forbid, my dad doesn’t make it, I won’t allow you to eat me alive once again, to shield me from all the good in the world by encompassing me in the bad. I refuse to be scared. My fear gives you power, and no matter how much you may hurt me, I will never grant you such power again.

(84% Style Score)