Fear Factor.

When the lights go out, Sully gets very, very afraid. 

No, not the very famous pilot. Sully is one of my three littles, named after his grandmother - Brenda Sullivan. 

Anyway, it’s not so much that Sully is afraid of the dark itself, but rather what’s in the dark, or just on the other side of the dark. The unknown. The sounds of a world happening without him, or of what might be coming to get him. As his mom, I can do my best to comfort or reassure, I can try to “prove” to him that there’s nothing to be afraid of, but of course, fears aren’t rational. I wish logic could make fears go away. .

I was raised humbly. No generational wealth. No nest egg. And like many of you, I’ve worked really hard to build a life for myself and my family that we can be proud of. But I’m afraid, frankly. I’m afraid that what I’ve built isn’t quite enough, or that my kids will misread my hard work as something other than a means to ensure they have a good life. I’m afraid my success can be taken away from me at any moment, for no reason; or worse, for a reason I could have prevented. Some of you may have had a similar upbringing to mine, and maybe wrestle with similar fears; or maybe you’ve had a completely different upbringing, with a completely different set of fears or concerns - ones that are just as valid, and seemingly as inescapable, as everyone else’s.

The thing about it is, I’ve spent a lot of time working with homeowners and families in Mesta Park, Heritage Hills, and other historic neighborhoods in our community, and I find that even within the walls of stunning historic homes like yours, there are real fears lurking in, or just on the other side of, the dark: Will I ever see a return on this investment? Will interest rates keep rising? Will I ever be able to pay off this HELOC? When will the next thing break and need fixing? If home values keep rising, will anyone be able to afford to buy this home when I’m ready to move? Will the next generation appreciate what we’ve poured life into?

Sometimes that darkness can feel thick, a bit heavy. Finding your way to that lamp by your bedside can feel out of reach and too far from perspective and understanding. 

If you’re feeling a little afraid of the dark yourself, put yourself in the metaphor, and consider hearing the words we might offer to our children: I understand your fear, but there’s power in being brave; it’s okay to not know everything, but you can’t let it control your decisions; explore and ask questions, but don’t go it alone — we’ll find our way to the light together.

Or, as Sully the pilot would say: It wasn’t just me, it was all of us. We all did it. We survived.

Featured in the March Edition of Stroll, a magazine published for the people of Mesa Park and Heritage Hills.