The Fear Litany

A personal essay by Janaya Tanner

Seeking to understand fear through examples set by my dad.

I have always known I am a lot like my dad. I knew it when he read all the books I read. I knew it when we liked all the same TV shows. Yet, my dad was always mysterious and different to me in a way I couldn’t understand. Like the Greeks attributing the weather to a pantheon of gods, I attributed my dad’s abilities to magic—a magic I wanted to have. Though reserved, he never seemed shy. He took on new challenges with stoic zeal. It was like fear didn’t affect him at all.

One Christmas break in college, I discovered Dune by Frank Herbert and fell in love with it—the incredible new worlds, the political intrigue, the technology so like magic, the unforgettable characters. I shared my new love with my dad only to find out he had never read it.

I must not fear…

“Dad? What if I get bit by a black widow?”

I was six or seven, and these late-night wake ups had been happening for years. Who knew what spurred this latest fear. It could have been a book cover I glimpsed in the school library about dangerous spiders or a friend telling me a scary story. Regardless, once the night came, any seemingly harmless occurrence from the day could lead me here— standing in my oversized t-shirt turned nightgown, lightly tapping on my parents’ bedroom door.

“There aren’t any black widows in the house,”

“But…aren’t they super venomous?”

My dad sighed, and the door opened. Rather than letting me in their room, he took my hand and we walked the three feet across the hall into my bedroom. Quietly. Don’t wake your sister. He tucked me in, handing me my large teddy bear for protection, and my favorite blanket for comfort.

“There aren't any black widows in the house, we just sprayed for spiders. Plus, their venom is intended for their prey not for something as large as you. Go to sleep, it’ll be alright.” And, after I gave the ok nod, he left.

That night and many nights since I have played his assurances in my head—making friends with whatever imagined spiders live in the cold unreached bottom of my sheets—trying to fall asleep. Eventually, I learned those comforting assurances weren’t true, but they still calm me when irrational fears seize my mind in the dark. Perhaps, that is part of my dad’s magic.

Fear is the mind killer…

The author in "Hello Dolly"

On quiet Sundays my dad used to sit at the piano, singing and playing songs from a skinny little blue book called “Afterglow.” His strong tenor voice rang through the house as he sang. When I would sit down to play the piano and my dad was home, I would make sure to practice the songs that he would sing along with. A couple bars in and his voice starts ringing out from the kitchen. He never seemed shy or afraid. 

When I was preparing for the opening night of my first ever theatrical performance, my stomach was churning. Being the girl who frequently threw up on the first day of school, I was worried about how the performance would go. My dad gave me a hug and whispered, “You know that nerves and excitement feel the same? Those butterflies you have, that’s just excitement.” I felt like I had been entrusted with a great secret. Years later I wondered if that secret worked so well because my dad uses it himself. 

Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration…

 

In the first chapter of Dune, Paul Atreides is brought before the Reverend Mother, the powerful leader of a quasi-religious organization. She places a gom jabber behind his neck and indicates it could kill him instantly. She tells him to stick his hand inside the box and warns, “If you withdraw your hand from the box you die.”

“What’s in the box?”

“Pain.”

 

I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me…

 

I was considering getting engaged to a guy I had known for several years; I learned something uncomfortable about him—looking back now, I can see it was quite small and inconsequential but in the moment I felt like I was drowning. Instantly, my mouth dried out, I got nauseous. The thought filled my brain, drumming against my ears, which turned red and started steaming. Nothing could break through my brain’s intense single-minded focus on what I had learned. I was out of my depth in knowing how to respond or react. Sleeping on it didn’t help, trying to rationalize through it didn’t help. 

After a panic shoe shopping spree, I sought out my dad. We met up, ate Chick-Fil-A, and I told him my concerns. He was calm and patient like he had been through all those late-night wake-up calls. He gave me simple unbiased and straightforward advice. He told me life isn’t perfect; people aren’t perfect. I need to care about who I am and who my boyfriend is right now. What I have chosen to become. What he has chosen to become. I felt the fear leak out of me. I had never thought how much becoming is choosing. And how our present is more defining than our pasts. I wondered how my dad came to know that so well. Did he become who he is through choosing? Did he have to choose to move beyond fear? I moved forward with the engagement and just like my dad assured, everything was okay. 

And when it has gone past, I will turn the inner eye to see its path…

I’ve always known my dad can help me deal with fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of new experiences. Fear of messing up. However, it wasn’t until recently I realized I also feel fear for my dad. I have always worried when my dad undertakes a new task, especially one where he is helping me. From helping me align book report presentations in a word document, to making science project posters, to redecorating my room, I project my own perfectionist tendencies, worrying he feels the same pressure to be perfect that I do. Once my husband and I were constructing an apartment. As my dad has done lots of home remodeling, we asked for his help to hang doors and lay floors. Even though he was calm, I was a nervous wreck. Every little thing that didn’t go perfect, every time he was stumped on what to do, knots tied in my stomach. 

Later, I discussed it with my husband, talking it out over and over again. Could it be because I feel protective over my dad’s happiness? That I hated the thought of something silly like a crooked door ruining that for him, if only for a moment? That thought mulled around in my head until a different thought came to the surface—that I feel protective over my own happiness, because I am afraid. Afraid that some fears, like the fear of not being perfect, are unconquerable. We are so alike, my dad and I, if my dad’s magic falls apart, if he falls apart to fear, what hope do I have to succeed? 

Where the fear has gone there will be nothing…

 

When Paul Atreides is faced with a choice between death or pain, fear courses through his body. He recites what his mother always taught him to cope with fear: “I must not fear. Fear is the mind killer…” When he sticks his hand in the box, he is overcome with the pain, but he does not remove his hand. After, he asks the Reverend Mother the purpose of the test, the purpose of the pain. She simply replies, “To determine if you’re human.” 

Though Dune may be the one book love we do not share (yet), I felt a deep connection between Paul’s mother teaching him to cope with fear, and my dad teaching me. I think back on all the different ways I have felt fear and all the ways my dad has helped me to cope. To go through whatever it was I was afraid of, to face pain or monsters, or the unknown. And I think along the way through all that fear, I learned that I was human. I learned to see my dad as human.

Only I will remain…

The author and her dad

I know I am a lot like my dad. In the way we both struggle to look people in the eyes when we talk to them. In the way we both get sucked into tasks, and no matter how unimportant, can’t leave them undone. In the way he always knows how to calm me when I am scared. 

It makes me wonder to what extent these similarities extend. Do they extend from the perfectionism and the fears and the anxieties of life to the need to escape in books and in TV? If we are so similar can I learn my dad’s fear defying magic? Avoid that “mind killer,” overcome “the little death,” “face my fear,” and “permit it to pass over me and through me.” I once thought my dad was fearless, but as he’s helped me time and again, he has shown me that he is instead well-practiced with fear and well acquainted. 

Now when I look “where [fear] has gone past,” rather than seeing magic, I see humanity. Perhaps, the pain we pass through and the fear we conquer is where we find the strength to be truly human. I imagine my dad closing his eyes, forcing himself to take deep breaths as he taught me. Maybe he whispers what I whisper into the dark, against the shadows and the unknown. Perhaps we have unknowingly whispered it side by side.

 

I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past, I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain

—Frank Herbert, Dune

Photo Credits: "Dune Series" by Janaya Tanner, "Hello Dolly" by Cassidy Smith, "Wedding Rings" by Cassidy Smith, "Daddy-Daughter Dance" by Jo Warenski