As the character, Barney Fife, Don Knotts once uttered some incredible wisdom.  When asked if he was afraid, he replied; “There’s nothin’ to fear but fear itself—and that’s what I got—fear itself!”  I’ve always thought that was a statement of profound wisdom.  Incredibly simple, incredibly true most of time.  There is nothing to fear but fear itself, but there are oh so many things that instill fear in us.

            “Oh, I’m afraid I won’t get the job.”

            “Oh, what he doesn’t like me.”

            “Oh, what will I do if Donald Trump gets re-elected.”

            Almost six years ago I got the worst news of my life.  The doctors came into my hospital room and told me to call my family right away and that they were prepping me for surgery.  I had five blocked arteries in my heart, two were over 90% blocked.  The doctors told me that I hadn’t had a heart attack but they couldn’t understand why.  I had had no symptoms other than getting short of breath when I walked very far. 

            For forty years I had practiced as a chiropractor.  Six of those years I had also taught at a prestigious Mid-western university.  I understood how to live a healthy lifestyle, and I had tried to do so.  At the age of sixty-seven I felt I had been in good shape and had tried to stay active.  When I asked the doctor ‘How could this have happened?’  His response was;

            “You can’t outrun genetics.  Your grandfather and your father both had this and now you do to.”

            That day I had a quadruple bypass and one stint installed.  I was told that I probably was finished with my career and that I should not consider going back to work.  I was going to finish my cardiac rehab and go out into the world with nothing to do.

           My fears were very real, not just what was I going to do, but how was I going to survive even.  Everyone has something every day that they fear will come about or not come about but most of those fears don’t amount to a hill of beans.  My hill of beans seemed pretty high as I navigated my way through this new life paradigm.  After seeing how close my own mortality really was, I started writing down things that I wanted my children to remember about me.  I had never written anything before larger than a prescription, but I kept it up.  It became a form of emotional therapy for me.

But now I had something new to fear.  I finished my sixth novel and it went to print on Labor Day.  It’s probably a good read, I honestly can’t say.  I’m much to emotionally engaged in it to pass objective judgement on it.   I enjoyed writing it, and I sweat blood trying to get it right, but right for who?  And what now?  Do I have anything else I want to say, or should have said, did I get it just right enough?

            Good question, and I’ve finally arrived at the answer although I took the long way around to find it.  At first I wrote for the fun of it, and laughed and cried right along with the protagonist.  Then slowly a morphing occurred and I began to wonder what other people might think.  Would they like it?  Better yet, would they like it enough to buy it?  Would others find the meaning in my words that I had intended them to find?  Would they be as cathartic as they were for me?  Would they want more, and what more would they like.

            I had fear itself.  And my writing suffered as a result. 

Now though I think I have learned a most valuable lesson.  Maybe the most important lesson in my life, and definitely the most important lesson in writing. 

The person I write for is me.  No one else.  If others like to read about my journey then welcome, but the only person that I need to satisfy —is me.  If there is to be more, it will be because I want it to be more. 

And if I am done, then I will be.