Once upon a time—back in 2020—in a land far away—really, Manhattan on the Upper East Side— I was having a not-so-normal day—because it was NYC in 2020—but still trying to do normal UES things—like doing my laundry at a nearby laundromat.
The sun was out on this particular Saturday. Summer had yet to transition into its sweltering mode and although the streets were much louder than they’d been in the early part of spring, they were still quiet compared to a typical summer day in NYC.
I made it to the laundromat in record time to keep my clothes from being thrown out of the washing machine and transferred them into a dryer. On the way back toward my apartment I slowed the pace I had adopted to keep from being stepped on by New Yorkers. I enjoyed the light breeze and the sunlight pouring into my skin. As had become my new custom, I glanced at the pristine discarded furniture decorating the sidewalks outside of brownstones and avoided looking at the U-Haul trucks parked along 1st Street. It felt like everyone was fleeing the city for a safer place and leaving me behind.
But then someone else caught my attention, dragging my thoughts from myself and into the present moment. My slow pace became a crawl as I paused along the sidewalk, completely unashamed that I was staring.
Walking quickly toward me was an older woman, possibly in her sixties. Her blond hair was a mass atop her head as she moved at a rapid pace along the sidewalk. With her hands lifted around her face, she stabilized a clear piece of plastic that was wrapped around her head multiple times to cover her nose and mouth.
And that’s when I knew something was very wrong. It wasn’t just the sound of helicopters flying overhead at night, or the police racing down 86th Street with sirens blaring at dusk. It wasn’t the graffiti popping up after curfew or the chanting or furtive glances as the average passerby tried to avoid others at all cost. And it wasn’t just that people were actually getting sick and dying from a virus.
As I stared at the woman who passed by me that day, I realized that even those who were perfectly healthy in body were in an equally dangerous situation to those who actually lay sick and dying. While some were facing the end of their lives in hospital beds, unable to see loved ones or even have hope of recovery, many more who believed they were living, were crumbling under the weight of fear to the point that even logical action had been disregarded as antiquated and deemed as unnecessary as breathing fresh air.
I stared in disbelief, wondering if she’d read the standard label printed on every piece of plastic, before she’d wrapped it around the only avenues oxygen could take into her body. But in a state of fear, maybe it didn’t matter that she couldn’t breathe.
To me it didn’t make any sense. It seemed she’d rather collapse and die of asphyxiation in the streets than collapse and die from a virus.
Of the few people on the street that day, I seemed to be the only one who noticed this strange sight.
The atmosphere in the city had felt heavy with fear and anxiety, but that day I realized I wasn’t the only one who was feeling it. Here was a woman who was so scared of dying she was killing herself.
And that’s the thing with fear, it can come in under the guise of practicality, good intentions or even being cautious, only to back you into a corner and suffocate you, cutting off your hope, peace, and innate ability to think logically.
It looks for the tiniest crack to seep into and then grows like weeds, ruining your once-flourishing garden.
Now, I’ve never really counted myself as the bravest person, but that day I silently promised myself to be a less anxious person. I hadn’t let fear overtake me at that point, but I hadn’t been quick at pushing it away either. In my mind, the anxiety that used to plague me was under control because it wasn’t as bad as it used to be, and it used to be pretty bad. But I had a handle on it. I was okay. . . Or so I thought. But more on that later.
In a weird turn of events, my new “typical” Saturday had turned into the day that changed everything as I had come face to face with fear, through another person’s actions. On this particular day, one woman committing a slow form of suicide served as a reminder that the warnings the Bible gives us against fear aren’t just good advice, they serve to preserve our lives and sanity, keeping us from being enslaved to fear or even making dumb decisions.
Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus. Finally, brethren, whatever things are true, whatever things are noble, whatever things are just, whatever things are pure, whatever things are lovely, whatever things are of good report, if there is any virtue and if there is anything praiseworthy—meditate on these things.
Philippians 4:6–8
And that’s when an idea started brewing. It would take one event and a very unexpected question before it would bubble into my consciousness and work its way into reality. But in that moment, I knew I couldn’t take a casual stance against the pressure fear was exuding. I couldn’t just say I wasn’t going to be as fearful as the woman on the street; I knew I had to be aggressive about evicting fear and its friends—anxiety, worry and even concern—from my life or I would end up like that woman or even worse.
I could see the battle lines forming.
The war had been won, I would just need a strategy to enforce what had been given to me.
I pondered what an aggressive stance toward fear could look like as I headed back toward 2nd Street. I wasn’t a person who was scared of everything, but I could pinpoint certain areas or thoughts that led directly to cesspools of anxiety and served as an onramp for worry. And apparently I wasn’t the only one who noticed fear was running around as if it owned everyone, because little did I know, the answer I needed would come to me in a matter of days.