I conquered a fear this past weekend. For me this is no small feat.
Despite having been raised in a household where my dad hunted regularly (we ate all sorts of game while I was growing up, from pheasants and rabbits to venison and fish), and despite being married to another hunter and gun enthusiast (there are two AK-47s in our house), I had never really touched a gun until Saturday evening. On purpose. Those things scare the crap outta me, and I was grateful that they were always locked up safe and sound, and away from me.
But it felt irresponsible to live in a house with guns and to have no idea how to use one. So, I signed up for a Pistol 101 class (not to be confused with Impressionist Painters 101 or English Literature 101).
This was a class for the total beginner, someone completely unfamiliar with guns. (I’m not sure, but I think the description said, “For the total gun-idiot who doesn’t even know which end to point where.”) That was definitely me. I registered, paid the deposit, and waited for the big day to arrive. Which it did.
We were given a list of things to do, things to bring, things to wear. I brought my husband’s 9mm Taurus pistol, 100 rounds of ammo, ear protection and goggles, and the balance of the class fee in probably-COVID-covered cash.
That day I wore a pretty flowered T-shirt, jeans, my tartan Chuck Taylors and my “Weird Al” socks, and the only ballcap I could find: an old Christian Writers Guild cap I bought many years ago. I must’ve looked like a total idiot. (You know, more than usual.)
With a little prayer and some deep, cleansing breaths, I walked into the class alone and, six hours later, walked out alive. (Let’s face it: in a class with 13 other total noobs brandishing weapons they didn’t understand, it wasn’t completely outside the realm of possibility that one of us would yell “Oops!” at precisely the wrong moment.)
But the instructors and range safety officers were astounding and I never once felt unsafe. Not for a moment. And I pretty much walk around feeling nervous and unsafe all the time, even at home.
I came home a wiser person, and a less fearful one. Because knowledge is power. (Except for calculus and electrical engineering. For someone like me, that kind of knowledge is pointless.)
Conquering my many fears in recent years has become a challenge… mostly because my fears are legion: dentistry, rats, bats, spiders, public speaking, airplanes (well, being IN airplanes—I don’t mind when someone ELSE gets in an airplane), childbirth, and guns…
So many fears. So little time.
Over the years, some of these fears have been conquered out of necessity:
Dentistry: I found a loophole to conquer this fear: avoid going to the dentist as much as possible. No attendance, no fear.
Rats: I have friends and relatives who’ve had rats as pets, so I’ve learned to just be grateful that none of the untamed ones live in or near my house. (We have squirrels and moles and possums and groundhogs nearby instead.)
Bats: Two bats invaded our house weeks after we moved into it in 2012, so I simply embarrassed myself by shrieking and wearing a hoodie tied securely under my chin for three days till they figured out how to fly out the front door.
Spiders: This 140-year-old house has housed its share of spiders, and if I see one in the bedroom, I sleep in the guest room for a month or two until it has either moved on or died of old age.
Public Speaking: I haven’t conquered this one quite yet, but I can speak in public when I must… or when I get paid for it… or when people find me funny enough to buy a couple of my books after I shut up.
Airplanes: I beg my doctor to prescribe me exactly two Ativan pills before I go on vacations that include airline flights: one to get on the plane to get there, and one to get on the plane to come home. The Ativan just barely does the job, though: I still think we’re going to crash and die, but I just don’t care.
Childbirth: I had four 9-pound-plus babies at home (because I have a secondary fear: hospitals), so that fear fell by the wayside decades ago, back when I was too young and foolish to know better. Good thing you don’t really know how big the baby is until it’s over. And good thing they were all born before I was 33, because I’d never put myself through that now. (And not just because someone stole my uterus in 2014.)
So, the last big fear left on my list was GUNS. Hence the Pistol 101 class.
I can honestly say I’ve moved from a nearly panicky fear of seeing the guns outside their natural habitat (the gun cabinet) to a non-fearful, healthy respect for them (like I have for people who can ride unicycles or who do spring cleaning).
Next, I’m going to take my body-shot target from the class (20 out of 20! fear me!) and make it into a lovely wreath so I can hang it on the front door.
That ought to put the fear right where I want it.