What has life taught me? I am much less afraid than I ever was in my youth—of everything. That is a fact. At the same time, I feel more afraid than ever. And the two, I can assure you, are not opposed but inextricably linked. I am more or less the same age Emily Dickinson was when she died. Here is what she thought: “Had we the first intimation of the Definition of Life, the calmest of us would be Lunatics!” The calm lunatic—now that is something to aspire to.

The most frightening time was my very early twenties. For a few years I was practically paralyzed.

PAIN has an element of blank;
It cannot recollect
When it began, or if there were
A day when it was not.

It has no future but itself,
Its infinite realms contain
Its past, enlightened to perceive
New periods of pain.

From that fear emerged a disciplined desire for becoming.  That sounds stoic. It is instead closer to epicurean. Despite the discipline and deep desire I often failed, but was not often afraid.

I HAD a daily bliss
I half indifferent viewed,
Till sudden I perceived it stir,—
It grew as I pursued,

Till when, around a crag,
It wasted from my sight,
Enlarged beyond my utmost scope,
I learned its sweetness right.

Reading Ruefle I worry, a bit, that leaving fear behind I sacrificed a sensibility, a source of wisdom. To some I am naive, superficial, even silly in my willed-optimism.

A WOUNDED deer leaps highest,
I ’ve heard the hunter tell;
’T is but the ecstasy of death,
And then the brake is still.

The smitten rock that gushes,
The trampled steel that springs:
A cheek is always redder
Just where the hectic stings!

Mirth is the mail of anguish,
In which it caution arm,
Lest anybody spy the blood
And “You ’re hurt” exclaim!

I am wounded, even broken and bloody.  I still know the rush of fear.  But I choose, as I can, to step aside to see what comes behind or beside the fear.

Life is but life, and death but death!
Bliss is but bliss, and breath but breath!
And if, indeed, I fail,
At least to know the worst is sweet.
Defeat means nothing but defeat,
No drearier can prevail!

Fear is a perception of emerging dread.  But what erupts from these cracks is seldom pure.  Rather good comes with bad, ugly and beautiful share the ride.  I choose, as I can, to welcome one and shun the other.