What am I afraid of?
Yesterday evening I took my wife out for dinner. It was our twelfth wedding anniversary. Something I saw at the restaurant got me thinking about the things that frighten me.
I grew up in the eighties watching horror movies and action movies. The first actor whose name I knew was Sylvester Stallone, which I kept confusing with prawn cocktail; the first flavour of crisps I can remember really liking. In my teens I read everything I could get my hands on by Stephen King, James Herbert, Edgar Allan Poe and H. P. Lovecraft. Ghosts, monsters, demons and the diabolical don’t scare me much. Not on the page or the screen.
When I was ten, a classmate was involved in a plane crash. Her family perished. She was one of the only survivors from that flight, badly burned and scarred for life. I became terrified of flying. That fear has gradually subsided. I like motorcycles and statistically, aeroplanes are leagues less dangerous.
In 2019 I was hospitalised with sepsis and pneumonia. I came closer to death than I’ve ever been before or since. One night I believe I crossed into the space between life and death. It was the most wonderful state of being. Absolute freedom, no pain, a feeling of limitless ability and adventure. I am no longer afraid of death.
Other than violence, pain, and bereavement, all of which I’ve had a share of, I would normally be hard pressed to tell anybody what I’m afraid of. But yesterday as I talked with my wife in the preamble before ordering drinks, the most quotidian thing uncovered a fear that I’m still thinking about twenty four hours later.
The restaurant filled up quickly. Couples and families came through the carved wooden door and waited to be seated. One man came in like a shadow, behind everybody else and waited to be called to the counter. His slight frame was slightly stooped and his white hair was thinning. He must have been in his sixties. Maybe his late sixties. An olive complexion made his age hard to guess. Even his eyebrows were white.
The polite, effeminate waiter called him to the back of the restaurant with a gruff voice I didn’t hear him use again. The old man didn't say a word. He did as he was told, carrying a square bag almost as big as his torso. Restaurant staff filled it with food. He hoisted it onto his back then shuffled back through the square tables and the happy diners, silent and blank faced. I followed his progress through the window, watching him get into his car and drive away with his bag full of deliveries.
I’m afraid of being the delivery driver.
My day job has me speaking to a lot of delivery drivers. It’s not the worst paid job in the world but the hours are long and it’s dangerous. There’s no progression. People do it because they don’t have other options. Nobody wants to do it for long. It’s a stepping stone.
I imagined myself as the old man, olive skinned with white hair, being disrespected by a usually soft spoken waiter, working unsociable hours. I imagined how I would feel about myself. I imagined what my father would have thought of me, what my mother would think of me. And I wondered how my wife and my children would feel, when ‘Daddy’ had to go out all the time, doing dangerous work, and never having enough money. It terrified me.
I don’t want to live like that. In my life I’ve had more money than I’ve needed to do whatever I wanted, and I’ve not had enough money to buy groceries. The toughest periods were in my thirties, and then again following the coronavirus. I’ll never forget the feeling of not being able to buy birthday presents for the people I love.
We all have ups and downs. I’ve seen people lose it all. I’ve seen people make it. The ride goes up and down. It never stops, and neither does time. That’s part of what frightens me. The clock is ticking. I need to build an impenetrable financial fortress. The best thing about money is the freedom, the safety and the peace of mind it brings.
I don’t want my children to look at me in twenty years and think I threw my life away. I don’t want to look in the mirror and see a man who has failed. Our time on earth is so brief, and I want to leave a mark. I want to leave a legacy, something for my children.
I want to be somebody.
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