I want to write something eloquent on fear. Or maybe I just want to write something helpful. I don’t know. What I do know is that its taking over.

I wish it was just my own fear, but I see it everywhere. We are paralyzed by it as a society. I am not sure if its just the western world, or if the whole world holds fear.

I saw so much fear in Texas, neighbours afraid of neighbours. People afraid of their own family. There are so many layers to fear, and we are not wrong to listen to it.

But I wonder if we take it too far. We take it to a place that makes more fear, and where does the fear end.

Fear is the most visible in mothers. We worry about all kinds of real physical things. Cars. Food. Sleepovers. Growth. Friends. Family. Bath time. Choking hazards. Allergies. Grades. Can they read. Do they know enough math. Do I trust the tutor, the doctor, the teacher, the co-parent…

We also worry about all the things we cannot see. Are my children happy? Will they be OK in this world? What should I do about the interaction they had with their friend? Should I even interfere?

But its not just mothers, I see it in so many. In so, so many ways.

Lately the things I’m afraid of, am I wrong to put my children into public school. To pull them back out.

I worry about cultural appropriation and heritage. I’m Caucasian (white), but my roots are murky. Is it wrong to pull from my Czech roots, is it fake? I’m also 3/4 Scottish, but other than some amazing trips in snowdrifts, I know little of that heritage. Can I bring it forward and give it to my children?

I like burning lavender and pine, will people call me out for that? In my new country the native people burn white sage and sweet grass, so its easier to come by, is it wrong to explore these new scents? Is it cultural appropriation if I do?

I fear that I need to ask someone permission. That someone will call me out for traditions that are not my own.

Another example, Dia de Los Muertos. We celebrate every year. We have Mexican and TexMex food. We read a poem. We set up photos of our loved ones and share stories. We play some songs that talk about life and death and the road we’re on. We try to spend time with family.

I’m sure I’m not doing any of these things the most authentic way, but when you come from a family that had no traditions and you are searching for grounding and something speaks to you as you are searching, should you ignore them?

I’ve started asking myself a different question. Not ‘will someone object?’ but ‘am I paying attention?’ Am I learning where this came from, giving credit, treating it with care, and letting it change me a little?

If yes, then I can light dried earthy botanicals, set out the photographs, and read the poem.

Fear will always be here, but it doesn’t have to lead.