Fear and the Tooth Fairy

I had a dental emergency yesterday; one of my last three remaining baby teeth got yanked out of my head. Yes, I still have baby teeth – it’s a genetic thing. Yes, I now have a hole in my mouth – luckily, it’s in the back and not particularly noticeable. And yes, I’ve only been consuming liquids for the past 24 hours – anyone who does this by choice is an idiot. I’ve also been THINKING! Specifically, I’ve been thinking about the nature of FEAR.

But first, I have a bone to pick with the Tooth Fairy.

by AlterEgoTrip Svenska/flickr

I don’t think it’s fair that TF only works with kids. I want to put in a claim to the Council That Be; I believe I was short-shrifted. Should I really be punished, and have financial benefits withheld, simply because my baby teeth stay around longer than others’ and nothing’s moving in to kick them out?

Instead of receiving a quarter under my pillow this morning, to compensate for my pain and suffering, I received a dental bill for $368. Even with the recession and layoffs, this seems a bit wonky.

Otherwise, however, I’m not nearly as traumatized by my semi-toothless state as I thought I’d be. As a result, I’m beginning to suspect that FEAR is just fluff backed by stellar marketing.

I’ve known my tooth needed to be jettisoned for years. It had gotten infected numerous times. The roots had disintegrated. It was so much smaller than the surrounding teeth, it did little more than serve as a convenient tray upon which food remnants would sit until I noticed them. Nonetheless, I balked at saying goodbye. Vanity was shouting that I might as well move to the Ozarks. Inner Child was awash in abandonment issues.

But then, something odd happened. I stopped listening. It wasn’t that the pain this week was any worse than it’s been in the past, or that I’d suddenly won the lottery, killed my Inner Child or decided to move in with a hot mountain man. Instead, I decided to move past the fear and face whatever came after.

So simple.

***

As I was heading to my dentist yesterday, Abby Sunderland was feared lost in the middle of the ocean. Today, I’m missing a tooth and she’s missing a mast on her sailboat. And we’re both alive. I know it’s odd to compare my tooth extraction to her sailing near-catastrophe, but both circumstances involve fear. This morning, when I learned she’d been found and wasn’t injured, my first thought was: I wonder how she’ll remember the past 24 hours?

Abby must have been terrified when she lost contact with the world, in the midst of a potentially deadly storm.

***

I remember being woken up one night by a car bomb going off in front of my apartment, blowing out the windows of the building, shooting flames along my balcony. I was living in Athens, Greece, at the time and the Gulf War had just started. I remember looking at the clock. It read 4 a.m. On most nights, I would be just walking into my building at about this time, coming home from clubbing. I didn’t know if my American roommate and I were the intended target, or if perhaps a diplomat also lived in our building, or if the street in front of my home had simply provided the only parking space available. What I did know was FEAR.

At least, that’s what my diary tells me.

If I look at the pages I wrote that night, I see frantic chicken scratch and I read panic. Now, however, the sensations I feel most when thinking back on the incident are NOSTALGIA and EXHILARATION.

NOT FEAR.

***

When the dentist pulled my tooth out, I felt no pain. When I got up from the chair, however, I was shaking.

by gaab22/flickr

I wish I’d been able to save my tooth, not to keep but to dispose of it in a more ritualized manner. Everything in me is shifting at the moment, even though it looks like nothing is happening. I’m dreaming with my eyes open. I’m slowing releasing the fears I’ve tethered to me since childhood. How symbolic, then, that I am no longer anchored by that little baby tooth. Nothing has taken its place yet, but it will.

***

Of course, one trip to the dentist is not going to eradicate fear from my life. But the desire to burst through it, like a battered boat through the raging waves of a rabid storm, is increasingly greater than the fear. Seth wrote a nice bit of inspiration on this topic today, as well. As always, the need to swim through fear is applicable to all aspects of life.

It’s reassuring to think that, no matter how crippling the fear, memory blurs the edges of it. With that knowledge held firmly against my heart, it’s much easier to dive into the unknown.

What are you doing to swim through your fear?

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