The destructive response goes something like
this: We're confronted with a situation that clearly and appropriately
justifies fear, but instead we respond with, "I'm not afraid."
That doesn't bother me." Another sign we've invoked the destructive
response is that we put a barrier between the fear source and us. We waste
precious time and energy shielding ourselves from the fear source. We could
instead put this energy toward seeking solutions and resolutions to the
problem if we could only acknowledge that we are experiencing fear.
The
constructive response to fear requires a simple, but often difficult, step.
And the step is difficult for a perfectly legitimate reason, because it
attacks something that is important to all of us our pride.
The constructive
response to fear requires us to admit we're afraid. When we admit that we're
afraid, even if only to ourselves, when we accept our fear, something very
powerful happens. We regain control. We're back making decisions for
ourselves. The fear doesn't disappear, but its power over us wanes.
Early in
the space program, the National Aeronautics and Space Administration did a
study. They had observed that a certain number of their pilots and
astronauts were completing their missions successfully without suffering
motion and stress sickness. Another group was consistently having the
problem.
Based on empirical research, NASA found that there was one factor,
and one factor alone, that made the difference between the two groups. The
ones who were going through the mission without a physical problem were the
ones who had acknowledged in advance that they were going to be afraid. They
had a constructive response to fear. For all of us, but particularly for
people who are achievement oriented, the idea of a feeling like fear
exerting so much control over them can be hard to accept. The thought that a
mere emotion--something that did not spring from their imposing intellect or
determined will--could have a significant impact on them is extremely
bothersome.
To get comfortable with the fact that fear doesn't necessarily
make sense, yet has tremendous power over us, can be one of the most
consequential events of our lives.
The process of identifying fear starts
with a "feelings inventory." To get started, sit where there are
no distractions. Answer honestly: Are you angry, happy, sad, or afraid? You
may feel more than one of the emotions, or all of them. Identify the source
of each of these feelings-the real source. This may sound simplistic, but if
you do it with commitment, you will quickly grasp the value.
To understand
more completely how a feelings inventory can help you understand the
interplay between emotions, think of a spacecraft in the weightless
environment of space. It has retro-rockets that propel the spacecraft when
they fire. They are there to enable the spacecraft to maneuver in all
directions. Feelings send us off in various directions just like the
retrorockets. When they fire, we start to travel in a certain direction.
When we identify the feeling and its source, we have the opportunity to
counter its effect if we choose. That's why it is so critical that we
understand what's occurring. It may be that we don't want to counter the
effect--that's okay, too. The difference is that now we're pilots who know
what's taking place as opposed to pilots with rockets firing at random and
no idea where we're headed. A feelings inventory is our control panel.
Sometimes our retro-rockets may fire in a direction that's good. It helps to
know that, too.
Infants have few fears. During the early days of life, we
tune in to our confidence voice like a radio picking up a strong signal. We
don't even need a vocabulary! The message is perfectly clear: Do it. Touch
it. Put it in my mouth. Taste it. Twist it. Throw it on the ground. Never
again will our confidence voice play such an undiluted role in our
actions--fortunately. If we didn't "catch" certain fears from our
society, we would likely die young.
Unfortunately, once those fears do come
into our lives, we usually take on more than we need. We find we become more
adept at hearing our fear voice than tuning in our fainter confidence voice.
I was confronted with my fear voice when I had the chance to skydive to the
North Pole. After three hours in the air, the Russian jet transport I was
aboard had finally arrived over the polar cap. Along with my fellow team
members, I approached the exit ramp. Within two steps of the edge, I
realized I had a significant gear problem: I had forgotten to tighten my leg
straps. If I went into free fall with my leg straps loose, on opening, my
harness would shift upward. My chest strap would shift across my face,
likely knocking off my goggles. In that frigid Arctic air, with a single
tear and a blink of my eyes, my eyelashes could freeze together. Should that
occur in both eyes, I could no longer tell if I was heading for ice or
water. I wouldn't be able to tell when I was getting near the surface so I
could make a safe landing. The worst case would be that my chest strap would
shift above my head, no longer holding me in my harness. I would pitch
forward and continue in free fall for what would become my final skydive.
I was faced with a very difficult decision and only a few moments in which
to make it. I had to decide between going back into the aircraft and giving
myself a more thorough gear check or leaving the plane with my team. My team
was my survival mechanism.
Due to the speed of the aircraft, my only hope of
landing with my team would be by exiting with my team. I tightened my leg
straps, knowing there could be as many as half a dozen other important
elements of preparation I could have neglected in the excitement of the
moment and the bulk of the unusual gear. As I looked out that door and tried
to make my decision, I heard from my fear voice and it said, "Jim get
back in the plane! You're about to kill yourself."
Fortunately, my
confidence voice was there, too. It had a deliberate, but quieter, tone:
"Jim, you're well trained. You're well prepared and you don't want to
miss this opportunity. If you leave the aircraft now, you'll have the
experience of a lifetime!" I had to listen to those two voices and
decide if I was ready to take the next step.
I did, and the rewards have
been immeasurable. I found my true calling: as a result of that experience,
I've been able to become a full-time professional speaker and help people
understand how taking risks stepping outside their comfort zone-can lead to
higher performance on the job and greater personal satisfaction.
Immeasurable rewards await you, too, if you're willing to take some
thoughtful and constructive risks!
About the
Author:
