When Our Fears Ask, We Quietly Say "Yes," and Sometimes, "Really Big Yes”

At its heart, this journey isn't about fear—it's about reclaiming the radiant joy that awaits beyond its fears.

Silhouetted against the fading light, I surrender to the ocean's embrace—each wave washing away another fear | A moment of transcendence captured by my tripod

We may be "no" person for other matters, often saying no to many other people or opportunities that present themselves in our lives. We might decline invitations, reject proposals, or refuse to take on new responsibilities. However, when our fears and shadows ask us or order us to follow them, when those internal voices of doubt and insecurity make their demands known, we immediately and quietly say yes. Without hesitation or resistance, we surrender to these inner limitations, allowing them to dictate our choices and constrain our potential, even while we maintain our boundaries in other areas of life.

Beneath the surface of consciousness, our fears dance like puppeteers, pulling strings we don't even realize are attached. While we proudly erect "No Trespassing" signs in other domains of our lives, we've quietly issued an all-access pass to our deepest anxieties. Why? Because surrendering to fear feels like floating downstream—requiring no paddle, no effort, no confrontation. Our fears wrap us in a deceptive blanket of familiarity that, though restrictive, we clutch tightly rather than brave the cold unknown beyond.

These fear-driven patterns began as loyal guardians, protective responses that once served crucial purposes. Like outdated security systems, they continue to sound alarms long after the threat has passed. Their most cunning trait? Operating in the shadows of our awareness, these patterns prove far more elusive than the conscious boundaries we establish elsewhere. We become walking contradictions—outwardly decisive and firm while inwardly governed by invisible anxieties pulling our strings.

The alchemy of transformation begins with simple illumination. By shining awareness on these automatic surrenders to fear, we can begin to question each "yes" we've mindlessly offered. This awakening creates a moment of choice where none existed before, allowing us to carefully consider which inner voices truly deserve our attention and which merely echo old, unnecessary warnings. In this pause between stimulus and response lies our freedom—the power to reclaim territories long ago ceded to fear.

When we recognize our silent surrender to fear, we begin unraveling threads woven through the tapestry of our past choices. Like an archaeologist unearthing ancient artifacts, we discover patterns buried beneath years of habitual thinking. This revelation carves a sanctuary of possibility within us—a sacred space where we can examine our fears not as tyrants but as messengers, distinguishing between protective whispers and outdated alarms echoing in empty corridors.

As this awareness blooms through gentle attention, we become cartographers of our inner landscape, mapping the territories where fear has planted its flags. We learn to listen differently to the chorus of voices within—not silencing them, but hearing them with new ears. Some we'll honor as wise counselors; others we'll acknowledge with a bow before continuing our journey unhindered by their demands.

This awakening isn't merely a fleeting moment of clarity but a reclamation of sovereignty over lands long occupied. With each mindful pause between stimulus and response, we rebuild neural pathways from unconscious surrender toward conscious choice. Through this alchemical practice of questioning and listening, we transform our relationship with fear from that of subject to monarch, from prisoner to partner in dialogue—ultimately crafting choices that echo our soul's deepest truths rather than our mind's loudest anxieties.

I am writing this from my own personal experiences. I too found myself saying yes to my own fears and shadows, often without even realizing I was doing so. My fears originated from childhood experiences, from moments when I felt vulnerable or unsafe, and from significant setbacks I encountered later in life. These early imprints created patterns that continued to influence my decision-making well into adulthood. I took decisions I would have never taken if I had found the courage to say no to my fears – choices that led me down paths that weren't aligned with my true desires or potential.

Amidst the chorus of unwanted yeses, one peculiar agreement stands out—my migration to the Yukon after Saskatchewan had stripped me bare. This wasn't just geographic relocation; it was existential teleportation. Born from desperation rather than design, this reluctant "yes" to uncertainty paradoxically unlocked chambers within me that calculated caution would have forever sealed shut. It's curious how life's most devastating earthquakes can topple walls we never had the courage to dismantle ourselves. That northern leap—that free-fall into the vast unknown—wasn't merely movement across a map but a pivotal recalibration in my dance with fear, transforming it from master to messenger.

One thing I've learned from my experiences is that when we keep our perspective too narrow during difficult times, we allow our fears to dominate us completely. Our vision becomes constricted, and we can only see the immediate danger or discomfort, missing the broader landscape of possibilities. Many things from my past that once felt overwhelming and insurmountable now feel relatively small to me, and at that time, they were feeling absolutely huge – mountains I couldn't possibly climb. This shift in perception wasn't immediate but emerged gradually as I gained distance and perspective.

When we broaden our perspective – when we zoom out to see our lives as a continuing journey rather than a series of isolated crises – we learn to hold our fears differently. We begin to let our fears exist without allowing them to dare ask anything of us, without granting them the power to determine our choices. In this spaciousness, we keep joy in our hearts even amid uncertainty, knowing that our fears represent just one voice in a much richer conversation about how we might live.

At its heart, this journey isn't about fear—it's about reclaiming the radiant joy that awaits beyond its shadows. Let me transport you to a moment where joy crystallized before my eyes: as twilight painted Prince Edward Island's northern shore in amber and gold, Todd MacLean—writer, musician, and one of my pandemic-era Zoom students—lifted his saxophone to meet the setting sun. While ocean waves provided percussion, his notes soared as my body found its own rhythm in response. In that sacred convergence of music, movement, and nature's canvas, we weren't performing—we were becoming vessels of pure possibility, channels for hope's electric current to flow through. This wasn't mere artistic expression; it was a rebellion against fear's gravity, a testament to joy's persistence even in uncertain times. Enjoy the video:

Imagine viewing your life from a mountaintop instead of from within a valley's shadows. This elevated vantage transforms our relationship with fear. Like stars visible only at night, our fears don't vanish but become contextual points in a vast cosmic dance. We learn to acknowledge their presence without surrendering our compass to their gravitational pull. We allow them to shimmer at the periphery of our consciousness—visible but not commanding—while our inner compass aligns with deeper truths. Within this expanded horizon, joy becomes not a fleeting visitor but a permanent resident, coexisting with uncertainty as naturally as dawn follows darkness. Our fears, once dictators, become merely one instrument in the symphony of voices that compose our authentic journey.

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~ Gurdeep