"Pain is coming anyway. Don’t get a shield. Get a saddle. Tame it."
—Derek Sivers
It turns out, I’m scared of emus.
Okay, scared is a strong word. My wife would definitely say I’m scared. I’d say, I’m moderately anxious around them.
My reasons are valid. My sister has two, and they’re basically velociraptors from Jurassic Park — they hunt in packs. One comes at me from about two o’clock, and the other from nine. Both of them are male, by the way. I’m not sure if that makes them more or less terrifying.
They’ve gotten me before. Well, technically, they got my phone. It’s shiny, and emus love pecking at shiny things. But if I hold my hands above my head, I can usually turn the tables and they scamper off.
While I joke that they’re dinosaurs trying to eat me, they’re largely harmless. In fact, their wings are about the size of a human hand. Wild.
If I’m being unemotional, the worst thing that could happen is that, in a targeted peck for my phone, they might catch my hand. Maybe break the skin. A bandaid, and I’m back in business. That’s probably the worst that could happen.
(Although — fun fact — there was an actual Emu War in Australia in the 1930s. Humans lost. So. Make of that what you will.)
You might not be scared of emus. But there’s something that scares you.
Sometimes you go ahead anyway. Other times, you don’t.
Something worth asking yourself when you’re standing at the edge of a choice, or a risk, or facing an emu:
What’s the worst that can happen?
Not the story you tell yourself. Not the fear.
The actual, real worst thing.
Usually, it’s not that bad.
Take care. Be good.
—Kelly
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