I write a lot about fear. Not only is it a boulder I personally shove up the hill every day, but one we all shove aside or up every morning, usually just to have the unruly anchor slip back into place while we sleep. I don't know if that's progress; it's certainly an exhausting hobby.
Here's what I wonder, though. What if, instead of shoving it aside so we can get to our coffee, we flung open the door, hands on hips, reading glasses perched on noses, and really checked this bastard out? What if we climbed on top of it, crawling inch by inch, letting our fingers map every rough spot, every crack, noting what makes this thing so dang heavy, chemical makeup and all?
And what if, instead of muscling the thing away, we did a bit of research? What if we found that salt water, over time, would erode the sucker? What if we baptized this thing every morning, every evening, in a blessing of salt--tears, sweat, ocean?
What if we could wake one morning to nothing more irritating than a pebble in our shoe?