Threat Management - Fear is Visible
A little over 20 years ago, I was standing near the 69th Street subway terminal in Philadelphia, PA. Looking across the street, I noticed the usual array of people, some moving and some just sitting on steps, curbs or leaning on something. It was an old brick building I was seeing behind the people, with small shops at the street level and what appeared to be apartments above. Wooden doors were spaced in between the shops, probably leading to stairs going to the upper floors.
As I watched a common and unremarkable scene of city life, one of those wooden doors opened and an elderly, stooped, tiny woman stepped onto the sidewalk. She had some kind of scarf on her head and was clutching a purse. A ragged sweater was her protection from the somewhat cold temperature. She glanced around quickly, furtively, and then scurried along the side of the building and into the very next doorway, which was the entrance to a small market.
The way she moved made me think of a mouse being chased by a cat. Yet, of course, I saw no cat or anything else that appeared dangerous. I lit a cigarette and waited. The woman appeared from the market's door with a small paper bag in her arm, performed the same glancing ritual she had done earlier, then almost raced the probably 12 feet back to her wooden door and disappeared inside.
I couldn't really grasp why this woman would act in the manner that she did. It seemed not only odd but bordered on me considering her as having some kind of mental imbalance. Five minutes of viewing a stranger, a moment of life, that I have thought about from time to time for many years. What had I really seen? I pictured the other people on the street. Many of them just plainly looked mean, like one would not want a problem with them. I thought back to me, standing across that street, hair coated with grime from the underside of a transit car I had been working on, a big ball pein hammer stuck in my belt, dirty flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up showing my forearms covered with tattoos. I looked mean, too.
And, at that point, I realized that the woman saw the people around her and was afraid. All her movements, her very presence, radiated fear. She was what fear looks like. What a terrible state to live in - perpetually in fear (at least in public, though I'd presume that the woman remained fearful even in her apartment).
I would never want to live like that. I choose not to live like that. And, I hope that you would make the decision not to live like that either.
As I watched a common and unremarkable scene of city life, one of those wooden doors opened and an elderly, stooped, tiny woman stepped onto the sidewalk. She had some kind of scarf on her head and was clutching a purse. A ragged sweater was her protection from the somewhat cold temperature. She glanced around quickly, furtively, and then scurried along the side of the building and into the very next doorway, which was the entrance to a small market.
The way she moved made me think of a mouse being chased by a cat. Yet, of course, I saw no cat or anything else that appeared dangerous. I lit a cigarette and waited. The woman appeared from the market's door with a small paper bag in her arm, performed the same glancing ritual she had done earlier, then almost raced the probably 12 feet back to her wooden door and disappeared inside.
I couldn't really grasp why this woman would act in the manner that she did. It seemed not only odd but bordered on me considering her as having some kind of mental imbalance. Five minutes of viewing a stranger, a moment of life, that I have thought about from time to time for many years. What had I really seen? I pictured the other people on the street. Many of them just plainly looked mean, like one would not want a problem with them. I thought back to me, standing across that street, hair coated with grime from the underside of a transit car I had been working on, a big ball pein hammer stuck in my belt, dirty flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up showing my forearms covered with tattoos. I looked mean, too.
And, at that point, I realized that the woman saw the people around her and was afraid. All her movements, her very presence, radiated fear. She was what fear looks like. What a terrible state to live in - perpetually in fear (at least in public, though I'd presume that the woman remained fearful even in her apartment).
I would never want to live like that. I choose not to live like that. And, I hope that you would make the decision not to live like that either.
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