Question
What Fear Can Teach Us
Karen Thompson Walker
2013
As a writer, I can tell you that a big part of writing fiction is learning to predict how one event in a story will affect all the other events, and fear works in that same way. In fear, just like in fiction, one thing always leads to another. When I was writing my first novel, The Age Of Miracles, I spent months trying to figure out what would happen if the rotation of the Earth suddenly began to slow down. What would happen to our days? What would happen to our crops? What would happen to our minds? And then it was only later that I realized how very similar these questions were to the ones I used to ask myself as a child frightened in the night. If an earthquake strikes tonight, I used to worry, what will happen to our house? What will happen to my family? And the answer to those questions always took the form of a story. So if we think of our fears as more than just fears but as stories, we should think of ourselves as the authors of those stories. But just as importantly, we need to think of ourselves as the readers of our fears, and how we choose to read our fears can have a profound effect on our lives.
Now, some of us naturally read our fears more closely than others. I read about a study recently of successful entrepreneurs, and the author found that these people shared a habit that he called “productive paranoia,” which meant that these people, instead of dismissing their fears, these people read them closely, they studied them, and then they translated that fear into preparation and action. So that way, if their worst fears came true, their businesses were ready.
And sometimes, of course, our worst fears do come true. That’s one of the things that is so extraordinary about fear. Once in a while, our fears can predict the future. But we can’t possibly prepare for all of the fears that our imaginations concoct. So how can we tell the difference between the fears worth listening to and all the others? I think the end of the story of the whaleship Essex offers an illuminating, if tragic, example. After much deliberation, the men finally made a decision. Terrified of cannibals, they decided to forgo the closest islands and instead embarked on the longer and much more difficult route to South America. After more than two months at sea, the men ran out of food as they knew they might, and they were still quite far from land. When the last of the survivors were finally picked up by two passing ships, less than half of the men were left alive, and some of them had resorted to their own form of cannibalism. Herman Melville, who used this story as research for Moby Dick, wrote years later, and from dry land, quote, “All the sufferings of these miserable men of the Essex might in all human probability have been avoided had they, immediately after leaving the wreck, steered straight for Tahiti. But,” as Melville put it, “they dreaded cannibals.”
Karen Thompson Walker
2013
As a writer, I can tell you that a big part of writing fiction is learning to predict how one event in a story will affect all the other events, and fear works in that same way. In fear, just like in fiction, one thing always leads to another. When I was writing my first novel, The Age Of Miracles, I spent months trying to figure out what would happen if the rotation of the Earth suddenly began to slow down. What would happen to our days? What would happen to our crops? What would happen to our minds? And then it was only later that I realized how very similar these questions were to the ones I used to ask myself as a child frightened in the night. If an earthquake strikes tonight, I used to worry, what will happen to our house? What will happen to my family? And the answer to those questions always took the form of a story. So if we think of our fears as more than just fears but as stories, we should think of ourselves as the authors of those stories. But just as importantly, we need to think of ourselves as the readers of our fears, and how we choose to read our fears can have a profound effect on our lives.
Now, some of us naturally read our fears more closely than others. I read about a study recently of successful entrepreneurs, and the author found that these people shared a habit that he called “productive paranoia,” which meant that these people, instead of dismissing their fears, these people read them closely, they studied them, and then they translated that fear into preparation and action. So that way, if their worst fears came true, their businesses were ready.
And sometimes, of course, our worst fears do come true. That’s one of the things that is so extraordinary about fear. Once in a while, our fears can predict the future. But we can’t possibly prepare for all of the fears that our imaginations concoct. So how can we tell the difference between the fears worth listening to and all the others? I think the end of the story of the whaleship Essex offers an illuminating, if tragic, example. After much deliberation, the men finally made a decision. Terrified of cannibals, they decided to forgo the closest islands and instead embarked on the longer and much more difficult route to South America. After more than two months at sea, the men ran out of food as they knew they might, and they were still quite far from land. When the last of the survivors were finally picked up by two passing ships, less than half of the men were left alive, and some of them had resorted to their own form of cannibalism. Herman Melville, who used this story as research for Moby Dick, wrote years later, and from dry land, quote, “All the sufferings of these miserable men of the Essex might in all human probability have been avoided had they, immediately after leaving the wreck, steered straight for Tahiti. But,” as Melville put it, “they dreaded cannibals.”
Answers
GPT-4o mini
In "What Fear Can Teach Us," Karen Thompson Walker explores the intricate relationship between fear and storytelling, drawing parallel lessons from both fiction and real-life experiences. She emphasizes that fear can be much more than just an emotional response; it can serve as a narrative tool that shapes our understanding of potential outcomes.
Walker starts by reflecting on her writing process for her novel, "The Age of Miracles," where she contemplates the repercussions of a slowing Earth. Her childhood fears during sleepless nights—worries about earthquakes and their devastating effects—echoed her fictional inquiries. This sets the stage for her idea that fears can be seen as narratives we create, urging us to assume the roles of both authors and readers of our own fears.
She highlights the concept of "productive paranoia," a term she encountered in studies about successful entrepreneurs. These individuals utilize their fears as a catalyst for planning and action, rather than allowing fear to paralyze them. By acknowledging and preparing for their fears, they increase their chances of navigating potential crises.
The essay then transitions to a historical example involving the whaleship Essex, where the crew's fear of cannibalism led them to make poor choices that ultimately resulted in tragedy. Walker references Herman Melville's commentary on this predicament, noting that the crew's dread dictated their decisions, leading to disastrous consequences. This story serves as a poignant reminder of how irrational fears can cloud judgment and lead to regrettable outcomes.
Ultimately, Walker challenges readers to discern between fears that warrant attention and those that are mere distractions. By reading our fears carefully, we can translate them into meaningful actions that prepare us for the realities of life. The essay invites introspection about how we handle fears—urging us to transform fear from an obstacle into a pathway for growth and preparedness.
Walker starts by reflecting on her writing process for her novel, "The Age of Miracles," where she contemplates the repercussions of a slowing Earth. Her childhood fears during sleepless nights—worries about earthquakes and their devastating effects—echoed her fictional inquiries. This sets the stage for her idea that fears can be seen as narratives we create, urging us to assume the roles of both authors and readers of our own fears.
She highlights the concept of "productive paranoia," a term she encountered in studies about successful entrepreneurs. These individuals utilize their fears as a catalyst for planning and action, rather than allowing fear to paralyze them. By acknowledging and preparing for their fears, they increase their chances of navigating potential crises.
The essay then transitions to a historical example involving the whaleship Essex, where the crew's fear of cannibalism led them to make poor choices that ultimately resulted in tragedy. Walker references Herman Melville's commentary on this predicament, noting that the crew's dread dictated their decisions, leading to disastrous consequences. This story serves as a poignant reminder of how irrational fears can cloud judgment and lead to regrettable outcomes.
Ultimately, Walker challenges readers to discern between fears that warrant attention and those that are mere distractions. By reading our fears carefully, we can translate them into meaningful actions that prepare us for the realities of life. The essay invites introspection about how we handle fears—urging us to transform fear from an obstacle into a pathway for growth and preparedness.