Laura’s post about her story telling roots brought up pleasant memories for me. My second grade teacher noticed my knack for story-telling and often put me in front of the room with the instructions, “Tell us a story, Robin.” That was it. No suggestions. No prompts. And so I did, spinning the story from my imagination.
Things just came to me. I’d remember something that had happened, and I’d weave a story from it. I always loved reading, writing, and telling stories, and I’ve not lost my joy for any of those three activities.
My mother was my cheerleader. She wrote her entire life down in journals. My sisters have stacks of them. She encouraged my love of storytelling, and I truly regret that I did not publish a book before she died. She would have thoroughly enjoyed it.
I’ve read that the number one fear of Americans is public speaking. That fear is before death or illness. For me, public speaking is an easy thing.
I fear heights above anything else. I don’t like to drive over high bridges, and I will drive miles out of the way to avoid it.
What do you fear?