I don’t know when fear entered my life, but I suspect it was very early. I have memories of my childhood when I was fearless. I was eager to attempt something new, didn’t care what other people thought, and would rush to the front of the line. I expected to succeed even at the most difficult tasks. I had no fear of failure or harm.Somewhere along the line, though, I lost that fearless feeling and became very aware of the real and mostly imagined dangers around me. I was fierce, and then, one day, I became shy. Maybe it wasn’t that sudden. It could have happened over time, slowly, which may be why I cannot identify a specific incident that turned me into a scaredy-cat.There was my tonsillectomy. I suppose nothing could take courage out of your sails faster than facing surgery at four years old. I really didn’t have any concept of life or death at that point. Pain and suffering were more of my concern. I knew when I hurt and when I didn’t. Comfort or lack of pain was real and desirable. Pain and suffering were things I learned to avoid. Maybe that is when I began to fear.There was a tire swing incident. The rope broke loose while my father was giving me a huge push on our tire swing. My siblings looked on in horror as I flew through the air and…