Christopher was a large crab who lived as a pet in one corner of a pull-out lobster tank at the generous and friendly Butland’s Seafood, just outside Fundy National Park.
Surrounded by lobsters of every size and colour, and occasionally picked up and shown off to lucky customers, he dealt with the terror by closing his eyes. If he couldn’t see us, then we couldn’t see him.
I’ve always done the same.
When faced with the terror of possible judgement, rejection, criticism or the source of a deep and open hurt, I simply refuse to look.
Family gatherings, group activities, crowded school yards, you name it, I protect myself by averting my eyes. If I can’t see them, they can’t see me. They can’t judge me, reject me or hurt me. They can’t see into me.
To let go, to connect, to be fully alive, I need to open my eyes. I need to take in what’s really there.
I need to touch the burner.
Part of me knows I’ll be pleasantly surprised.