There's no rhyme or reason to it. Fear and anxiety sometime come with good reason, some kind of good explanation. If a child has a bad experience with a dog, for example, it makes sense when they acquire a fear of dogs. I can't explain my anxiety. I sit at home, on my comfy couch, inside walls and under a roof, behind locked doors and windows, and I am anxious over every little sound I hear. I jump when the fridge runs because my over-active imagination tells me it's a car coming down the road. When the house creaks, groans and pops (like all houses do) I imagine a wall sagging or the ceiling falling in. If I hear leaves rustle or a twig snap outside, I imagine someone sneaking around my house with the intent to break in and steal what little we have, or to do bodily harm to me or my family. Perhaps I've seen too many scary movies, and watch too much crime television. I am always on alert, and it's exhausting. In order to get any sleep at all, I have to play some kind of background noise, like a thunderstorm or beach waves to drown out all other sounds. But here's the really strange part. In the last month or so, I have been camping twice. The first time was in an over-crowded campground, where our neighbors were camped out just feet from our tent and people were regularly walking by, so close that I'm surprised no one tripped over our stakes and rope. The second time was near the beach in Grand Marais. It was festival weekend, which means the small town was crawling with people, strangers, drunks. Only the thin, nearly transparent material of the tent stood between me and the world. But I wasn't afraid. My anxiety never kicked in during either camping trip. Why then, inside the walls of my own home, do I feel so anxious? What am I afraid of??
