Alchemizing Fear

From the zero sum game to the multiverse of connection

I’ve been feeling such a mixture of things since the US presidential ‘debate’ last Tuesday night. While aware of all of the contrasts between the two candidates, I was also struck by how much fear was stoked about the Other (especially immigrants) and how many references were made to guns, border security, and US military might.¹ It reminded me of a comment my friend Bevelyn shared with me a few months ago, about the “hyper-socialization of fear” — how living in this context can lead us to being afraid of each other, of our own power to make a difference, and of the world at large. The fear is stoked through the rigidities of factory-schooling, an economy rooted in inequalities and scarcity, a media that capitalizes on ‘bad news’, a politics that makes enemies everywhere, and the wild story that guns make us safe — to name just a few of its sources. Mix up all of that context with each person’s inner critic, and an overall lack of relational and conflict skills, and that vicious cycle of fear just gets, well, more vicious.

It’s not difficult for me to see how fear leads to zero-sum thinking, us vs. them, either/or, and other such limits of the mind, and how dominating/submissive actions follow from it. Neuroscience provides confirmation. In a state of fear, my amygdala gets activated, which narrows my vision like I am wearing horse blinders. In that fight-flight reaction, I can only believe that it’s either me or you in this moment; there is no longer room for all of us, and no other options, nor possibility of options, on the table.

It got me wondering: What might happen if we could transform our mindsets, practice skills, and build structures that enabled the hyper-socialization of connection instead? What if we could shift from the internally-imposed limits spurred by fear, and grow towards the multiverse, the both/and, and the enough-ness of space and time for all? How can each of us be a practice ground and a convener for that shift, and what do we need from each other to make that possible?

I recognize, of course, that there are large-scale forces working to spread fear and feeding these stories of scarcity. And while I can’t stop many things about them, I can invite myself (and you) to look more deeply at every moment that asks me to disconnect, to buy into a zero-sum story, and to metastasize fear like the cancer it is. That is a power I (and you) do have: to pause the runaway train of fear and notice what it is doing to me, my relationships, and my sense of possibility for the future. From that pause, I have the option to choose to build pathways of connection instead.

Those moments of fear/disconnection can show up at all levels, from my inner critic judging me, to reactive conflicts in my current relationships, to my polarizing engagements with social change. If adrienne marie brown is right (and I think she is), then “How we are at the small scale is how we are at the large scale. The patterns of the universe repeat at scale,” as she writes in her book, Emergent Strategy. For me, this concept of fractals of change is profoundly hopeful. What I am doing internally to shift fear, how I am being in each of my relationships, and in the work I engage with others, has the possibility to expand across the universe. And that means those large-scale forces are not immutable. They can be dissipated, renounced, lose momentum, and collapse, just as has been shown time and again by movements for freedom, justice, and love.

When people commit to connection, to building bridges instead of barriers, they can take down walls (literally and figuratively) and let the light in. Fear has a hard time spreading in this kind of environment; it doesn’t do well with the bright light of truthful vulnerability and compassionate listening shining on it. Maybe that’s why there is so much work done to stoke the amygdala, to keep people apart in real time, and to encourage them to operate in the realm of opinions and ideas instead of feelings and experiences. Otherwise, when we see, share and hear our vulnerabilities, how much we are alike, our hearts take over as the primary source of information. Connections abound and intimacy emerges. From there, all manner of mutually beneficial and reciprocal collaborations are possible. The fear has been uprooted, and there is no going back to the world it shaped.

A little childhood memory comes up as I open this door of possibility. I was about seven years old, and we had a party at our house (the weekly gathering of the Rajasthani Indian families I was raised with in Chicago that embedded a sense of community into my bones). Somehow, my friends and I ended up playing a ghost game in the dark in the bathroom. One of the kids pulled down the shower curtain and the rod, damaging the drywall. We heard the crash and froze. My friends were scared about getting in trouble, and I was too, and I knew I had to tell an adult about it. I remember choosing my dad, because I knew he wouldn’t yell at us. And when he saw what happened, he was calm, let us know that he could fix it, and also asked us to not to play in the bathroom anymore, because someone could get hurt. One of my friends remarked, “Wow, your dad was so nice about it. My dad wouldn’t have been.” And I realized then that I wasn’t afraid of my father, that he had made it safe for me to make mistakes and mess up, and take them as an opportunity to tell the truth, learn, and do better in the future. Looking back now, I can see he socialized me to trust and connect, even when I first felt fear. (You can find another story about that here.)

Fast forward in time, and I’m thinking about the YES! Re-Storying Justice Jam. It is rooted in finding new narratives around punishment, incarceration, exclusion, and separation. The participants are a mix of leaders who are formerly incarcerated and/or practitioners of restorative and transformative justice, and we come together to explore accountability for hurt and harm that incorporates ideas of healing, remorse, forgiveness, repair, possibility, and wholeness. The Jam invites co-learning around liberation and freedom, and what it takes as individuals and community to get there.

In each of these Jams, there has been a moment of breakdown, where one participant has felt hurt by the actions of another, and it often throws the whole group off balance. I have seen how individuals can splinter into zero-sum thinking in those moments, and how those mirror neurons fire among the group and generate a ‘reality’ of us vs. them. To me, the struggle often feels like it’s one between fear and connection — which is not surprising given the focus of the Jam. I ask myself, what does it look like to re-story justice in real time, when the grooves of fear are so well-worn within, to make someone wrong, to punish, to choose one over another?

And yet, each time, I see how we draw upon the practices we have committed to in the Jam container: to slow down, to listen, to make space for all, to not freeze anyone in a moment, to speak from the I, etc. All of these practices foster new grooves of connection — to self, to each other, to the earth and to the mystery. When I slow down enough, and invite others to join me in that slowing down, we begin to co-create new neural pathways together. It’s not that amygdala doesn’t show up; it’s that we slow down enough to see the fear, to re-set our nervous systems, to prevent the fear from fully hijacking the possibilities of holistic ways forward together. Each of us is a conduit for that change, and as those mirror neurons fire among us, we socialize connection together. The group re-grounds and finds a way forward. The results are healing, learning, repair and wholeness. It almost feels like a miracle, and while in some ways, it is, it is also just a set of skills and mindsets and a set of structures to support them.

So many people, myself included, have been so wounded by conflicts that did not go well — in our families, friendships, romantic relationships, workplaces, etc. All the breakdowns have left us understandably afraid, skittish and disillusioned, so it can feel hard to get up and try again with a new person, a new context, a new opportunity. The pain feels like it’s been poured over with concrete. When cemented rock-solid, there is no space for new stories, no healing possibilities, no previously unimagined outcomes. I can see how this fear-fullness leads to fear-mongering in so many people around the world, because what else can the fear do but spread?

And, yet, if I recognize that I have been hyper-socialized to be afraid, then I can see how that might be true for others. I could bring slowness and compassion to those moments. I could remember what I learned in a workshop a few years ago: The wound is not the thing that happened. The wound is the conclusion that I drew about myself or about the world from the thing that happened. While I can't change what happened, I can change the story of what I think about what happened.

The more I can notice the fears that have developed out of my own wounds, the more I can see how that might be true for others. Then, I can transform my listening to not absorb, fix or abandon others in their fears (or myself in mine), and rather to just be present with them, to bear witness to them. I can be grateful for the many opportunities I have had to unlearn my fears and to take risks to find out what might be different if I lead with the connection instead of the fear. In community with others, I can invest in co-creating a good container, internally, interpersonally and systemically. I can ask for support, be willing to receive it, and also offer it to others, along the way. All of this lets me meet my fear, and the fear of others, with kindness, gentleness and curiosity, and not let it concretize into a fixed story. All of this leads to less fear and more connection.

I wonder if this sounds too simple — to slow down and hear the fears and understand them and in doing so, watch them transform them into connection — and yet, that’s what I find myself doing with friends, clients, groups, family, and even myself. I am astounded by the alchemy, this movement from iron to gold. So many times, I have watched fear disappear in real time when it is met with compassion, listening, wonder, and love. It just happened again today! It deepens my faith that if we can practice this at the small scale, it can ripple across the universe. After all, that’s where the interconnection already is, just waiting for us to join it.

I would love to hear your own stories of alchemy, of transmuting fear into connection. Please share in the comments if you’re willing. Thank you!

1. I really appreciated this reflection from Chris Mills Rodrigo from the Institute for Policy Studies’ Inequality.org team: ‘Much of the debate focused on immigration, with both candidates pledging hard-line approaches to border security unlikely to do anything about the root causes driving millions to leave their homes in search of a better life. And both Harris and Trump left an important undercurrent to the immigration debate unsaid: Millions of Americans are worrying about immigrants because they’ve been convinced that our economy is a zero-sum game where they lose if immigrants get jobs. The reality? We have more than enough resources to go around in this country. Our main problem: The ultra-wealthy are hoarding those resources. As AFL-CIO President Liz Shuler put it last night: “An immigrant doesn’t stand between you and a good job. A billionaire does.”