Love and Fear Dancing in My Life

What a sunset conversation in Costa Rica taught me about fear, love, and the space in between.

It was our last week in Costa Rica. Seven weeks of surfing, walking to the market barefoot, and slowly letting the rhythm of a simpler life settle into our bones. My wife Becca and I had walked down the beach to watch the sunset. The surfers were out. The sky was doing its thing. And we were just sitting there together.

Earlier that day, I’d opened a conversation I’d been carrying for a while. I told Becca I was sorry for not extending enough grace to her. That I could see how much work she was doing, even when I wasn’t acknowledging it. And instead of assuming what she needed from me, I asked her directly. How can I best support you?

That went over well. And it felt important. Not because it was some dramatic moment, but because it was the kind of thing I’d been learning to do. Ask instead of assume. Listen instead of fix.

So when the sun started dropping and we were sitting on the sand, I was feeling open. I told her I wanted to keep getting better as a partner. That part of what drives me is a fear of losing her.

She pushed back. That sounds fear-driven, she said.

And what came out of my mouth surprised me with its clarity.

Love without fear is boundaryless. It’s not healthy. Fear alerts us that something is wrong. Fear alerts me that if I don’t continually improve myself, I could lose our relationship. And based on that fear, I can move forward in one of two ways. I can choose the fear-based way, which is to try and control and dominate. Or I can choose the love-based way, which is to grow.

She got it. And so did I. I'd been writing about love and fear for months. What surprised me was how clearly it all came together in a real conversation, sitting on a beach with my wife.

I’ve spent the better part of a year exploring where love and fear show up in the world. Early on, I wrote that fear and love aren’t enemies. They’re dancing partners. That fear is an alert system, not a character flaw. That the problem isn’t the alarm going off. It’s getting stuck in the alarm.¹

I believed that when I wrote it. But there’s a difference between understanding something and living it.

On that beach, I lived it. Fear showed up in my chest, right there in the middle of a good day with the person I love most. And instead of pretending it wasn’t there, I named it. Instead of letting it drive me toward control, I let it point me toward growth.

Fear fires. Something matters to you. Your body says pay attention. And then you get to choose. You can grip tighter, try to manage the outcome, dominate the situation into something that feels safe. Or you can stay open. Get curious. Let the fear be information, not instruction.

My friend Chris Lombard talks about this with horses. If you approach a horse with force and a need to control, they flee. They fight. They mirror back exactly what you’re bringing. But if you approach with presence, with softness, they open right up. Same animal. Same situation. The only thing that changed was what you brought to it.²

Relationships work the same way. Becca has been pulling me toward emotional and spiritual growth for years. I was journaling about it back in August, writing about how she makes the people around her better. How she’s taken on people that are challenging cases, and helped them grow. I called it one of her superpowers.

Seven months later, sitting on a beach in Costa Rica, I finally told her that to her face. Something I’d been processing internally became something I expressed out loud. That’s the adventure working. The private reflection becoming lived conversation.

Here’s what I want to be clear about. The desire to keep improving isn’t about inadequacy. Last July, I journaled about this too. I wrote that wanting to get better doesn’t mean I’m not a good person. It’s not about the pursuit of perfection. It’s about the pursuit of progress.

I also wrote about my dad, and a concern that he seemed to have no desire for self-improvement. That’s a pattern I don’t want to fall into. Not because I’m judging him. But because I know what it looks like when someone stops growing. And I know how it affects the people around them.

So when fear whispers that I could lose this relationship if I get complacent, I don’t need to silence that whisper. I need to listen to it. And then choose what I do with it.

Control and dominate. Or grow.

That’s not a one-time choice. It’s a daily one. Sometimes hourly.

When starting this adventure, I had a hypothesis that fear is the opposite of love. I still believe that to be true. And there is an important nuance in that relationship. Fear is not bad. Fear is a signal. Love is a response. And the quality of your life, your relationships, your leadership, comes down to what you do in the space between the signal and the response.

You can let fear make you smaller. Or you can let it make you better.

The space is always there. What you choose to do with it is what matters.

Learn more about the adventure at www.heart-strong.org

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