3 blocks. The length of the Broadway Tunnel in San Francisco. About 5 minutes to walk it. Scratch that. 5 minutes if you walk it the way I walk it, which pretty much means I walk then run then walk.

A couple weeks back I lost my sunglasses at a bar in North Beach so I went back the next day to see if luck was on my side and they were still there. They were. “Things are looking up” I thought to myself as I confidently walked into Cafe Trieste for a celebratory latte (to go).

It’s all positive. I’ll drink my coffee and walk home. It’s a nice night, why not. Plus it gives me the opportunity to walk the tunnel – something I always have a difficult time with.

I walked half way into the tunnel. I looked back periodically to check my progress. Wait, no I didn’t. I looked back periodically to see what it would take to ditch this claustrophobic place and head back from where I came.

This is the point where I should mention that by checking for perceived “safety”, I’ve given the fear undeserved credence, making it much more likely that I will panic. (panic of course being the combination of a PERCEPTION of immediate danger combined with bodily symptoms)

I go back. Get about a quarter of the way back to my starting point then turn around again to make another go at it. I get to a point. A point that I translate as “now I’m in it”. Up until I hit that point, I’m safe. I know I can easily return to the start of the tunnel, quickly. But once I pass this point, I’m half way in. I have to go forward. I have to panic. In a tunnel. With walls closing in on me (figuratively of course).

I do this about 6 times and see a few cop cars drive by. I’m feeling like they may think that the guy running around the tunnel in leather soled oxfords for the past 20 minutes might, just might, be a bit suspect. So now I’m thinking about this, ditching my coffee long before, and I bail. I hang my head and walk back. I failed this time.

I walked up the hill, taking the easy route. Then I remembered my biggest regret in life. Avoiding to the point of becoming a severe agoraphobic, an avoidance junkie. No more. I walked back and (this is key) without hesitation (which also validates the false fear) I walked. Ok, I did jog for about maybe 20 yards. But I did it. I walked to the end. I said screw it.

Life’s too short. Screw it. Hmmm, new mantra?

Avoidance Junkie