Today, I got my tooth out. Tooth #2, specifically. I have a fear of dentists and of needles, so for me, this was a bit of a nerve-wracking proposition. But as I sat there, in the dentists chair, meditating to get my heart rate down, it occurred to me: who, exactly, is afraid? That may seem like a goofy question to ask, but it comes from my Buddhist training: who is afraid, exactly? After all, this is something I wanted to do. I very much wanted that tooth out of my mouth because of all the pain it was causing me. I started doing an inventory of my mind: scientific mind? No, he's on board: this is a good idea. We double checked with multiple doctors, and saw the X-rays; the tooth is dead. Financial brain? Nope, great idea: $300 instead of over $4500. True self? Nope, he's good with it; in fact, the more I delved into my own psyche, the more I discovered a kind of quiet curiosity about the whole process. So who is afraid? Somebody is, clearly, inside there. My stomach hurts, I'm gripping the armrest. Whatever that thing is, I visualized it as a small child; my inner child. It was confused; it didn't have the equipment to understand what was happening. It was an unfamiliar environment, and it brought to mind unpleasant circumstances from my childhood. That little 8-year-old me was sad, and scared, and hurt.
I value that part of me. It's the part that still loves people. It's the part that believes in romance, and faith, and love. It also believes that needles will somehow destroy it, and dentists are terrible people. So it has to be treated with care. But in that moment, realizing who it was that was afraid made the rest of me want to comfort it. My science brain and my logical mind and my true self all wanted to hold its hand; and so they did. And lo and behold, my blood pressure dropped, my heart rate dropped, and while I was still scared, I knew that, even alone, I was surrounded by friendly faces.
And it didn't even hurt! (But the dentist forgot to give me a lollipop).