Saying I am afraid

A retired maths teacher in Jeddah has tutored children at his dining table for years. His daughter suggests he try a few lessons by video call. He has an answer ready. Children need to see the pencil move. The connection will drop halfway through a proof. Parents will never pay for a face on a screen. Nobody learns algebra from a phone.

Some of that may even be true. None of it is why he said no.

He said no because he is afraid. Of a thing he does not fully understand, of fumbling in front of his daughter, of a skill he spent forty years building suddenly looking clumsy. That is a reasonable thing to feel. It is just very hard to say.

Most of us were taught that admitting fear is a weakness, so we dress it up. We become instant experts on whatever frightens us. We argue against a change before anyone has had a chance to look at it properly. We give confident explanations for things we have never studied, because confidence sounds braver than doubt.

The cost is high. A fear in disguise cannot be discussed, so the real conversation never happens. The idea sits on the list for years. And the person holding the fear slowly comes to believe he has fewer options than he does.

If the teacher could say, simply, that this frightens him, everything would open up. His daughter could answer the fear instead of the objections. They could try one lesson and see.

The people who handle change well are not the ones who feel no fear. They are the ones who do not mind being seen to feel it, and so they can look at the situation as it really is.