I’ve had a lot of different fears in my life, but at this stage of my life, I realize that the biggest fear I have is the fear of weakness. My toe amputation sharpened my awareness of that.

I’m working hard to cope with it and doing well. This is a battle I’ve fought many times. I’ve learned a lot about it.

The amputation almost certainly triggered this new round. It is difficult for anyone to admit having a fear of weakness; it is almost impossible for most men, including my father.

Perhaps I learned that from him; I didn’t learn much else. We get weaker physically as we grow older; we can get stronger emotionally and spiritually if we choose. The more I come clean with my weakness, the stronger I get.

The future is always possible for those willing to re-create it; that is my work now.

I feel for men; their inability to acknowledge their fear threatens to destroy the world and make it a cruel and harsher place in several ways.

I am morally and spiritually obliged not to be one of them. I don’t want to die that way; that’s not how my story ends.

“A burden of these years,” writes Joan Chitisster, “is the possibility of giving in to the fear of invisibility, of usefulness, of losing our sense of self and human obligation. Fear tempts us to believe that life is over – rather than simply changing.”

My toe amputation has brought this fear into focus and brought it to the surface; I have learned that admitting my vulnerability, especially for a man, is the path to authenticity. Amputation of any part of one’s body is a loss, an admission of weakness, or a loss of control.

We are all vulnerable one way or another at one time or another.

I read one piece which described amputation as often feeling like the first bite of death.  That got my attention. It seemed somewhat extreme to me, but I know what the writer meant. There is truth in what he said; the doctors did warn me.

The amputation had made me feel at times that this was a decline in my life, a literal loss of an essential part of my body that has been with me day and night all of my life.

Something that diminished me, made me weaker.I’ve learned this is a common response to amputation, something society doesn’t want to know anything about.

I’ve learned that when I feel this way – and I think every older person on the planet feels this way at times  – I know it’s time for a re-set, a re-affirmation, a time to admit the fear of weakness, see it clearly,  and override it. I have many things in my life to feel good about.

Fear is a blessing in many ways; it invites me – it challenges me – to turn away from what I’ve lost and recall my wish to become the fullness of myself, to be more than what I am or what I was. To do better and perhaps make the world a little better.

I call it the night of the soul, the time when fear threatens to engulf me, especially at night. I know I can rise to a better sense of self and live in new, fresh, and exciting ways for my sake and the sake of the people I love and care about.

I’ve done it again and again.