I had plans to go hiking this weekend, somewhere new and unexplored. I pictured myself rising at 6 and driving off into the cool, morning air. The light humidity days should be cherished at this time of year and I wanted the cathartic release of a solo, sweaty hike.

But as I scratched out an itinerary for myself Friday night, I had second thoughts. The number one rule of hiking is never to go alone.  Going somewhere unfamiliar was probably even more unwise, I thought. What if, what if…

Stubborn to give up my “therapy,” I instead returned to a familiar hiking spot, one I knew that would be populated and within cell range. As I traipsed along the trails, I tried not to think about the fear that had almost kept me from doing one of my favorite things.

My favorite things are being challenged by this fear. These days when I go to the movies, I can’t bear to sit too far from an exit. I can’t go to the grocery store at night any more. I find myself avoiding eye contact on the sidewalk and on the train. This fear, this once irrational, now not-so-unjustified fear, is changing me and forcing me to be on alert, more than I ever thought I needed to be.