Fears are a dime a dozen these days. If we don’t get deathly ill from the coronavirus (by the way, I don’t remember sending in my application to join the vulnerable, old-guy group), and if we have any savings left after the stock markets nosedive (who dares calls the stock market gambling), then we are scared to death of our political future as either a Forever Trumper without Trump or Trump Hater with Trump Forever.

And let’s not forget that small, ticking, climate-change bomb. That alone should get your teeth rattling and cause frequent trips to the bathroom.

Frankly, a thorough washing of my hands for 20 seconds only goes so far to calm my fears.

So I looked to a fear expert for expert advice on dealing with fears expertly.

“People panic in the door before they jump. But once you’re out, as I tell everyone, you might as well have a good time because we won’t be getting back in the plane.”

John Wayne Huddleson smiles at me as if this is obvious.

Is he kidding?

The door John is referring to is the exit out of a plane. Into the empty air. Far from the ground. Falling.

No thank you.

When someone says, “jump out of a plane,” my first word association is “splat.”

But John’s a pro. He’s done over 4000 jumps and teaches skydiving and does tandem jumps all the time.

And he gets it.

“It’s just not normal jumping out of a plane,” he says.

Ya think?

“My first tandem, I was terrified. I was going through the training and it was like, ‘Why am I doing this, why am I doing this . . . this jump will be my last one.'”

But it wasn’t?

“You do the jump and it’s beautiful, peaceful, calming.”

And then were you all right after that?

“Nope, on my next jump I’m up in the plane again and my thoughts are just the same, ‘Why am I doing this? Why am I doing this?'”

John laughs, “Come on! Am I dope or what?”

I thoughtfully don’t answer.

But John persevered and now he’s the one calming you down. He’s the one you trust. He’s the one saying you will have one of the most beautiful experiences of your life. And you will.

I think.

“Skydiving never becomes normal because you have to respect what you’re doing. If you don’t respect what you’re doing, it’s going to get you. I do safety checks on every jump three to four times. I am as safe as possible. But it’s always a thrill.”

So there you have it. John, the skydiving pro, the man in the sky, the parachutist who will escort you out the open door. Fearless.

But, of course, there is more to his story . . .

“I work on bridges for my other job,” says John.

And how’s that?

“Well, the funny thing is that I’m afraid of heights.”

Whaaaat???

“If you get me 30 feet off the ground, which I frequently am with bridge work, I’m terrified. But I’ve learned to get past it.”

This so doesn’t make sense.

“It’s different — the bridge and skydiving. Up that high with a parachute, I don’t think about it. I don’t know why, I just don’t think about it.”

And how is your fear of heights now?

“It’s getting worse the older I get. Very much so. But I just do it. And a lot of the guys on bridges are the same way. We’ve worked together long enough that we cover each other for things we don’t want to do.”

My goodness.

“So do you have advice for me and my fears?”

“I don’t have advice for others.” John smiles. “For me, I just work through it.”

Lord, is that the message? I always want my fears to go away with a pill, or the right foods, or three easy steps. I completely agree with Jack trading his milk cow for magic beans.

But just work through it? Stare out the door and jump? Hang 30 feet in the air over a bridge and do the job?

“Courage is being scared to death, but saddling up anyway,” said the other John Wayne.

Okay, okay, I guess we are seeing such courage every day now. It’s the Italians singing opera from their apartment windows as they are in lockdown for the coronavirus. It’s the Chinese cheering on cement mixers building new hospitals as the crisis rages. It’s the small shop owner in England who is today giving free sanitizer and wipes to those over 65.

And it’s the sacker at Hy Vee getting your groceries ready for pick-up, and the barista at the coffee shop delivering your coffee out the window, and the server at the restaurant packing up your carry-out, and the teacher trying to figure out on-line teaching, and the garbage folks who just keep on coming, and the reporters filing stories that I consume like popcorn, and the ministers broadcasting Sunday services, and Bill the Postman who arrives each day, rain, shine, or pestilence, to deliver my mail.

So for me? I guess it’s time to saddle up and just work through it.

Joe