This post is part of the Halloween series, exploring the ways wonder, imagination, and even fright can become pathways to deeper life.
Fear has teeth. It sharpens the air, makes shadows stretch longer, and turns every creak of the floorboards into a warning. Most of the time, we try to avoid it. Fear signals danger, after all — a rustle in the bushes, a stranger’s gaze that lingers too long, the tightening of the gut before bad news. But there’s another kind of fear we sometimes go out of our way to find, and it might just be one of the most underrated gifts we give ourselves.
I’m talking about chosen fear.
Think of haunted houses at Halloween, roller coasters that fling you upside down, horror movies with sudden jump-scares, or the shiver of telling ghost stories around a campfire. These are places where we seek fear, not to be harmed, but to play.
Why would anyone chase fear?
Psychologists tell us that fear is the body’s alarm system — adrenaline, heart pounding, senses sharp, ready to flee or fight. But when we step into a haunted maze or strap ourselves into a thrill ride, we’re choosing to activate that system in a safe container. We borrow the intensity of fear without the real-world danger.
This “safe fear” can do something remarkable. It wakes us up. It pushes us into the present moment so completely that we can’t worry about our inbox or tomorrow’s errands. For a few minutes, we are pure sensation — alive, alert, laughing with relief as the monster with the rubber mask lumbers past.
A Story: The Haunted Door
In a quiet town stood a house everyone whispered about. Its shutters hung crooked, its chimney leaned, and its front door — tall and black as midnight — was always locked. Children dared each other to knock, then sprinted away shrieking when the wind rattled the hinges.
One autumn evening, a girl named Lila decided she wanted to know the truth. She wasn’t the bravest in town, but she was the most curious. So with a candle in one hand and a shaky grin on her face, she pushed the door open.
Inside, the air was heavy with dust and silence. Her heart raced. Each step echoed too loudly. Shadows leaned closer. She expected a monster — clawed, fanged, terrible — to leap from the dark.
Instead, she found a cracked mirror. And in its reflection: herself. Wide-eyed, trembling, alive.
Lila laughed. Not because the house was empty, but because she realized something strange: fear itself had been the haunted thing, waiting behind the door. And now that she had stepped inside, she carried not just fear, but courage too.
From that night on, Lila loved telling the story. Not to brag, but because she had discovered a secret: sometimes the scariest houses hold only our own reflection, waiting to remind us that we can step through the door and come out laughing.
The paradox of playful fear
On the surface, fear seems like the opposite of fun. But playful fear is a paradox: it strengthens us by letting us dance with danger without being devoured by it. Children playing hide-and-seek already know this — the thrill of being chased, the squeal of being “caught.” Fear, in the right dose, becomes delight.
Even adults sometimes need this. It’s why people rewatch scary movies they’ve already seen. The monsters don’t change, but we do. We learn to master our response, to ride the wave of panic and laugh when it crashes harmlessly at our feet.
Fear as practice
Life will hand us real fear — diagnoses, betrayals, losses we never chose. When those storms come, our nervous systems will tremble in the same way they do on a roller coaster or in a darkened theater. Perhaps chosen fear, in its small doses, is rehearsal. We learn that our bodies can ride the surge and survive. We learn that fear doesn’t always mean the end; sometimes it means we’ve entered the beginning of a story worth living.
A gift worth unwrapping
So next time you flinch at the skeleton that pops out of the closet or scream at the horror movie only to giggle seconds later, remember: this is a gift you’ve given yourself. You’ve let fear be playful, a teacher rather than just a tormentor. You’ve reminded yourself that being alive isn’t just about safety — it’s also about thrill, surprise, and mystery.
Fear will always have teeth. But sometimes, if we choose the moment, we get to decide whether it bites — or whether it grins at us in the dark, and we grin right back.
Reflection Activity
Take a few minutes to remember a time when you chose fear:
- Maybe it was a roller coaster, a scary movie, a haunted house, or a spooky story.
- Recall the sensations — your pounding heart, the goosebumps, the laughter afterward.
- Ask yourself: What did that moment teach me about myself? Did you discover courage, joy, or simply the relief of knowing the fear would pass?
If you’d like, jot down a memory or share it with a friend. Let chosen fear remind you that your body can feel big feelings — and still come through smiling.
✨ Up Next in the Series ✨
If chosen fear sharpens us by letting us dance with shadows, what about the other side of the dark? Next time, we’ll explore “The Comfort of Candlelight” — how small glimmers of safety, warmth, and wonder can guide us through the unknown.
