A Pathological Courage of Feathers

Philia is Not the Opposite of Phobia

Some years ago, some random person noted that if dinosaurs had feathers it is unlikely they would have been preserved in the fossil record. The logic made sense. Fossils are made when a dead animal is rapidly buried under layers of sediment and undergoes a chemical process that specifically preserves its bones. The traditional green scales you see in dinosaur illustrations are a best guess because we only have dinosaur bones to go by. The whole field of paleontology has to rely on guesses like this. Genetically, we are pretty confident that the dinosaurs who survived the Chicxulub impact evolved into modern birds. It’s entirely possible that a real world Jurassic Park would be inhabited by giant chickens.

I can’t remember if I was in junior high or high school when I first heard this idea, but I have been unable to take dinosaurs seriously ever since.

How do I explain this? I mean, go fuck yourself if you think I’m going to give a giant fucking chicken the satisfaction of making me afraid. The mere thought violates not only my temporal dignity but my eternal dignity. Even when I’m all by myself, or writing this right now. This isn’t some performance I’m putting on for other people because I don’t want to lose face or because it’s honestly just sort of funny. I simply refuse to submit to anything with feathers.

There mere idea of displaying anything other than the most insane forms of Viking berserker courage toward something with feathers that is trying to intimidate me is anathema. I would run in fear from a green-scaled T-Rex to be clear. But if a feathered T-Rex tried to eat me? I would run directly at its throat while holding every large choking hazard I could carry and then count on pure fury to gnaw my way out from the inside of its stomach.

If you want to live so bad you’d run away from a T-Rex with feathers, go ahead. Let the shame follow you into eternity.

I, a person with relatively poor personal boundaries who once was brought to tears by the social anxiety of getting a Costco membership, have never hesitated to stare down any of the various emus, ostriches, and peacocks I have encountered in my life because I just refuse to take their shit. There’s not even one percent of one ounce of my entire being that can plausibly imagine backing down to a bird. This is the only response I have in my whole life where I instinctually have no problem meeting the contrary will of another creature and simply asserting my own will instead without hesitation.

If I even imagine someone as having feathers any level of intimidation I might feel rapidly diminishes. Is this feathered piece of shit trying to tell me he doesn’t put his Howard the Duck pants on one leg at a time? I get enormous benefit from letting feathers contaminate my phobias. I go from sweaty palms to lifting my chin high, ready to give a Braveheart speech as I ride into battle. Nothing with a cloaca will ever make me afraid. And if you’re saying that there are other things in nature with a cloaca than birds, that’s how far I extend the diminishment toward avian things. I take back what I said about the T-Rex without feathers. I’m taking him out, too just for making me thinking he might have feathers.

If I went to outer space and met a race of venerable, brave, and wise bird-people whose values are wholly aligned with my own I still find it unacceptable to respond to that in any way other than to become a living warrior saint venerated above all others of their people. I would respond to such a species of noble bird people by living a life with such integrity and honor that on their bird planet the tallest mountain would be carved into a statue to honor me, specifically. There would simply be no other option than to become a combination of Bird Jesus and Bird King Arthur. You think I’m going to let a bird be better than I am?

It occurs to me there isn’t a word that means the opposite of phobia. You want to say philia but this isn’t quite right. A person with claustrophobia doesn’t hate small spaces, they fear small spaces. The opposite of fear isn’t philia, which means love. The opposite of fear is bravery. I don’t hate chickens. If chickens are leaving me alone, I’ll leave them alone. If a chicken is sick, I’ll take it to the veterinarian. But if an emu steps out of line? If someone tries to drop some spooky facts about emu talons? I have a pathological bravery response.

Oh, and emu has talons? I’ll stand before it with sheer grit and teach it humility.

I have a similar feeling for system design. I don’t care how senior or how accredited someone is. Nothing matters but the integrity of the proposal. Nothing but the correctness of the design. I can easily distinguish between matters of taste and matters of integrity. I need no external validation whatsoever. You can fire me because I would rather burn in hell than lie. I’d live a more modest life roofing houses if I had to, but I wouldn’t lie.

Life is a process of learning how to use yourself productively. Culture is a series of overreactions to help tug us in the right direction. It’s up to the individual to remember and hold fast to reason and proportion. I know intellectually that this is a pretty stupid reaction. The fact I once snapped my fingers at a goose and told it to calm down and stop being a dick in my scariest man voice is ridiculous. I have absolutely no idea why I feel this way.

I will say this is something that has been of surprising help to me as ridiculous as that sounds. It’s a reserve in my soul of the idea of standing up to something. So often we talk of what makes us feel weak. We talk about anxiety or depression or what have you.

What makes you feel brave?