I can count the number of times I’ve been proud of myself on one stalk of broccoli.

I grew up with scraps of acknowledgement from a parent who could mostly see what frustrated, embarrassed, or made him uncomfortable. It seems that way from my limited memory, but perceptions are rarely a shared reality. And I have to acknowledge that if I received scraps, his parents likely gave him a crumb or two.

Still, in my adult life I’ve treated myself in the same way: acknowledging first and frequently the ‘areas for improvement’ without a shred of instinct to find good in my actions. I cringed when others would self-praise, or even praise me, while secretly craving it. That had to come from somewhere.

Despite my limited ability, a few moments stick out. It’s no surprise that many have to do with situations of the survival type. Only in extremes would I have such a feeling as pride rise naturally.

Most recently, I stood at the edge of the sea staring out during my last few moments of my backpacking trip. After 9 months I finally realized what I had accomplished. I felt good, but few tears rolled down my face. It had taken so long to feel the enormity of what I had done. No wonder it had been hard to find joy in it.

The time I created the ‘one last hill’ to find the geological playground that is Coyote Buttes South, near Kanab, Utah felt like a great triumph. I ran joyously, yipping and smiling so big that the desert smiled back after having persevered in wandering through the monotonous miles maples and trail-less before finally finding what the hype was all about. The strangely shaped, twisted towers of multicolored rock were worth working for. Earlier I had made a mistake by driving my little Subaru down the wrong long, deserted, deep sand road and gotten stuck. Some random conversation about getting unstuck in the snow months before had saved me, but I have to give most of the credit to the few dry branches that gave me traction to escape.

There was only one time I could have kissed the ground for having found it again. I had accidentally hiked through deep snow into a bowl high in the mountains. The only way was down, and I stepped carefully. Still, I found myself in a moment dropping through the frozen top layer into a deep pit under the snow. The next moment I was sliding down the snow and clawing the dirt to get off of the ride. My reflexes had saved me. I had been working hard on repairing them in the months prior. The idea of being lost to a 15ft deep pit under the snow and dying there unnoticed slowed my descent. Just make it to that tree. Then the next. I hit the dirt and felt the most alive I’ve ever been. I finally felt real gratefulness.

For 3 years I tried to become a fighter pilot — throwing myself into the huge discomfort of being a female, “older”, non-drinking doctor amongst 22 year old boys laser focused on military life. I took tests, printed and mailed packets, made phone calls, rushed units — the works. Finally, after year 3, it felt like relief, not disappointment to make the call to stop applying. I was close to my dream, but felt proud to let it go, because it wasn’t what I really wanted.

This week I was also proud. I can’t pick out what caused the shift in me, but I have felt completely different.

I’ve always been afraid of anger, fighting and conflict. The fear has taken its toll. I’ve lost a lot of friends that way, and a lot of myself.

Last week, I watched a man with piercing gray eyes threaten a young Italian man for having picked coconuts from the wrong tree. I pressed my face to the glass to try to see the Cro-magnan mannequins better.

As the late afternoon progressed another fight broke out and one of the young men was slammed into my rental car. I yelled through the window to cut it out. They danced to a more romantic spot on the Kauai beach.

I watched a friend fight with her father. As they yelled at each other in frustration my feet started to go numb. The floor of the museum was hard metal and I had stood fascinated at this exhibit for way too long.

Fear controls, shapes, blinds, and robs you of seeing the moment for what it is. Without it, the yelling seems like expression, the fighting seems like communication and the disagreements seem like connection. I had always viewed these as signs of dysfunction and unsafe. They are merely a part of life as it is now. They are parts of some people’s lives, anyway. This week I was just a tourist.