"There is a maxim that you need to do the thing you fear most. I understand the philosophy of embracing my fears and expanding self-imposed limits, but, as with much self-improvement, I don't understand the mechanics of it. I want step-by-step detailed instructions (with a diagram) of how to slay my dragons. Besides, surely there is fear we are wise to obey. It alerts us to danger and saves us from disaster. Of course there is the fear that is restrictive, though it may be merited (facing that tough situation with integrity). But is useful to overcome. My question is when do you know which is which?

Obviously phobias and knee-jerk reactions are binding and controlling, but in less extreme, more fuzzy gray areas of life, it can be difficult to know if the fear is useful and wise. Or self-limiting. Since I live in a physical prison, I am particularly interested in expanding my emotional, mental, creative, spiritual space. Fear, therefore, is a frequent bunk buddy. I'd like to know which of the fear twins is my companion.

The big question most of us fear is "what will we do when we get out?" We see that many are unsuccessful so it can't be as easy as my fantasies suggest: Get a job, make a home, be happy. My overwhelming fear is that I will be a bag lady living under a bridge or that my mind will go. In order to ward off these two potential evils, I maintain a white-knuckle 'death grip on job training, employability skills, and school. At the same time I have the contradictory example of several artist-writer friends who live on nothing but their wits and ingenuity while practicing their craft.

Even though they are not far removed from bag-ladydom in status and many might consider them crazy, they are conspicuously happy and unafraid. They remind me of homesteaders. Because they rely upon the labor of their hands, they can always provide for themselves.

Everyday I remind myself that I only have one life to live and that it is precious. How I choose to provide for myself is my responsibility. Finally my pep talks have moved me to action and I have taken a couple of deep breaths and stumbled towards the choking smog of fear that stands. between my dream and me.

Many years ago a secret ambition began to burn in my chest: a totally crazy desire to attend art school. My head lectured me that this was completely impractical, completely unlivable. If I ever had the opportunity to return to school, I needed to get a useful degree, to get a job, to avoid the bag lady under the bridge scenario. My head also told me I was no artist. And I am definitely not one of the flamboyant artiste types. I'm not one of the cool people. I had visions of myself, a middle aged frump surrounded by anorexic waifs with black lipstick and multiple piercing and tattoos. I'm not the art school type, I told myself firmly.

The trouble with the yearnings of the heart is that they are completely unreasonable. It may be totally ridiculous, foolish, stupid, silly, irresponsible, crazy. But man, I would love to go to art school. In the meantime I have taken the minute step of investing in a sketchpad and a couple of books on technique. It has taken me all these years to pluck up the courage to face my fear and indulge in a tiny part of my dream. Even this almost imperceptible step has triggered the crowd of mean spectators who have added their voices to the voice of reason in my head as to why I shouldn't go to art school. What possessed me to waste $40 on a self-indulgent fantasy? If I had talent at all wouldn't it have manifested itself by now?

It all reminds me of when I began to write. I failed English repeatedly. Every English teacher I ever had hated me. They mocked. They screamed. They belittled. I loathed English and to this day I dread ever having to take another English class. But here I am writing (I had one English teacher recently tell me that this column isn't real writing) still boxing with my fears, still battling with the same old vitriolic whispers! Perhaps, I giggle to myself, I'm bored with these ancient fears and I need a new set with which to match wits.

It's true that thinking about defeating certain fears is energizing and perhaps that is the difference between wisdom-based fear and foolish fear. When I contemplate art school, it is thrilling. And what would you do with a fine arts degree, old woman? Ah--my double-secret dream beyond the joy of creating beautiful things is to enter the art therapy world. Silence. Ha! Smirks. Have you lost your mind? Never ever happen. Well one dream fear at a time.

Perhaps I will be the one to draw the diagram on dragon slaying. The first step is never to stop daring oneself. To live closer to the dream. The second step--walk towards the fear. The third step--keep going. The final step-never stop laughing: fear shrivels in the face of fun." (Elizabeth Haysom, Fluvanna Review, September 1, 2005)

Elizabeth Haysom is incarcerated at the Fluvanna Correctional Center for Women in Troy. Her essays are indexed at Glimpses from Inside.