One of the greatest discoveries a man makes…is to find he can do what he was afraid he couldn’t do. -Henry Ford

As Biscuit and I walked along the greenway on Saturday, I unexpectedly confronted one of my biggest fears. It began with a chance encounter with a friendly, energetic, playful pug named Lucille and her human, a man named Troy. After a little small talk about the impending cold front and the rain it would bring later that day, Troy remarked, “Biscuit looks like she wants to play with Lucille,” and then suggested, “Why don’t you take off her leash?”

I froze.

Let my dog off the leash? That was a crazy idea. I couldn’t imagine Biscuit sticking around, but rather bolting, never to be seen again. I wondered if I’d ever catch up to her. What would I tell Dave? How could I explain that a complete stranger had convinced me to take off Biscuit’s leash? He loves that dog. My mind was off to the races, fabricating wild scenarios that all ended badly.

I could literally feel my anxiety level uncomfortably rise as I struggled with the idea of setting my pup free. I noticed, but couldn’t believe, how quickly this feeling was taking hold of me. The logic of fear actually being ‘false evidence appearing real’ completely eluded me.

As though he could sense my fear, Troy calmly stated, “She’s your dog. She’s not gonna leave you.” I knew in my heart he was right; we had rescued Biscuit more than seven years ago and I’d always heard that rescued dogs were eternally grateful and loyal.

With a lot of reservation and second-guessing myself all the way, I unclipped the leash from Biscuit’s collar. It was just as I suspected. She bolted, but not to the Never Never Land imagined in my mind. Instead, she raced after Lucille, doing that thing that dogs do, having a ball.

Before long, the wind picked up and the sky began to darken, signaling that it was time for Biscuit and me to start making our way back home. The initial excitement that fueled their play had waned a bit, and each was wandering around nearby, busily following her nose from one enticing scent to another. Troy said he’d walk with us a little way, and I was glad because he clearly had control of Lucille and I blindly trusted that Biscuit would follow her.

We ended up walking together for almost a mile, Biscuit off-leash until there was a street to cross. Several bicyclists rode past us on the trail, nearly all of them acknowledging both Lucille and Troy by name, confirming my gut feeling that this stranger was an OK-guy. Small talk had morphed into deeper conversation, and by the time we parted ways, I knew that this meeting was divinely appointed.

Since then, I’ve thought a lot about the tremendous lesson Troy taught me, and what happened when I just simply let go. The pure joy of freedom that naturally followed, both for Biscuit and me. The pride and satisfaction of clearing what had been a major hurdle between me and my dog. And the sincere gratitude I felt for someone who helped me face a real fear.

It’s truly amazing how much better things can be just one step outside our comfort zones. I have to remember that the next time fear tries to stop me.