I’m deathly afraid of trains. I hate trains. They scare the bejeebers out of me. I was not frightened by them until I was past 20 years old, but since then…
And I always though we were supposed to be afraid of fewer things (aside from wrinkles and death, of course) as we got older. But I’ve gained trains and heights in the past few years.
I can even point to when I developed them both:
I was not afraid of trains until I had to do some research on some survey points on railroad bridges (only later did I find out it was illegal for me to be up there in the first place) and had to stand in fairly close proximity to speeding trains going by me. Those things are so damn loud, and I would spend the whole time imagining the train derailing right on top of me. Completely irrational, but there you go.
And I didn’t develop my fear of heights until I hiked to the bottom of the Grand Canyon. It’s hard to gain an appreciation for just how far you would fall if you slipped off the edge, until you’ve gone all the way (granted, you would stop fairly quickly, after a few tens of feet, but I have an overactive imagination). Good lord. As the saying (loosely) goes, it’s not the fall I’m afraid of, it’s that abrupt stop at the end.
“Hey, hey, this is not a lending library! If you’re not
going to buy that thing, pur it down or I’ll blow your
heads off!” - Apu, “Krusty Gets Busted” (Simpsons)