Living with Impermanence

Loss has long shaped how Myra Goodman lives. Growing up, she witnessed the sudden death of a parent in three children she was close to. That trauma left a deep emotional imprint, instilling a lifelong fear of death and disaster. Source: tinybuddha.com.

Early Lessons in Fragility

These early losses taught her that people can vanish in an instant. The world she once knew—safe and happy—shattered. She began to live with constant anxiety about her own parents’ deaths. The emotional aftermath of such losses is not merely about mourning; it is about the psychological reconfiguration of how one perceives safety, stability, and continuity in relationships and daily life.

Her parents were Holocaust survivors. They each lost nearly their entire families and all their possessions. The home was filled with unspoken grief and fear. This emotional legacy shaped her nervous system, making her perpetually alert to danger. The trauma of losing so much in a single event—particularly during a time of global upheaval—left a deep imprint on their emotional development. Survivors of such events often carry a heightened sensitivity to loss, not just in terms of people, but in the broader context of material and social stability.

For Myra, this meant that the idea of death was not something that could be approached with calm acceptance. Instead, it was a looming threat, a shadow that followed her through childhood and into adulthood. The absence of a parent, the suddenness of death, the emotional silence of loss—all were real and lasting. These experiences did not simply create sadness; they rewired her emotional architecture, making her hyper-vigilant to any sign of instability or disruption.

Living with Fear for Decades

For years, Goodman struggled with anxiety. She imagined countless tragedies—fires, accidents, illness—anyone could happen to her or her family. She believed that fear was a protective tool. But she soon realized it was not. Fear, in this context, was not a rational response to risk—it was a survival mechanism that had been activated in early life and had never been properly recalibrated.

Her fear was not irrational. It was rooted in real trauma. The absence of a parent, the suddenness of death, the emotional silence of loss—all were real and lasting. This is a crucial distinction: fear is not always a sign of weakness. In some cases, it is a deeply human response to trauma. But when it becomes a dominant emotional pattern, it begins to distort perception. It distorts how one sees the world, how one relates to others, and how one engages with daily experiences.

Myra’s anxiety was not about a single event. It was about a pattern—a pattern of anticipating disaster, of preparing for the worst, of living in a state of constant readiness. This kind of mindset is common among individuals who have experienced early trauma, especially when that trauma involves the loss of a primary caregiver. In such cases, the brain develops a hyper-alert state, where danger is perceived not only in external events but in internal states as well—such as loneliness, uncertainty, or even silence.

A New Tragedy: The Loss of Seth

In recent years, a new loss struck her: Seth Pollack. A close friend, Seth was a joyful, generous man. He died instantly in a car accident during a morning bike ride. His death was not the result of a long illness or a gradual decline. It was sudden, unexpected, and entirely out of context. He was biking in the morning, a routine part of his day, when the world changed.

His wife is a treasured friend of Goodman’s. Their lives are deeply intertwined. The news of Seth’s death sent shockwaves through her. The old fears returned with full force. She felt the world had become unbearable, fragile, and full of pain. This moment was not just a personal tragedy—it was a mirror held up to her own emotional history. It reflected back the same fears she had carried since childhood: that love could be taken away, that joy could vanish in an instant, that peace could be shattered by something as simple as a car crash.

What made this loss especially powerful was not just the personal grief, but the way it triggered a reevaluation of her entire emotional framework. For decades, she had lived under the assumption that fear was necessary to protect her. But Seth’s death, like the early losses of her childhood, proved that fear does not protect. It only amplifies the sense of vulnerability.

What the Loss Taught Her

Almost a year later, Goodman reflects on how Seth’s death has changed her. The grief has not disappeared. But it has opened a new path of understanding. She now sees that impermanence is not just a fact of life—it is a truth that can deepen appreciation for the present. She has two choices: remain trapped in fear or let impermanence guide her toward presence.

When someone we love dies, their presence becomes sharper in our thoughts. Seth’s qualities—his faith, joy, generosity—stand out. His life became a living example of how to live fully. In the aftermath of his death, people began to talk about how Seth had lived with intention, not just survival. He didn’t avoid pain—he faced it with grace. He didn- t hide from the world—he engaged with it with warmth and authenticity.

Goodman tried a new experiment. She asked the fearful parts of herself to set aside anxiety for a few hours. She asked them to try presence instead of fear. She didn’t demand change. She simply invited a shift in experience. This was not a grand transformation. It was a small, deliberate act of reorientation—one that could be repeated, refined, and deepened over time.

During that afternoon, whenever fear arose, she acknowledged it and said: ‘I’ll attend to it later. Not now.’ She returned to the present, focusing on feelings of relaxation and trust. This was not about suppressing fear. It was about creating a space where presence could breathe. She didn’t have to eliminate the fear. She just had to allow herself to feel it without letting it dominate her experience.

Nothing in her routine changed. But her experience did. She felt lighter. She could hold her husband’s gaze longer. She sang more freely with her dogs. She initiated longer hugs. These small moments were not just pleasant—they were transformative. They showed her that presence is not something that happens only in moments of peace or joy. It happens in ordinary moments—when you look at someone, when you listen to a sound, when you feel the warmth of a hand on your arm.

The Cost of Living in Fear

Fear doesn’t just cause suffering. It closes us off. It narrows our perspective. It makes us focus on what might go wrong, not what is happening now. When we live in fear, we become emotionally guarded. We avoid deep conversations, we hesitate to express vulnerability, we withdraw from intimacy. We become cautious, distant, and guarded—like someone wearing a mask to protect themselves from being seen.

That one afternoon revealed how fear had been draining her energy. It had kept her from fully engaging in daily moments. It had made her cautious, distant, and guarded. When trust replaced fear, she tasted a different kind of life—one full of joy, connection, and openness. She realized that trust is not the absence of fear. It is the ability to live with fear and still choose to be present.

What to Carry Forward

Goodman has a powerful legacy of fear. But she now sees that patterns from the past do not need to define her future. Being so close to a tragedy that once terrified her confirmed that loss is inevitable. But it also proved that anticipating pain does not protect us. It only strengthens fear.

She now hears two voices. One says: ‘Because I could lose this, I need to brace myself.’ The other says: ‘Because I could lose this, I want to appreciate it more.’

She is learning that mortality does not have to be a reason to live in fear. It can be a powerful reason to love more deeply and to savor life more fully. This is not about denying the reality of loss. It is about redefining how we respond to it. It is about transforming grief from a prison into a teacher.

For anyone who has lived with fear of loss, this is a message: you do not need to live in constant vigilance. You can choose presence. You can choose joy. You can choose to live with more trust and less dread.

Goodman’s journey is one of healing. It shows how personal trauma can be transformed into wisdom. It offers a path for others to follow—through small, intentional shifts in daily awareness. Her story is not about escaping grief. It is about learning to live with it, and to live deeply in spite of it.

Why This Matters

This reflection is not about avoiding loss. It is about transforming how we respond to it. It shows that grief can become a teacher, not a prison. The more we understand that impermanence is a universal truth, the more we can embrace the present moment—not as something fragile, but as something sacred.

For readers who have struggled with anxiety, fear, or grief, this story offers a quiet but powerful invitation: to pause. To breathe. To feel the moment without judgment. To allow the world to show up as it is—without needing to be protected from change.

Further Resources

Quest for Eternal Sunshine offers free tools for healing and well-being. Goodman created this platform to support others in their personal growth.
Tools for Healing provide practical resources for managing anxiety and emotional patterns.
For more on mindfulness and emotional resilience, explore the author’s blog.

Goodman emphasizes that this is not a personal triumph. She writes: ‘Though I run this site, it is not mine. It’s ours. It’s not about me. It’s about us. Your stories and your wisdom are just as meaningful as mine.’

Her work invites readers to share their own experiences. In doing so, they help build a community of healing and reflection.

She acknowledges that this content is not medical or professional advice. It is designed to support, not replace, therapy or treatment. Readers should seek professional care if they believe they have a condition.