Fear of Being Trusted

Dearest Rachel –

You’re probably looking at that title with some bemusement at this point; it would be so much more in character for me to look up the Greek equivalent to this phrase, and express the concept as a ‘phobia.’ For the record, there is a term for fear of trust – pistanthrophobia – but it refers to the fear of trusting others, rather than that of being trusted by others. And oddly enough, that concept (referred to as ‘fiduciary fear’) doesn’t seem to have a ‘-phobia’ classification; it’s considered to be a simple anxiety when entrusted with another individual’s money or property. Supposedly, there’s nothing irrational about it that would cause it to be considered a phobia.

Which is weird, because I find myself thinking that my own case of trepidation, while decidedly mild, is nevertheless irrational – especially when compared to anyone else having this responsibility. And yet, I’m worried about this, and always have been, to some extent.

Here’s what brought this on; it so happens that the elders’ meeting is tomorrow night, so I needed to provide the financial reports for both the church and the camp beforehand, in order for them to discuss and (hopefully) approve them. Ordinarily, I would have more time to assemble these; this isn’t the earliest that the third Thursday arrives in a given month, but it’s almost as close as it can be. Additionally, I had to wait for a few transactions to be processed before I could work on the final assembly. In fairness, this isn’t anything particularly out of the ordinary, nor is it much of a challenge for me to do – once everything was clear early yesterday afternoon, I took care of my part and had it all put together in a matter of an hour or so between the two entities.

The part where it becomes disquieting, as far as I was concerned, was that I normally submit everything to Scott beforehand; he looks at everything, and gives me the green light to distribute it all to everyone else. This time around, however, when he’d contacted me on Monday night whether I’d have everything put together for the meeting (and I told him what I was waiting for), he said he’d talk to the people responsible for the thus-far missing data, so I could get on with my work, and then he added this tag line: Please go ahead with distribution; don’t wait for approval.

Well.

To be sure, this shouldn’t be a matter of concern. The busy season is over for camp, and the holidays haven’t quite kicked in at church (although there is the matter of the newest campus having opened up late in September, so it isn’t as if there’s nothing unusual going on); so this is a fairly boilerplate month, in terms of reporting. I’ve also developed a reputation, over the past twenty or so years (has it really been this long?) of reliable reporting, and I’ve proven not to have a reason to have my thumb on the scale anywhere within the organizational structure. And there’s the fact that, at the moment Scott was messaging me, he was out of town, visiting his grandkids, so it wasn’t as if he’d get much chance to review whatever I might send to him. So this particular coda didn’t entirely come as a surprise, especially given the tight deadline to get things out to the rest of those concerned.

And yet, it more than worries me – terrifies would be putting it too strongly, but ‘worries’ isn’t quite sufficient – that this is being sent out as-is, with no prior examination.

***

I would credit – yes, ‘blame’ might be the more appropriate term here, but let’s be charitable for the moment – Mohinder for this trepidation. Before sending anything to the higher-ups in Japan, we would go over every document I produced with a fine-tooth comb. The process would take hours – including the berating for every single perceived slip-up – but it was standard operating procedure every single month. And no matter how hard I tried to figure out a pattern to presentation, he could find a (well, let’s face it, several, at least) problem with every package I assembled.

As a result, I don’t entirely trust myself with the numbers I generate, even though I know there’s no one who knows them better than me, and could call them into question. Plus, there’s the fact that anything that might seem out of the ordinary would be under the jurisdiction of one or more of the elders who will be meeting tomorrow in the first place; if a question comes up, there’s probably already a person present who’s personally involved with the large expenditure, and can explain what transpired better than I.

This wouldn’t have been the case with the board of directors in Japan; thus, the need to explain every little detail, every last canceled sale or modification to an order. These gentlemen would then need to further report to their shareholders as to why things happened as they did; there’s a lot more to the chain of reporting in a for-profit corporation than in a simple non-profit like a local church – even if we are more wide-spread than your typical local church.

***

But it goes back farther than that, and in a way, I don’t like that term ‘fiduciary fear’ as applied to it. After all, you trusted me with something that wasn’t money or property (although I guess they eventually factored into the equation, which didn’t faze me) – you entrusted your virtue with me.

I still recall, in our exchange of letters after I graduated, your explaining the meaning of your name – “ewe lamb,” as I recall, which makes sense, given the fact that the original Rachel was a shepherdess, herself – and how I made it clear to you that I was (to use a term belonging to a previous generation) a bit of a “wolf,” myself. It wasn’t a part of the initial meaning of my name, but I was already well aware of its slang designation. Indeed, we would often joke about it later on, on Saturday mornings and any other time that we would get together like that, about how I had “a name to live down to.”

And yet, when I first warned you about myself, it didn’t seem to concern you. This, despite the fact that I saw you (and said as much to you) as a deliberate ingenue. You were trying to remain a child as long as you possibly could, and I was offering… the adult experience… to you; I assumed you would not only not be interested, but honestly repulsed. I was hesitant, but as I had nothing to lose at that point, I told you… and you weren’t bothered by it, much to my surprise (even, possibly, my shock). You even put yourself in positions where I could have taken advantage of you, but you trusted me, and I was too afraid of losing that to give in to what might be considered natural impulses.

I still am like that; as much as I was hesitant about approaching you (until such time as I assumed I’d lost my chance), I can’t bring myself to talk to any other girl in such a way. For all that I talk about finding ‘Megumi,’ I fear that she’ll practically have to throw herself at me before I realize it’s okay for me to even touch her – and you can bet if she did, I’d probably freak out. You were lightning in a bottle, honey, and I don’t think I’ll see your like again; I mean, there may be others out there, but if I’m as afraid of letting them trust me like this, I’ll never approach them, and I’ll never so much as know they exist.

And wish that happy thought in mind, I should probably let you go for now. Keep an eye on me, honey, and wish me luck; I’m going to need it.