Sara and the Reptilian Brain
Adventure versus risk
This week I’m sharing with you the story that was published in the volume, Writing In Community Volume 41, by the London Writers Salon earlier this year. My story is just one of over 90 much more wonderful essays and poems selected for the book. (There is more information about the book in the footnote below, including how to order a copy.)
This story is based on events that happened one summer I spent travelling. An earlier adventure that same summer was described in an essay I wrote last year, linked here and below:
In Stubborn Pursuit:
I didn’t think I was daring at all. In fact, I often chastised myself for being reticent and not taking chances. My mother often advised the low risk-options in life: Better to be safe than sorry. Don’t take chances. Follow the well-worn path. Choose the certain outcome.
Just a quick note: there is no political or religious point of view meant to be implied or stated in the story. When this adventure occurred in the late 1970s, the world was quite a different place. Indeed, the Negev and Sinai deserts were part of Israel at that time and we were able to move relatively freely around the deserts as well as within Jerusalem. It was not without security issues, however, especially when I travelled by myself. Maybe I’ll recount some of the additional adventures from that trip another time….
Sara and the Reptilian Brain
Whenever Sara travelled alone her reptilian brain created excessive drama and meltdowns. The voice, just like her mother, was still protecting her long-gone five- year old self.
Without other people around, her reptilian brain chattered away non-stop. It was exhausting to listen. If she talked to ‘strangers’, her reptilian brain screamed, “No, no no! You don’t know these people, they are probably criminals.” Sara sighed.
When she was 20, she travelled alone by train from London to Athens, then joined family friends for a Bar Mitzvah in Jerusalem. She spent an enchanting week with the family, where her reptile brain had a week to rest since Sara was surrounded by other grown-ups making decisions for her and planning for her safety at all times.
The next week, Sara travelled around the rather wild Sinai and Negev deserts with people she barely knew. Her interest in seeing that part of the world overruled her reptilian brain warnings. They were camping, and hired dubious looking guides to take them to see the well-known landmarks. “Oh my,” cautioned her reptilian brain, “You should make better choices. Money and large hotels equal safety.”
“Pish-posh” Sara replied, “Our guides are more authentic. Hush.”
It was a relief to part company with the group, but being alone again meant that she had to figure everything out by herself, which was tiring. After a year of being safe and unnoticed in England, she was aware of the looks from men when she was on her own, and it wasn’t nice. Not like the flirting in Paris, or the laughter of the Yugoslavian men she had met on the train. This felt more sinister and she wanted to get back to a safe place. “Oh yes, exactly”, said her reptilian brain. “Finally you are listening to me.”
Once back in Jerusalem, Sara returned to the twisting and tiny alleys of the Old City. “No, no no!,” said the reptilian voice. ”The people here are scary and the streets confusing. You’ll get lost.” “Shush” replied Sara, “I know my way around from last week. It’s fine.”
The smell of cinnamon and turmeric, the jewel-toned foods arranged in glorious elevated come-hither displays, the drape and flow of woven and printed linens: it was a mesmerising and tantalising world. Sara loved the unexpected glimpses of life lived compactly in unexpected spaces. It was the fabrics she was drawn to, particularly the elaborate embroidery on the dark robes worn by Bedouin women. Besides the brilliant colours and intricate patterns woven into the dark robes, the scarves beckoned with their tiny twinkly mirrors and threaded embellishments.
Sara planned to buy a Bedouin robe. She knew the bargaining process required her to flirt a bit with the middle-aged seller, to make this man feel important. She had practised earlier in the week with the family around her. She and the seller spoke for a bit about his selection of robes and he spoke about the quality of the fabrics and the elaborate embroidery. He beckoned her into the back room of his stall, partially hidden from view, where sparkling mirrors and more bright fabrics caught her eye.
“We can discuss prices,” he said.
Sara hesitated but he kindly urged her in, flirting and flattering her back. She still felt confident. Then it got quiet, as he closed the heavy flap of fabric behind her and she could barely hear the muffled sounds of the market. The world suddenly felt far away.
Sara turned around, feeling uneasy, and cornered. The fabrics held no more of their sparkle and colour. The air was thick and dusty. Sara spoke loudly asking to leave. He begged her to stay: just talk, have some tea and maybe try the dress on to be sure?
She shook her head, “NO,” and added loudly, almost yelling, “I WANT TO LEAVE NOW.”
As she raised her voice, he turned and held open the door, an icy expression on his face.
Sara stumbled through the carpeted doorway, walking as fast as possible, away from that stall, from the marketplace, towards a sense of safety that had briefly vanished in the maze of streets of Old Jerusalem. Her reptilian brain barely needed to whisper, “I told you so.”
After a moment Sarah considered, and then responded thoughtfully, “I managed, even though it was scary. Thanks for helping me up to now, but I think I can take it from here.”
Copyright© 2024. Rights reserved by the individual authors. Published in the UK by PawPrintPublishing
Thank you as always for reading this week. I hope your life is starting to settle a bit after the election drama last week in the US, alongside all the other world and more local events that clamour for our attention non-stop.
I’d love to hear about sticky situations you were able to get yourself out of that boosted your confidence. Or conversely, that you thought of exactly the right thing to say or do about 24 hours too late (that is my common reaction to most situations, sadly).
Wishing you all the best,
xx Sabrina
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This is such a vivid story Sabrina and I love reading it again! My reptilian brain has more sway over me than I’d probably like, and so reading stories such as yours makes me marvel. I’m working even in these years to know when to trust that brain and when not to, but as several comments say, that’s not always easy to discern! In any case, here’s to more adventures, of various sorts, to come! Thank you for sharing this story and congratulations again for having it selected and published in the collection!
Boy, what a great story ! So well done. Thanks for sharing. I'm pleased to read some of your works of fiction. I hope there's more coming.
Sometimes, I wish my reptilian brain talked more. Sometimes when it does, I tend to ignore it. One example is the time when a moving company came to pick up our things for storage, I didn't question why the mover didn't have any boxes to fit the TV or the paintings.
One time when my reptilian brain kicked into action after Fabio and I had befriended a Kenyan adolescent on the beach near a resort where we were staying. We said hello day after day as we walked down the beach. We'd given him T-shirts and shoes we could spare for his family. He, and certainly they, didn't have much.
One day, he invited us to come to his village on a boat to see his community and meet his family. I told Fabio "no." I had a funny feeling about the whole thing. No cell phone, no one at the hotel knew us or knew were going, we would have been isolated there, etc.
I feel badly, a bit discriminatory and untrusting, about turning down the invitation. But something told me it would be best not to go. Who knows!
But that brain does need some attention sometimes.
Thanks for this lovely piece.