Should we treat the familiar with contempt?

It is easy to talk about fear of the unknown. In fact, fear usually arises from anticipated realities – situations we convince ourselves we will encounter (no matter how likely they actually are to occur).

Places we do not know well ought not intrinsically to scare us. True, if you happen to be completely lost in a strange place without a map, you might reasonably feel a little anxious; and there are certain parts of the world it wouldn’t do to roam alone.

But that is a matter of circumstance, not of location alone.

Likewise, under certain conditions, an entirely familiar pathway will not offer reassurance solely because it happens to be recognisable. The contrary can be true if we are walking towards something we live in fear of.

I walked the same route to school day in, day out. It took a matter of minutes: turning right out of our driveway; left down Palmer’s Close; taking the shortcut past some garages to path the over the River Granta; across the rec; and finally up some steps to the school’s main entrance.

In blazing sunshine I rolled up my sleeves and took that well-worn route; in pouring rain I put up my hood, put down my head and looked at the ground as I trudged to and fro. At a run, I could get from door to door in two minutes, maybe less. The journey was impossible only twice, when the river burst its banks and flooded the recreation ground.

I knew those 450 yards like the back my hand.

The changing textures under my feet – smooth tarmac on the pavements, the roughness of crossed roads, the uneven gravel and stones by the garages, the grass of the rec if you veered off the path – were sufficient markers: I could have done it all with my eyes closed. I didn’t of course; instead I saw the same collection of fellow students all heading in the same direction, all as familiar with their steps as I was.

And most of the time I was happy enough to be walking with them. Often I was accompanied by my friend Owen, who was usually full of chatter. I had good pals and I liked learning stuff. There were no perils.

Except for ones that grew in my head.

In my first year, I became increasingly fearful of a particular teacher. She was easily provoked to anger by those in the class who enjoyed getting a rise; and while I was never picked out for the hairdryer treatment, her screaming rants left me irrationally petrified.

On the days when I had lessons with her, that march across the meadow felt like the reluctant walk of a condemned man, horror rising with every step. Within a few months I was having full-on panic attacks, usually ending up in the sick bay.

The intervention of a child psychologist helped (I had other issues too), but my anxiety lingered until the teacher eventually retired a couple of years later. Plainly I was a snowflake before the word took on its modern meaning. (I’m not even a millennial, goddammit.)

Sometimes fear is well founded; other times, it is utterly illogical. But familiarity or otherwise is rarely the defining feature.