People have a lot of fantasies about themselves, don’t they?

When you’re relaxed and calm and have all the time in the world, it’s fun to ponder what would happen in some situations. The problem with this is that ninety percent of the time, what you think will happen, what you think you’ll do, is dead wrong.

When I tell people about my own experience, they laugh.

Oh, I wish I could’ve been there!

I would’ve punched the robbers in the face!

I would’ve thrown a knife at them!

No, you wouldn’t have.

Trust me.

There is a line, a definite, thick line, that lies between fantasy and reality, between what you want to do and what will actually happen.

I always thought I’d do something brilliant, something brave, when the time called for it. I thought I wouldn’t say “yes” and I wouldn’t give in.

But I wasn’t strong then – I wasn’t brave. I fell apart, I was crying and shaking and stuttering on the phone, and I couldn’t even remember – couldn’t even remember their faces, their voices, their heights, their sweatshirt color. I didn’t want to remember. I was incoherent, I was weak, I wasn’t what I thought I’d become, but this, I learned, was me. I am not a hero when I’m afraid; I’m a human.

When a gun is pointed at your face, you won’t sprout wings or become skilled in knife-throwing. You won’t knock the gun out of their hands and tie them up and call the police without a quake in your voice. When a gun is pointed at your face, there is only one thing you’re thinking about, and it is not the money, the store, or the girl next to you. It is yourself. And to think otherwise, to expect to be a champion when all you’ll ever be is a victim, is foolish; you can build a billion fantasies in your head but all it takes is a moment of reality to tear them apart.