Recently I had this massively deep, as in ravine-like depth, and possibly even profound, as in sage-like profundity, conversation with a friend. And you know, I only engage in the deepest and profoundest of conversations. Not really. Possibly never. But I had you hoodwinked there for a sentence or two.
But the conversation was meaningful. At least to us. And it got me thinking. Which may be a good thing or perhaps not so good. You be the judge. Specifically, the conversation was about “waiting for a medical diagnosis” and how wrought with fear and anxiety the waiting part is. We both agreed that once you were given the verdict on your health situation, or even worse, on someone you love dearly, you can deal with it. Or at least begin the journey of dealing with it. No matter how bad. Because up until that cosmic moment in time all you can work with is your crazy-making mind and all the horror stories it fabricates. Always the worst. Always with a terrifying plot. Always with a sad ending. Tears. Hair pulling. Eyebrow plucking. Insanity.
This pre-diagnosis conversation got me thinking about other situations and circumstances in my life where I’m filled with angst and tension in the hours, days or weeks before a future event. I use the word “event” loosely here. I’m not necessarily referring to a performance per se. Like giving a speech or presentation or acting or dancing or playing an instrument in front of an enormous audience at Madison Square Garden or even a cozy NPR Tiny Desk Concert or more realistically with my concert band at the local senior’s home. I’m talking about doing anything that requires putting myself out there or flexing my courage muscle, trying something new or stepping out of my comfort zone. Anything, large or small, that will impact my life in some way – whether enormously consequential or a mere shoulder shrug incident.
Bottom line, my little life is comprised of a continuous sequence of vest-pocket events – from rising to setting. Most days it typically goes something like this. I get up. I yawn. I stretch. I meditate. I do yoga. I walk a dog. I make plans. I break plans. I do domestic things. I put things off. I perform. I procrastinate. I interact. I hide. I seek. I play. I work. I write. (Like I’m doing right now.) I make awful music. I eat. I go to the bathroom. I cry ugly tears. I read. I sleep. Repeat. It sounds horribly dull when I see it written here. But it is quite nice actually. It’s just life, I guess. My life. Can you relate?
At any point during any one of these ordinary daily little life events, I could be struck by the disconcerting and unnerving thought that starts with two simple words “what if” … this or that horrifying thing happens, goes sideways, falls apart completely, fucks everything up and I’m left an old fool, broken, rejected, dejected, embarrassed, unable to function, a complete disaster to my family, friends and associates. A loser in wet Depends.
Then I stop. When this happens, I release the grip on my imaginary machinations and give rise to my pissed off, enough-is-enough Mama authoritative voice and give myself a good talking to. Girl, this is all just made-up bullshit mind fluff. Blow it away. It’s just that naggy small scared shaky pitiful voice inside your head that speaks with only one intention – to sabotage your day, possibly your life even, and keep you from moving forward and doing all the magnificent things you were sent here to do. So, get off your ass and do what needs to be done. Step up and step out. Now.
We all need a good talking to. Especially ones we give ourselves. I feel so much better now.
