So, I went on my vacation. Pulled up my big girl panties, made my motel reservations, packed my gear, gassed up the car, and headed east. All stoked up for a real adventure. Not mad at anyone, or resentful, or sad, or desperate. Trying to bask in the warm glow of joy and peace.
Three hours into my solitary adventure, piloting the van across the flat, featureless high desert of central Oregon, I looked out the windows...and had a Grand Mal anxiety attack. Out of the blue, for no reason I have since been able to come up with.
I have been having these attacks since just after I was married. They seem to have something to do with my stepping out of my comfort zone and embarking upon something completely new and foreign. Marriage was, apparently, one of those things. Evidently, so was driving away from my solitary, protected little life in the valley, and up onto the vast, flat-from-horizon-to-horizon, plain of the high desert.
During these attacks, I temporarily lose myself. I suddenly feel as if I've been dropped into a completely different universe...I come dangerously close to losing my concept of who I am or what my life is...as if I've been living an alternate existence, and my actual reality is trying to break through into the one I'm in. I can't look in a mirror during these spells, because I have this sense of not recognizing myself. It's like I'm falling, but not into a hole. More like into a boundless space where I will just...spread out in the air and disappear. It scares the crap out of me, every time.
Over the years, I've learned to physically turn away from these attacks, connect with something familiar within my line of sight, grab onto it and turn my back on the feeling of...not knowing who I am. It works. But driving across the bright, empty plain, away from everything familiar, I couldn't find enough of anything to grab onto to keep from falling. I very nearly lost myself. It scared the shit out of me. I was rattled and shaken for two days afterward.
It was just too hard to get myself back to a place where I could enjoy the adventure, after that. Even though the feeling and immediate fear finally abated, I was scared to death it would happen again...because it had come at me from out of the blue the first time. So I just couldn't explore the open, boundless beauty of the high desert alone.
After three days, I canceled the rest of my trip and headed back to the valley, familiarity, and safety.
I feel like such a failure.
I've always known that fear and anxiety are my constant companions; and, in fact, they have been rearing their ugly heads with greater frequency as I get older.
In a way, I guess I believed that heading out on an adventure motivated by joy and surrounded by peace, I would also be charting a course away from fear and anxiety.
They sure proved me wrong.
Apparently, strong negative emotions are the best way for me to conquer fear and anxiety, and accomplish anything at all. Anger, sadness, loneliness, frustration...these are the clubs I use to beat back the fear so I can move in any direction at all.
I like to see a man proud of the place in which he lives. I like to see a man live so that his place will be proud of him. --Abraham Lincoln
Where I'm From
I am from station wagons, from kool-aid and turf-builder.
I am from the three bedroom, one bath ticky-tacky box
with the swath of weedy lawn; from lightning bugs,
June bugs, and mosquitoes the size of small birds.
From nights near as hot as the days,
spread-eagled on sticky sheets
crickets creaking, horns honking,
trains rumbling and whistling in the distance…
I am from snow to the eaves, jewel-studded ice storms
and green-black thunderstorms with sideways rain.
I am from bright red tulips, honeysuckle berries,
and worms on the driveway after a cloudburst;
from daisies, tiny wild strawberries, “Queen Anne’s Lace”
and crashing the kite into power lines.
I am from “Look what followed me home from school”
and never having too many animals. From Taffy and Rusty
and Sunny, the yellow headed parakeet, who could say
“Happy Birthday” but only when he thought
no one was listening…
I am from the women who shuttle the carpool,
punch the clock, scrub the toilet,
then climb into the bottle, the herb
or the fantasy to quiet the noise in their heads
and the men they choose to rescue
or who choose to rescue them.
From “When you meet the right one, you’ll just know”
and “Your dad was a virgin when we were married…”
I am from the dutiful eldest daughter who paired off
home made and pro-created at the appointed time,
and the other four who didn’t.
I am from the tearful Catholic and the stoic agnostic;
the rope stretched taut between belief and unbelief,
pulled one direction, then the other…
the eternal tug of war never won.
I’m from pioneers of urban exile; before the country clubs and the soccer and the Rolls Royces.
I’m from the first McDonald’s and the last Tastee Freez.
I am from the great moldering box in the upstairs closet;
roaring twenties sepias stacked on
shiny square instamatic shots, discoloring with age.
I am from the five stair-steps, the Christmas trees, the campfires,
and the blurred mountains captured from a moving car.
I am from the unlikely union of a country boy and a city girl,
brought together by Hitler and Hirohito;
and the neighborhood of compromise
that kept them both sane…almost.
On Where We're Destined to Go...
As for life, I'm humbled, I'm without words sufficient to say
how it has been hard as flint, and soft as a spring pond,both of these and over and over,
and long pale afternoons besides, and so many mysteries beautiful as eggs in a nest, still unhatched though warm and watched over by something I have never seen -a tree angel, perhaps,or a ghost of holiness.
Every day I walk out into the world to be dazzled, then to be reflective. It suffices, it is all comfort - along with human love,
dog love, water love, little-serpent love,sunburst love, or love for that smallest of birds flying among the scarlet flowers.
There is hardly time to think about
stopping, and lying down at last to the long afterlife, to the tenderness yet to come, when time will brim over the singular pond, and become forever,
and we will pretend to melt away into the leaves.
As for death, I can't wait to be the hummingbird, can you?
Mary Oliver
"Sometimes I go around feeling sorry for myself; and all the while I am being carried by the wind across the sky." --Chippewa saying.
I'm sorry to hear that you had to abandon your vacation, Lisa. Hope things have settled down for you now.
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