I guess I've always known that I have anxiety issues. It's not a fun thing to live with, you know. In college it was my perpetual state of being. The nerves, the sweaty armpits, the flushed face, and last, but worst of all, the stomach tied up in knots. Okay, maybe the sweaty armpits were the worst. Anyway, I would often wake up in a panic because I had another one of those dreams where I signed up for a class and then forgot about it. Of course, I never attended class and on the last day of the semester I'd realize that I was flunking the class! This was terror. An F meant...it meant...well, the end of the world!! That's what it felt like anyway. I'm certain I realize now that flunking a class...or getting a B or C or something like that...wasn't the end of the world. Actually, I'm sure I realize it as long as I'm not taking a class, in which case all reason flies out the window and I'm crazy perfectionist lady.
I guess I'm saying all this because I've been so anxious the last couple of weeks that I can't even sleep anymore. I have never, ever had a problem with this. I'm typically the kind of person who barely remembers their head hitting the pillow. Not these days. Now I'm the kind of person who has anxious energy that keeps them up until the hours of the morning that no one should see and then has them tossing and turning until they just give up and get up an hour after going to bed to do the dishes and attempt a descent gluten free loaf of bread. Yep, that's me. And here I am 11pm the very next night, bright eyed and bushy tailed. Of course, it's in a very miserable kind of way since I have this green anxiety monster eating away at my insides.
I considered staring at the TV. Nah. How 'bout surfing the web? Nah. Truth is, I don't get the whole surfing the web thing. If I have something to research I'm a mad woman...otherwise, I just don't get the fascination. I could always clean. Hah.
So here I am. I'm hoping this will be therapeutic.
I realized this morning whilst walking home from dropping the ladies off at school that I think in terms of stories. It's kind of weird really. See, when I look at someone walking down the street I start to wonder who they are, what's on their mind, where they're going, etc. The fact of the matter is that everyone you see is basically a walking story. I think we have this horrible habit of treating people outside of the context of life, which seems to me as treating them not as people. If we think of them as a life, as a story, we might imagine that the woman who nearly ran us off the road might be mourning the death of a son, or might have just discovered that her husband is having an affair, or maybe just got the news that she's pregnant at 53 years old. She'd be in a state of extreme emotional distress and, though perhaps driving isn't the best activity for her at such a moment, it would obviously cause her to not pay attention and consequently nearly run you off the road. She's not a jerk, a B, or anything else. She's a person. In pain. At this point the world isn't so much about ourselves and what that person did to us, but it's about the interacting and colliding of all these different stories against each other. We could go on and on and on here... We could imagine reasons why that person looks so sad, or why that dude told me off outside of Sainsbury's yelling that I should "just go home." Of course, perhaps these people are really just (insert your own word here), but how often is that really the case? Perhaps a person with extreme prejudice feels that way because they were personally affected by something to do with whoever they are prejudice against (like the country they are from). We can't expect most people, or maybe any people, to be self-reflective enough to think about the fact that their limited experiences are actually just that--limited--and nothing on which to judge an entire race, country, or whatever. I don't guess we can expect them to look past their own issues and self-centered attitudes to see that they're talking to a person with a story of their own, which is probably one that includes pain and hurt (which they are making worse).
Truth is, I'm not trying to make some kind of lovely philosophical argument about why we should treat people better. I'm just trying to describe how I think. A lot of times it's not much fun. Take, for instance, the fact that I'm, like, insanely insecure. Ya, I don't get it. I just am. Anyway, a common scenario would be something like this: Jason and I are at the cafe at our gym. I just finished a kickboxing class and look all sweaty and yucky. He's just (allegedly) played tennis for the last hour. We get up to walk out and the very gorgeous, young, never-born-a-child, made-up, nicely dressed chick with the luscious long brown hair looks up and kind of stares as we walk out. Perhaps some people would think, "what in the heck is SHE looking at?" Not me. Automatically I create a scenario in my head that probably would make some pretty good reading in the pages of a Harlequin. The problem is that these stories I create also get me emotional, so that when it is a story about something personal, I get upset. Ya, not good. Poor Jason.
So tonight I found myself thinking about events in a life, a relationship, or whatever. A lot of times as parents or spouses I think we like to think about doing big and elaborate things to show our love and affection. We want to buy lovely gifts, go to fantastic places, etc. Not that there is anything wrong with such gestures, but it hit me that we often ignore the small, seemingly insignificant daily monotonous and forgettable actions and conversations that are, in actuality, not insignificant at all. When I look back at my childhood memories and think about the specific memories that pop in my head that mean "my parents loved me" they have nothing to do with gifts, or trips, or anything that either of my parents might remember. For instance, I have always gotten really big headaches. One time when we were on vacation in Florida my mom massaged my shoulders and neck for a really long time. It made my headache better and I have never, ever forgotten it. Another one was when I got my wisdom teeth pulled. Man, it was a nightmare. I couldn't sleep then either...because of the PAIN. My mom sat up with me for HOURS, stroking my hair, talking to me. I've never forgotten it. I also remember this one time with my dad when just the two of us went to this sign language class. Afterwards he brought me to Braum's and we got a hot fudge sundae!! I think we did it another time and we went and got a Big Mac. We didn't tell any of my other sisters we'd gone for those goodies. It was just special between us. I think of it often.
So how often do we think about the fact that our children and our spouses and our loved ones will probably love whatever grand thing we do for them, but the only thing that really matters is the context in which that grand thing is offered? The context is that "insignificant" everyday "stuff" that comes and goes without anyone ever noticing. It's the way we treat each other, the time we spend with each other, the way we serve each other...every day...in the small, consistent ways that, if we're honest, are the hardest. It's not so hard to plan a grand vacation or gift. It is very hard to consistently serve in the unnoticed ways every single day. To be the one who, for example, gets up with the kids in the middle of the night without disturbing the other one (or getting huffy because they didn't get up to help). Or the one who does the dishes while the other one sits drinking the latte that was just made for them. These are the tough things. But they are really the things that matter.
I guess there are all kinds of ways we can apply this. I'd like to think my kids will remember me making them pb&j sandwiches and cutting and "plating" them in such a way that it's like "masterchef." Or maybe they'll remember the walks to school with the Hershey's Kisses in my pocket just for them. I hope they'll remember that I tried to always give that extra kiss goodnight even when it was late and I was tired.
Then there is of course what is probably the most important relationship in a person's life. How do we serve our spouses daily? What are the little things that are setting the context for all our other actions to be remembered in. There may be that hot date night I planned that one time, but I'm certain that would pale in comparison to all the times of accusation, or dishonesty, or lack of understanding, mercy, and grace. We could spend all the money in the world on someone, but if we treat them badly in the small, consistent, daily things that we think should slide because they're small, it won't make a bit of difference.
I kind of wanted to branch this out, you know, like to money spending and building houses and growing plants and roots...but I think I'll spare everyone and call it a night.
I'm feeling less anxious. Still not tired though. :/
