The What-wases
2019 has been the year for trying new things. I am a creature of habit; structure is my security blanket, so when changes come along, I resist with all of my might. Because of my book, I’ve had to open my arms to change, and although that’s been tough, it’s also forced me to get out into the world and do things I would have never done before. Travel is one of those things.
I don’t like to travel. I’m not a crazy cat or dog lady, but I do miss my little friends when I’m away; I’d be willing to bet that they miss me, too. Plus, I just like home; it’s my safe space. My publisher talked me into going to the ALA conference that was held in June in DC. The thought of driving there, and even worse . . . in that city traffic once I’d arrived, pushed my anxiety meter into the red zone. “Take a train,” she said. So, that’s what I did—I took a train—for the first time, which was one more thing that was not on my bucket list but should have been. Once there, Uber drivers became my best friends.
This past weekend was a big accomplishment for me regarding traveling. I drove four hours to see my brother and sister-in-law in Delaware. They have a place at the beach, and had invited me up last year, but plans got changed and I visited them at their home in PA, instead. I flew to Philly and my brother picked me up at the airport; so, I didn’t have to drive at all, or worry about taking wrong exits and getting lost. When they invited me to the beach, the mere thought of driving four hours got my anxiety levels up, especially since an unavoidable part of the drive was the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel. I remember going over that thing on an Atlantic City bus trip and being absolutely paralyzed with terror as the bus traveled across that bridge.
My brother doesn’t live close by, so if I want to see him, I have to travel. He has come this way several times, but he shouldn’t have to be the one doing all the traveling. So, when he asked me to come to Delaware, I said yes. Although he said I could fly, and he’d pick me up at the airport, I was determined to be a big girl and get there on my own. My sister agreed to keep my dog, and my son would watch my cat. The morning I left, I dropped my dog off at my sister’s, and that’s when my brother-in-law, who used to be a truck driver, informed me that the bridge tunnel is 17 miles long. I hoped he was joking, but he wasn’t.
Fast-forward to the bridge tunnel. I was roughly halfway across it, and a thought popped into my head. Having an active imagination is a great thing for writing, but when you pair it with severe anxiety, eh . . . not so much. I thought, “What if terrorists decided that the bridge tunnel would be the perfect thing to blow up? And what if they decided this was the perfect day and time to do it?” This was not a good thought to be thinking so I forced myself to think about something else; unfortunately, I’d gotten already gotten myself worked up. By the time I was back on solid ground, my hands were stuck in the white-knuckle position.
Other than the bridge tunnel, and one wrong turn that lengthened the drive by about twenty minutes, the drive wasn’t bad at all. The route was rural, which is great, because I don’t mind that kind of trip. I saw beautiful farmhouses, homes that were in utter disrepair, fields of corn and sunflowers. As much as I would have liked to gaze at all the scenery, the responsibility of focusing on the road only allowed quick glances.
Once I’d arrived and gotten settled in, we went into town. The town of Lewes is a bustling, yet quaint little place, and it was like stepping into another world. There were historical sites, little specialty shops, unique restaurants, and even a wonderful little bookstore that not only sold hard-to-find books but also things like finger puppets, funny cards, and other things nobody needs, but feels the unyielding urge to buy anyway. Below that store, is a record store called The Vintage Underground, where you can find vintage clothing, vinyl records, and all kinds of other stuff that nobody needs but buys anyway. I bought a few things, including some finger puppets and a Charles Dickens bookmark (all necessities, of course).
The next day we went to the beach–one that you drive onto. When we arrived, the fog was insane. I’ve never seen fog like that on the beach; it was so alien to me, that it was almost unnerving. Thankfully, it eventually burned off, taking the spooky feeling with it. It was nice to just sit there and enjoy the company, without a worry in the world. My favorite part of that relaxing day on the beach was eluding the “today is kettle bell day” thought that runs through my mind several times a day when it’s kettle bell day. (Today is kettle bell day and if I’m being honest, I think that’s why I’m writing right now . . . who me? Procrastinate? Never.)
After the beach, we enjoyed the refreshing and non-flesh-eating-bacteria infested pool (there goes that imagination again), and later, dinner, topped off by the best berry bread pudding you’ll ever taste. The weekend literally flew by.
Although I’m glad to be home with my animals (and done with that bridge tunnel), I’m glad I went. It was so nice to just sit and enjoy the company of my brother and his wife.
I’m coming along, although I’m doing so in baby steps. Anxiety really is a tricky little imp—it bombards me relentlessly with what-ifs. But when anxiety attempts to plague me with what-ifs, I’m learning to look back at the what-wases (yeah, I made that word up) instead. The what-wases include things like, “You flew to Philly, and everything turned out okay. You took a train to DC and nothing bad happened. You made it across the Chesapeake Bay Bridge tunnel not only once, but TWICE. Girl, you got this.”
If you’re like me and anxiety starts shooting those what-ifs your way, throw up that shield, and fire back some what-wases—shoot that anxiety down; because if you don’t, you’ll be like I was; you’ll be missing out on so many great things by allowing anxiety to be the boss of you. If I can stop anxiety from being the boss of me, you can too . . . because,
Girl (or boy), you’ve got this.
