A chance for all of us to grow will come with this goodbye

One of my blessings with one of hers

"What's the biggest thing on your mind right now?"

           ---My friend Maureen,over a glass of wine

Every so often, when I'm tangled, I go to the altar of Oprah and try, as she describes it, to "be still and ask myself, what is this trying to teach me?"

More often than my friend Maureen probably intended, that question of "the biggest thing"  has centered me even more than the words of Oprah.

One day last week, after dealing with a funk that has had me on my own nerves for a couple of weeks, I woke up feeling so much  happier and easier to please, it made me kind of, I don't know, nervous.

A funk is not lonely and exhausting like depression is. A funk is impatient and restless. A depression makes you circle the same negative thoughts about how wrong you were about life.  A funk makes you annoyed with anyone who interrupts your frustration to ask if things are better.  

And I'll say this about coming out of a funk.  When people claim that, in the middle of a weighty, confusing time, they just looked around and counted their blessings and felt better, I want to say:

You're not helping the rest of us.

You can know very well how blessed and fortunate you are. You can look out the window and see the sun shining, and you can reflect on your good friends, and your endless luck and serendipity and bullets dodged, and it will not make a bit of difference  if you are unable to shove the clutter aside and dig out the biggest thing on your mind.

Sometimes you have to look for it, that big thing that is corrupting the small things.

It is almost always something that feels beyond your control, a thing you want but can't get, or something you have and can't get rid of.  It might be about wondering if you're all you were, or knowing that you are, but won't be forever.

At age never mind, I've learned that "being still" can be harder than either locating the biggest thing or  what it is trying to teach you. It takes practice to  make it quiet enough to hear your own heart.   

My daughter will move to California next month. Have I known about this for several months?  Do I know that this is the most exciting thing that has happened to her? Do I know that she's wanted this for eight years, and that  if it were taken away from her, I would feel as devastated as she would? And would I do anything to help her open every door if the chance for her happiness might be behind it?

Yes, yes, yes, and yes.

And. 

Do I have total faith in her ability to seize this opportunity, embrace the discoveries and power through the adjustments?  You bet I do.

And.

When I am grocery shopping and reaching for vine tomatoes and realize that I miss her, will I be unable for the first time in twenty-eight years to book brunch on Sunday, or meet for a walk by the Charles? Yes, I will be unable to do that. We had that brunch and that walk, our last for a while, two weeks ago. 

The next day, I woke up and my funk was sitting there. "I just wanted to make sure you knew that the greatest factor in close relationships is proximity," said my funk.

Soon after, I met Sam for dinner in Boston. We covered the usual subjects; his job, my writing, what everyone in the family was up to. We talked about change; expectations of a year ago, the ones which have or haven't materialized. We agreed that living in the present is about making it worth remembering in the future.

Said twenty-three year old Sam:  "I tell my friends when we're having a great time, 'You never know when you're in the middle of a great memory.'"

The next morning, I woke with the attitude I'd been looking for. The funk was gone and the biggest thing on my mind was what kind of hotel I would make my go-to when I make those trips out west. 

I opened my calendar. I envisioned the year that was coming. What the weather is like in Michigan in March, in California in August.

I planned four trips.

Two to California, to see Jacqueline.

Two to Michigan to see Courtney who has just moved there with her new husband, Ken-who-we-love.

I googled hotels and found places I will love when I visit.

I got street views of restaurants where we'll brunch,  and places where we'll walk. 

I thought about what I don't know now, but will have learned  in a year from now.

And mostly, I thought about what this now-gone funk taught me before it left: that inside every change is an opportunity to grow  that may not present itself any other way. 

This change in my daughter's life will change my own, the way it should, not only because of  the great memories that have yet to be made, but because I intend to be in the middle of each one.

The people we're supposed to be

Several weeks ago, I wrote about events that were changing my world too fast for me to keep up. My sense of humor was at half-power, my perspective was tired.  Worse than anything – anything - I felt uninspired.   

That's fine, that's life. Life isn't about removing stressors as much as going where they can't find you for a while. 

For me, it's my loft where I write.  Proof of my life is everywhere, from the crafty things my kids made for me as small children, to my first published article that my husband had framed. In the loft, I write to soft instrumentals and can see and feel the changes in the sunlight throughout the day.  

When my stretch of stress began, I decided that this would be a good time to make a list of all the things I haven't accomplished and, you know, just do all of them right now.

My big busy-ness would force my big issues into smaller spaces. Woe-be-gone! 

I made a calendar of twenty-five objectives (including "write novel"), put all my plans on a wipe board with dates and placed it where I would see it every day.

And every day I did that.  I looked at it and thought of how I would feel two or three months from now, when all those goals had checkmarks next to them.

I made my writing a shield.

My writing didn't want to be a shield.  It wanted to be the proof of my life, which is balanced, satisfying, promising, lopsided, frustrating, and precarious right now.

One morning last month, the thought of even going to the loft made me anxious. I dreaded the feeling of having nothing to say, nothing to care about, nothing to share.

Woe-be-back.

But then. 

One morning soon after that one, surfing a sudden, surprising wave of nostalgia and social energy, I sent a group text to a small clutch of women I've known for a long time but have been wanting to know better, also for a long time.  I suggested we get together for a simple dinner and catch up. It wasn't like me. I've always been more of a one friend at a time person. 

But not this day.

We met last week. There were stories, there was laughter, there was intelligent discussion. We shared big plans and great memories. We talked about ridiculous things that have happened to us in the past and learned more about who we are today.  Mostly, we made plans to meet again next month, a thing that feels to me like a puzzle piece that's been hiding under the rug.

If you are in that spot of impending change, when you are moving too fast toward the next thing to say a proper goodbye to the old thing, or you're realizing you have two choices which are to grow or stay the same, or you are realizing that pals really mean a lot to you and you think you need more of them, 

Here are some things that might help you along

Don't give up on new ideas too soon. Give them a fair chance to unfold because before things feel completely right, they can feel like mistakes.       

You can't solve anything while you're in a panic over solving everything.  Calm down. Leave your loft for a while. Ask yourself: What is the most important thing on my mind? Go there.

Even things you love can be stressful – work, kids, spouses, friends. Don't overreact. Words you've said will be louder in your head when you're not upset anymore.

When change is forced on you and you're overwhelmed, take regular breaks to do something mindless and productive. Clean out a drawer. Return that sweater. Wash and vacuum your car. Get rid of the cloudy tupperware things in the back of the refrigerator. Easy stuff.

Stay in motion - drive or walk or bike – while you think about what you want to do. 

Compare what you need to be happy to what you're doing. Where you're short, pick a thing and plan it. Look forward to it. Do it.

Mostly. Mostly. 

Think of the people who have the greatest potential to wrest your attention away from yourself, who will make you laugh, who will force you to consider the bright side of things, and then, even if it's hard, make plans to see them, or talk to them, or text them, or all of those things. 

Be their shield, and let them be yours. 

Peace among the pieces: Standing up to anxiety

Here is person who looks
like she is being offered excellent
  anxiety ass-kicking instructions 

Not pieces as in ruins.

Pieces as in all the things going on in our heads about all the things going on in our lives: working, parenting, friending, spousing, dating and, especially now, college-ing.

My blog topics are pretty eclectic but I've been watching my analytics to see what people care about most. Of all the topics, those related to anxiety are in the lead.  

By a lot.

It's not surprising; one in ten people will suffer an anxiety disorder this year. One in four will suffer an anxiety disorder in their lifetime.

As I've written before, I am a recovering anxiety sufferer. But more important, I am an anxiety veteran who knows that anxiety's ass can be very effectively kicked.

This week, I was contacted by a reader who began suffering terrible anxiety with the start of a major life transition. I could feel the distress this person was experiencing from the words on the screen alone, but also because here is what is different about  anxiety today versus twenty or thirty years ago: nothing.

When I was a wee anxiety sufferer, like wee anxiety sufferers do today, I carried the feeling around that if I was free of worry, I was probably not looking hard enough.

As a twenty-something, I no longer expected worry to hit me from behind, I just started to scan and plan anything out of my life that could be worrisome.

My "brand" of anxiety at this early-career stage of life was to fear mistakes; not small ones, but catastrophic ones,  ones that would be permanent, unfixable, humiliating, and to make it especially terrifying, would cost me the respect of people I really liked.

I knew I couldn't avoid mistakes so instead, I avoided attaching to anyone enough to care if I lost them. And that is what anxiety sufferers do. To avoid the feeling that life is bigger than they are, they shrink it.

That's sad, of course. But what is really sad, is that only some know in their hearts that it's not  okay to be like that, that they do not have to live that way, that they were not born that way,  and that life will not be a long-ass uphill trudge, punctuated by moments of stark terror and the intense need to flee.

It's not. They don't. They weren't. It won't.  

Somewhere in those anxious twenties of mine, when the only thing that seemed right about my life was my appearance, I changed this behavior with one decision. I looked up a psychotherapist – the mere word was terrifying -  and made an appointment.

"Do you know where I'm located?" he asked.

"No, but it's okay. I'll figure it out," I said.

"Would it be easier if I just gave you directions?"

It was the bravest thing I'd ever done to that point, and I'm not kidding. For some people it is just as hard as it ever was.

This therapist was a sensitive, mid-thirties guy who exuded warmth and affability, a person you could not imagine being at odds with anyone.

At the end of the first session, he looked at me and said, "Well. I believe you're going to be fine."

It was the sweetest thing I'd ever believed  with no proof that I should.

The feelings at the heart of anxiety are so powerful that whether you are a wee sufferer or veteran, you begin to feel it must mean something about the thing that's triggered them.

If you are a college student for example and are experiencing unbearable homesickness and loneliness, it's probably wrongly crossed your mind that you aren't ready for college.

If you are an older individual going back to work and feel anxious every time you see that someone has responded to your resume, it's probably wrongly crossed your mind that you are no longer a fit for the workplace.

If you are trying to make a major change in your life, and the uncertainty of it all makes you nervous and upset, it's probably wrongly crossed your mind that you are making a fatal mistake, one that will saddle you with lifelong regret and so on.

Basically, at glacier speed because I challenged everything before I embraced it, I was taught to separate  the feeling of anxiety from the situation that triggered it. I was to treat it as a thing to observe and feel until it passed, but no longer infuse with meaning, no longer trust to guide my behaviors toward or away from anything.

Anxiety stopped managing me, and I began managing it.

Do I occasionally step on a rake on the lawn? Absolutely. Do the feelings of anxiety feel better? Not at all.

But when they come, I know they're going to go and go they do, and whilst waiting, I make no sudden moves or decisions.

And it is the best feeling in world after knowing you're going to be fine, to start knowing you are the one making it happen.

It feels good to be your own proof. 

If this post is about you, believe, however you do it, you will do it.

I want to, I would, but.

Here is a picture of old,
safe habits, and fear of the unknown. 

In 2014, Jim Carrey gave the commencement address at Maharishi University of Management. 

The speech was hilarious in places but took a sudden, poignant turn when Carrey described the fear of failure that keeps us from what we want, but won't prevent us from "failing at what we don't want." 

"As far as I can tell, it’s just about letting the universe know what you want and working toward it, while letting go of how it comes to pass. 

Your job is not to figure out how it’s going to happen for you, but to open the door in your head. And when the door opens in real life? 

Just walk through it."

We know more than we think we do. Somewhere in the tangle of craving change, we know what we want.  

We know.

We might erect our own barriers – put change out of reach – but it's in there, what you would do if those barriers came down.

It might not be easy to make the changes you know you should. You might have to put it off. You might have to plan it out. But it might be most uncomfortable, because:

You don't not know what to do.

You do know. 

If you are a millennial in a job that you don't love with no idea of what you would love, you do know, even if it might disappoint your parents and won't pay as well.

If you are a married person  in a troubled relationship and don't know how your life would be better, you do know, even if you hate the idea of standing up for your needs.  

If you are a new college student who can't stop fearing the unknown enough to settle, and don't know what to do about it, you do know, even if you'll have to risk social discomfort to get there.

If you are a  harried parent who has over-scheduled your life to the point of exhaustion and don't know how to back up and recalculate, you do know, even if you have to learn to say no a lot more than you do now.  

At the start of summer, I drafted a new book in my head. I couldn't wait to sit and write it out. With every day, I imagined character traits and plot points and this one, I knew, could sing with plot.

At the start of August, I had yet to draft it. 

I would like to think I don't know why, but I do. I've been ducking it because I'm afraid that after I take a year or more to write it, it will be rejected, and the only thing worse than rejection is feeling like it was inevitable the whole time you were wasting your time. 

Bringing this goal from my head to the page has predictably, churned up old mixed feelings about working on something with only the possibility of fruition, and distant fruition at that.  

But I'm opening the door in my head. For now, I'm allowing that to be enough. I am going to stop saying "I don't know," when I mean "it's too hard." I am going to break the habit of choosing certainty over possibility. 

If for you, change would be doable but for the uncertainty and difficulty of it, think about changing that.  

Some things to remember while you are thinking about changing that   

• You know what you want. You do. 

• If you've been trying and not getting what you want, you haven't failed. You just haven't gotten what you want yet. 

• Ask yourself what the first step is. Spend a lot of time  planning how you'll do that one thing. 

• When you're doing something very hard, it's possible to have a happy heart and a cranky head at once. Don't let the head win. 

• Provide for yourself at least what you give to others. Practice this daily, until  it stops feeling selfish to get your way. Then keep practicing. 

• Don't be sorry about not knowing more. Worry if you don't care about knowing more. 

• Sometimes, things really are as good as you feared they might be, and will stay that way. Trust. 

• The accomplishments you're aiming for probably won't happen if you aren't willing to try as much as you hope. Love the work.  Love the work. 

• If you're keeping yourself from a thing you want, ask yourself why you don't deserve it.

I'm beginning to see old, safe routines and habits as the tractor that is traveling 4 mph and won't pull over to let you pass.  It is the sawhorse at the end of the street that bars you from your  favorite shops and restaurants.

Seize the energy of September and if you can't go right out and get what you want, just imagine having it for a while. The door will open, the tractor will pull over, and then...

you can take yourself shopping.