“Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars” Khalil Gibron
Every now and then, I wonder if my writing style gives the wrong impression. For arguments sake, let’s say I am a semi-decent writer, which doesn’t freak me out the way being thought of as a good writer would. No, I am not insecure, I am just always trying to be better at it, that’s all.
I am right here, just like all of you. I haven’t discovered any clandestine way to keep my shit together either. The last story I wrote, “SIT ON THIS”, could easily give the wrong impression, like I know the secret to eternal happiness. While I really focus on trying to leave every story with an uplifting message, I haven’t left the trenches, dealing with the same life challenges as you.
Thank God I am not famous, because it could easily make this kind of story very difficult to share. Even though this little ditty will likely go on for a few days, I want to talk about last night, while it is still very fresh. Who knows where this will go in a page or two?
I had trouble falling asleep, feeling some rumbling anxiety invading my safe space. I woke up around 3AM with a full blown panic attack. I probably got in and out of bed at least a dozen times. The clock was way slower than usual, barely moving for at least an hour. I ended up going outside a handful of times, walking around in the eternal darkness of night.
It was like an invisible closet opened up and an army of bogeymen invaded my mind. Clocking 80 in a couple of weeks is a bit of math not lost on yours truly. Sometimes, I believe we are all passing through and our life energy is kind of on loan, borrowed at birth and returned upon our departure. Other times, I am incalculably terrified at the prospect of my last breath, fighting the encroaching darkness.
While Jews didn’t invent worry, over the millennia it has devolved into an art form for us. The looming presence of the grim reaper is the overriding theme of my life lament. It has plenty of company. There are endless physical distractions, a testament to body parts showing signs of wear and tear. An inconsequential bump can hurt for weeks. Pain becomes its own traveling road show, making stops in some really out of the way locations. Balance is no longer taken for granted and that one cuts deep, while trying to make inane excuses for its occurrence.
For the most part, I don’t think we are really comfortable recounting a middle of the night, terrifying panic attack to most anyone. Keeping this kind of experience private allows it to fester, unimpeded by trying to give it any kind of release. It makes the feeling a very lonely one and it can grow in the silence. This morning I decided to share this really upsetting dance with the devil.
I miraculously recovered from this nightmare and felt like I was reoccupying myself. Maybe my motivation for sharing has a therapeutic piece, but I don’t write from some pedestal of knowing, not even close. The last thing I ever want to do is to take myself too seriously. This is not about some fucken revelation, a breakthrough that lit up the sky. It was like a wakened nightmare that I could have done without.
I am heading into the night after and I really wanted to get this all down before the darkness. Writing about this kind of shines a light on it, sticking a pin hole in the balloon of pent up angst, at least that’s the hope.
Like many of you, I am up to my ass in trepidation regarding the demise of the dream of America. As a kid, I loved learning about the beginnings of this country, because of how it was presented. George Washington couldn’t tell a lie and fessed up to chopping down the cherry tree. Honest Abe walked miles to return an over charge on a customer’s Visa/Mastercard. In Queens, we never talked about segregation, because all men were created equal. There were no signs, For Colored Only. We did have drills, where we’d get under your desk for five minutes, designed to keep us safe in the event of an atomic bomb!
The first time I really got kicked in the nuts was when JFK was assassinated. I was a sophomore in college and almost old enough to realize the dream was just that. Growing up since then has been very disappointing in terms of the child like roots, innocently planted in the barren soil of reality. If it wasn’t for music and drugs, I probably would have crashed and burned years ago. My love for music continues unabated, but the drug business is finally over, after a couple of stutter steps.
Now, here we are and I gotta tell you I never imagined that what is happening could actually ever happen. When I road in bumper cars as a kid and slammed into everything, it was this wonderful kind of destructive fantasy. It could never happen in real life, which made it so much fun. Now, it is like living in one of those little cars, unmercifully crushing people and just moving on around the track to gore someone else. All those delicious myths I learned as a kid are now being flushed down the toilet of today.
Oh, I forgot to mention it is now the next day, having survived the night in between. I was pretty much OK, getting from there to here. Time is a part of storytelling and I like growing a story, providing context through movement. So, you and I are both sharing this particular episode in my life as it happens.
One of the many things I learned from around ten years in therapy is that the thing you casually bring up about what’s been going on is usually the big one. I lead a relatively simple life in terms of possessions and most other things. I don’t like lots of choices, mainly because I get confused easily. When something goes astray, I don’t take it well at all. While knowing that is helpful, freaking out is still freaking out.
What I haven’t mentioned is that I am without a car at the moment. I was forced to junk my aging Lexus. I am 99% certain its replacement is on the way and that has been its own long story. I will have to deal with insurance, inspection and the beloved DMV. Sitting here now, none of this seems like a big deal. In the middle of the night, it can come to me in the form of a ferocious ghoul. This is a big change for a simpleton like me and I don’t thrive on wrestling with uncertainty. Flexibility suffers with age, manifesting physically and if you are not mindful, it whacks you emotionally, too. Being honest with you is way more important than embarrassing myself.
NOW, IMAGINE A FEW DAYS HAVE PASSED, BECAUSE THEY HAVE, AT LEAST FOR ME.
You’re gonna love this. Over the past few days, I have taken possession of the Lexus’ replacement and she is now smiling at me from right outside my front door. I will spare you the details, because that is not the point of the story. As of around an hour ago, we became one. Sitting in front of this screen right now, I am happy to report being overcome by a free-form, serene feeling.
I don’t want to lose sight of what got me started on this confession of mine. This is a very difficult time for most of us and it exacerbates the misfires in our own lives. I think it is important to know what is going on between our ears and in our hearts. So, awareness comes before anything else. Owning the tough stuff is half the job. When you share it, you diffuse some of the energy that can strangle your spirit.
We are in this life together and don’t ever forget it.
Thank you for allowing me to share my life with you.
LISTEN TO IT HERE:
https://www.buzzsprout.com/admin/1292459/episodes/17125627-it-ain-t-easy