What Me Worry?
“All life is temporary. Why worry about anything that’s only temporary?” – Buddha
This is great. It is Friday, when I have consistently begun my weekly stories. For most of the week, I was certain that this week was one I would let go by, without a story. I was feeling this way for two reasons, one of my own creation and the other, an external intrusion. The latter dealt with my frustration regarding Facebook and their schizophrenic, algorithm reformulations, something outside my control. The other, dealt with my state of mind, absolutely within my personal purview.
As a bonafide idiot, when it comes to most things electronic, I don’t understand how or why Facebook arbitrarily decides to change how it notifies people about what’s going on in their electronic universe. No more than a month ago, I followed my neurotic leanings, by putting up my story every Sunday morning, like I always do. Frankly, I am not swamped with responses on a good day, but I’d start getting notices within less than an hour. All of a sudden, I felt like I was yelling fire in a deserted movie theatre, because nothing happened, nothing at all. Fortunately for me, I am stuck with this habit and have kept at it, undeterred.
This week, I found myself in a state of mind I have steered clear of for quite a while. I started waking up around 3:30 in the morning and lie there in the dark, worrying. These familiar, mental monsters lived in my mind for many years and I was thrilled to abandon them, but I actually had to physically distance myself from them.
When I lived in NYC, many years ago, I was in the broadcast advertising business. Whether I was buying millions of dollars in network television advertising time for major corporations or selling that time, wrestling with hitting quotas, I worried all the time. It made me feel terribly uncomfortable. Escaping this emotional stranglehold was one of the main reasons for leaving it all behind, precipitously heading west to Santa Fe, NM, focused on reinventing myself with a more pronounced stride in my glide. Back east, I felt more like an invention of circumstances, life in charge of me, a disenfranchised soul.
I used to imagine this person I wanted to be in NYC, but it got buried under the weight of expectation, an homage to caution and a fear of being seen. I experienced a freedom in Santa Fe I only dreamt about, but never imagined for myself. I was in my early forties at the time. Today, when I engage with people in their twenties and thirties, I keep my mouth shut, feeling it would be cheating to tell them that there are so many surprises waiting behind the clock. I have been both shocked by and loved the changes that keep happening along with way.
Worrying was something I thought I left over my shoulder, but apparently not. I felt that same discomfort, reminiscent of a time when I was on an emotional and intellectual treadmill, set at a pace I could never out run, which didn’t seem to stop me from trying.
Some time later in the week, things changed and it certainly wasn’t the circumstances that brought on the worry, wrestling with a grant application, filled with rigid rules that do not encourage creativity, demanding total conformity. I had a level-headed conversation with myself, regarding what needed to be done and my ability to get it done. It dawned on me that I know how to write. It’s like being the gun and simply needing some bullets to hit the target. It probably doesn’t hurt that I’ve got decades of experience in the world of word manipulation, too. I used to write presentations, selling advertisers on why they should spend millions of dollars in various network television shows and manipulated numbers to make my case. I didn’t lie, I just made a convincing case for justifying my choices.
The above mood change felt like getting on the road in a car you would love to drive. Initially, you feel very uncomfortable and downright self-conscious. Soon, you roll down the window, blast Hotel California on your speakers, drape your arm over the rolled down window, resting it on the door of your four-wheeled dream and all of a sudden, you got this!
Heading into the weekend Friday afternoon, when I began this opus, a calm came over me, otherwise I would have continued on the four lane avenue of anxiety, going nowhere, with a busted radio and fuel gauge.
I woke up Saturday morning, admittedly with a bit of the worry residue, but I felt pretty good, partially because I had a good piece of this story already down, which surprised me, at least based on how I felt earlier in the week.
Holding to this totally arbitrary regimen of writing a weekly tome, also serves as a touchstone for me, a self-affirmation that I am continuing to be in touch with myself.
I broke with my routine, which is cemented in a one-foot-in-front-of-the -other, ode to Ground Hog’s Day. I took my cup of coffee in my left hand and instead of walking, straight-line to the computer, I pushed open my stubborn, noisy screen door, and stood outside, sipping my cup of morning joy and just looking around. There were no words necessary, just a muted knowing of where I am and why.
Here I am, once again and it’s Sunday morning, rereading what I’ve written these past two days. It seems terribly self-indulgent to me, but these kind of personal stories, by their nature, are up to their ass in ME. The trick is, for at least some of you, to find a bit of yourself in my words.
Thanks for listening.
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