After dropping the girls to their respective schools and listening to Karl and Gugl spit back all the rhymes and rhythms that Virginie was sending their way on the iPad, I arrived twenty minutes early to my yearly physical. This was my second time around, as the first visit a few months back ended with my having a miserable migraine complete with halos, auras, and vomiting. I was also going to share with my dear doctor the details of my recent hospital visit for an anxiety-induced hallucination of a heart attack and general panicked state that I am living in. I thought I should get there early.
At present, I am in incredible health, save the anxiety, which has left me relieved but also confused. So many people have reached out to me to share stories of high anxiety and panic that have ruled their lives at various stages. I have heard from the medicated, the meditated, the yoga'ed and the illicit-substanced. It all tells me the same thing. Modern life is just wrecking our fragile souls. Those with kids and those without. Those with lots of money in their coffers and those who are struggling day to day. Even when we tell ourselves that we are doing it, thriving, achieving, something can come along and just flip you on your ass. I am all about the positive thinking. I believe in it, believe it works, think it connects us all and prevents us from feeling the loneliness and alienation that getting trapped in our own dramas can produce. And yet I am still twitching inside, chomping at the bit to be released from the gate to get into that race with whom? With myself?
I stopped at the grocery store after my appointment to get some snacks for the people. We will more than likely be home alone this weekend and far into next week due to the hubby's work schedule, so I wanted them to have some special treats. I have always held that no matter what my mood or anyone else's really, there is no reason to take it out on people I encounter on the street, in the store,or at home (if I can help it). There was a young man behind the deli counter eagerly awaiting customers. I heard him bantering with his colleagues and his tone was a little geeky, awkward, but kind. I asked for some turkey but was indecisive, so he came around the counter to show me the different kinds of turkey with his little review of each. After making my selection (the not so exciting Boar's Head Roast Turkey as the girls don't love "spicy") I asked if he could have someone help me with the fish. In the hopes of changing it up for my basic food group eating ninja princesses, I wanted to make some tilapia, boring to the chef husband, but heaven to the girlies. My deli guy tells me that no one is over there but he "would gladly help me." He chose some lovely fillets and wrapped them beautifully, tossing out the paper when he didn't think he'd done a neat enough job. I thanked him and we wished each other a wonderful Memorial Day Weekend and I paid at the cashier and left.
When I unwrapped the turkey at home, I was struck by how wonderfully it was presented. Cut well, wrapped so that the slices did not disintegrate or crumble as soon as I touched them, with a piece of wax paper placed in the fold to make it easier to peel off. I know how silly this sounds but I have to tell you, given the events of the past days, I was so touched to find someone still taking joy, at least pride, in his work. This young man was kind, decent, helpful, and did his job quietly and with care. His energy brought me back to this stratosphere and I stopped, for at least five minutes, bugging out about something, who knows what. It felt good to be a part of this collective, all of us, instead of trapped in my thoughts, my fears, my terrors.
In the strangest places, we can find the signs. We get the clues. I don't know this man, don't know what he is going through in this life, what ails him, when or why he hurts, but I know that today, he showed me himself at his best with dignity, pride, and compassion and it made me want to do it too. For just a moment, it took me out of my anxiety, away from my stress, and reconnected me with the everyday.
(c) Repatriated Mama: Back to the Suburban Grind.
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