Lessons in Fear

I am afraid.

I’ve been afraid for 10 months.

Ten months ago, everything I knew “for certain” changed in an instant and life spun completely out of my control.

Routine, patterns, and consistency are all really important to me. I like understanding the rules and how things work so I can operate comfortably in this world that doesn’t make sense to me. Things that seem intuitive to some people are complete mysteries to me. How do they all seem to know what is “normal”? I have to learn the rules so I know what’s “normal”.

So, of course, my husband leaving unexpectedly and all the chaos that followed just wrecked me. There was no normal, no routine, no pattern, or consistency. Everything went into flux and just stayed that way. At first, I had no idea what to do. What do other people do when they go through a divorce? Turns out, there is no typical way to end a 21-year relationship. With no rules, I tried to follow my heart and do what felt right. But I was afraid. All the time.

I started trying to make decisions based on who I wanted to end up being when the smoke cleared. I enrolled in college for the first time. About a third of the way through my first semester, I realized I wanted to go to a different school. I started looking for one that had a great English and Writing program since that was what I was getting my degree in. I found the University of Iowa. It fit all of my needs. It wasn’t that far from my hometown, cost of living was comparable, and it had the best MFA program for writing in the nation. I applied to transfer in the fall. And I got in.

Now, I’m 16 days away from moving out of the town I’ve lived in for the last 28 years (since I was 13). This is the town where I met and fell in love with my ex-husband and married him at 19 years old. This is the town where both of my children were born. This is where my dad and stepmom still live. This is where my mom died of cancer at the age of 56. This is where she is buried. This is where my kids had their first kisses, first loves, first driving lessons, first swimming lessons, first years of school. This is the town where I had my heart broken more times than I can count. This is the town where I got divorced. I’ve never lived anywhere but Missouri and now I’m 16 days away from leaving.

Of course, I’m afraid.

This past weekend has been one where I am simply full of fear, overthinking scenarios, and worrying about what the future will look like. But I got royally sick of myself this morning. I made myself get up and out of the house. I drove to one of my favorite spots and just talked to myself. I realized how irrational my fears have been. I remembered things from my childhood that soothed me. And I realized that my kids would be ok. I would be ok.

I pulled out my journal and wrote, “All fear does is hold you back. You can’t banish your way out of fear or logic your way out. All you can do is face it and move forward. Standing still may as well be going backwards.”

There is still a part of me that is afraid but I have to be done with fear, done letting it hold me back. I have to be done standing still. I have to keep moving forward to stay alive. No more overthinking or trying to figure out the rules. There are no rules for this. This is uncharted territory for me. Someone else’s plan or way of going about this isn’t going to help me. I have to do what feels right to me. No more standing still, only moving forward.

People like to say, “this too shall pass.” That really just means that everything is temporary, everything has a season. This isn’t the rest of my life or my kids’ lives. It’s just a blip. This next part of my life isn’t even a chapter, it’s a few pages in the hero’s journey. It’s the traveling montage. It’s the opening of the story (moving to a new town because mom or dad is gone and we have to start over). The real adventure is yet to come.

Fear is going to lurk. It’s going to try to stop me, to get me to stand still. But standing still may as well be going backward. I have to face fear and push forward. Forward is the only way to stay alive.

I may have doubts and anxiety but I won’t let fear have me. I started off this post by saying, “I am afraid.” I’m ending it, saying, “I am strong enough to face the fear. I am strong enough to keep going.”

Forward.

Learning is weird.

It’s been a weird few days for me. Life/God/the Universe is trying to teach me something and has been for a long time but it’s just not quite sinking in yet.

I’ve always been the kind of person whose emotions tend to rule her. This is not a choice. It’s something I’ve learned to temper over the years and I mostly have it under control. As a child, when I did not have control, it meant meltdowns, tempers flared, uncontrollable weeping. I was told A LOT that I wear my heart on my sleeve. As a 41 year old adult, who mostly has it under control, it means the emotions still overwhelm me but I am better at choosing when and where to release them.

I’ve never liked this about myself, this enslavement to my emotions. I want to be cool and unattached, mysterious and easy going. Instead, I’m a golden retriever, Eeyore, and Raphael (TMNT) all wrapped up into one. There’s a meme I posted about myself a while back. It’s four characters and they each represent an aspect of my personality.

This is absolutely true about me but may I also add:

I am an emotional lady and I am NOT subtle. People know what I’m feeling. I’ve gotten so much better at masking as an adult but I’m still fairly obvious.

I got triggered a few days ago by a meme on FB and then again earlier today when I learned some information about my childhood that I never knew. Both brought back everything I felt when my ex-husband left me last year. I shared some stuff about how I love too much on FB after seeing that meme. Then today, after learning some new things about my childhood, I wrote a post about my feelings on it all. I posted it. Shared it on FB. Then, thought better of it and deleted it all.

I’m still processing all of it. After all, it’s only been 10 months since my ex left and we were together for 21 years. But it’s really embarrassing for me when I process so loudly and so publicly. Once again, taking my heart out of my chest and pinning to my gorram sleeve.

But as I process, the lesson I’m meant to be learning keeps creeping back up. And maybe pain is the only way I can learn this lesson. I don’t know. But here it is: I must learn who I am and become her. This is what Life/God/the Universe is trying to teach me.

I sometimes fall back into thinking that there is something wrong with me and that’s why all this has happened. I wonder why others can’t see how actually wonderful I am. (I realize how that sounds but bear with me.) Because the truth is, I like me. I think I’m smart, funny, sweet, kind, generous, cute, a good cook, and an all around nice person. I think I’m a catch. But *apparently* I’m not everyone’s cup o’ tea. And sometimes that gets me down. I begin to see myself as bland, boring, ugly, fat, annoying, stupid, and ridiculous. That’s when the emotions tend to get in the driver’s seat. And that’s usually when the wreck happens. (My emotions are terrible drivers.)

L/G/the U wants me to keep on liking myself. I’m certain of this. I really am wonderful, a class act (as a friend recently called me). It’s time to stop letting the ones who don’t see that affect me so gosh darn much. Maybe I’m not their cup o’ tea. That’s ok. They can go drink whatever kind of tea they like. I’m gonna stay over here and be a splash of Gentleman in a tea cup anyway.

So I’m out here learning and processing and growing and doing it loudly and publicly and embarrassingly and heart-sleevingly. But I AM learning. Slowly. To the ones who can’t see my queenly, wonderfulness I say, “Kindly fudge off.” And to myself, I say, “You’re pretty great. You don’t always see it. You’re gonna figure this stuff out. Keep going. Keep trying. You’re wonderful.”

L/G/the U wants me to figure out who I am and become her. I’m working on it. I’m still gonna process too loudly and wear my emotions like a gd reflective crossing guard vest, but I’m gonna keep working, keep trying, keep learning.

Thanks to all of you who are so patient with me on the roller coaster that is me. You’re the best and I love all your beautiful dumb faces.

So here I go, walking off into the unknown again, trying to learn who I am and become her.

Maybe it’s a painting not a path

I would like to propose an idea to you, the idea that perhaps life is not a path that we walk at all, but a work of art that we paint.

I was having a conversation the other day with someone whose life is also in the pupa stage like mine. They said to me that they were worried their life wouldn’t turn out the way they envisioned it, and I so like the metaphor that I shared with them, that I’m sharing it again here so that I never forget this idea. Hopefully, you will like the metaphor too.

“My life looks absolutely nothing like I thought it would when I was your age,” I said, “So, no, your life isn’t going to turn out how you envision it now.” I thought for a minute and then said, “It’s like a painting…”

You see, my oldest spawn is an artist. They use many different mediums but one of their favorites is oil paint. Before Mori started oil painting, I knew less than nothing about it except Bob Ross used it to make happy trees. Now, however, I know infinitely more, which is to say, I have a very basic understanding of oil paint, really less than basic. It is enough, though, to explain this idea that life is, perhaps, not a path but an oil painting.

When you paint with acrylic paint, which most of us have done a few times in our lives thanks to childhood, you realize that it dries very quickly. Inexperienced painters, like myself, find it hard to fix mistakes made while painting with acrylic paint. It’s fine (sort of) if you catch the mistake before the paint dries but it is harder once it dries. Painting with oil paint, however, is an entirely different ball game.

Oil paint can take days, even weeks to dry properly. What does this mean for those pesky mistakes? Wipe them off and start over. This is an oversimplification but it’s basically true, and for this metaphor, that’s all you need to know. Don’t like the way you painted that rose in the corner? Wipe it off. Put off by the background color you chose? Not a thang, remove and start again.

“It’s like a painting,” I said, “When you sit down to start a new painting with a blank canvas, you have a decent idea in your mind of what you want to paint and where it is going to end up. But what happens when you include an element in the painting you were initially excited about but now think it doesn’t work with the rest of the composition? Or what if you like the element but don’t like your execution of it? You wipe it off and start over.”

I went on to explain that when I was 18, I had a very clear vision of what my life would look like but over time, different elements that I wanted to include in the painting no longer worked. I sacrificed things I wanted in the painting in order to keep the elements I REALLY wanted. To me, the most important elements to keep in the painting of my life were my children, family, and marriage. The other things I had originally envisioned for my life at 18 weren’t as important as making sure my children, family, and marriage stayed the focus of my painting. As my life progressed, the idea of what my completed painting would look like changed too. My children, family, and marriage becoming the focus of my life meant that the entire composition changed many times. Elements were added or removed. The background color shifted, morphed, evolved. If it were possible to look at the rough sketch for my life I’d drawn up in my 18 year old mind and compare it to the painting I am currently working on, you’d see that they look nothing alike.

Right now, the painting of my life has gone in an entirely new direction. One of the elements that I fought to keep and sacrificed for just walked off the canvas. The last few years I’ve had a very specific vision for my future. I had planned on turning into the Mom from every Hallmark Christmas movie. You know, when the main character returns to their small hometown for Christmas, single and depressed, and the Mom has all the Christmas magic ready to soothe their baby’s woes. She’s the one who decorates their comfortable yet spacious upper middle class home with classy yet somehow nostalgic Christmas decorations, buys matching pajamas and/or holiday sweaters for the whole family, makes the BEST hot cocoa you’ve ever had in your life, bakes so many treats and cookies you wonder if she ever sleeps, and somehow finds a way to help their sweet single angel find love. In addition to turning into Hallmark Mommy, I planned to write a book, travel with my husband, and be the best dang Grammy to my hypothetical grandchildren ever. Now? I don’t know.

I told my young listener when we were discussing this idea that our lives could be paintings that, in a way, I have been given a second canvas. The life I’ve built for the last 21 years with my ex-husband, that’s done. In a lot of ways I can say that painting is finished, it is time to start a new one. Somewhere, I’m standing in a nondescript hallway, hanging that painting, making that hand motion like I’m brushing dust off my hands because really I’m finished with this, and walking dramatically away into a new sunrise (not a sunset because my story isn’t over). It’s time to sit down at the easel and get started on my new work of art.

This time around? I’m including some of those elements I sacrificed for the last painting and I’m adding some new ones I hadn’t thought of before. And guess what? Some of those elements will probably get wiped off and replaced too.

We all make sacrifices in our work of art in order to keep the elements we truly care about the focus of the piece. And sometimes we look at what we’ve created and we don’t really like how it’s turned out. That’s ok because we’re painting with oil paint. If you don’t like something, wipe it off. Wipe the whole damn canvas clean if you have to but don’t give up, this is your work of art, keeping working at it. Figure out what’s most important to you and build your design around that.

We tend to think of life as a path with a destination in mind. We continue down this path, stopping at forks in the road, worried if we choose the wrong way we won’t end up at the castle. Sometimes the path offers 2 roads, sometimes 3 or 4 or 5. Each time we stand before these crossroads, we tell ourselves that this choice will determine our future. That, my friends, is nothing but an anxiety inducing mind fuck. And honestly, it’s just not true.

Obviously, choices have consequences that lead to other choices and consequences that impact our lives in positive and negative ways. But we’re not stuck on a path with no way back, damned to live out the office job we took back at fork #56 just because we went that direction “on the path”.

Maybe Hyman Roth is wrong. Maybe you don’t have to put up with stuff just because this is the business you’ve chosen. Maybe you don’t have to worry so much when life hits a crossroad. Maybe you aren’t stuck heading in the wrong direction if you choose the “wrong” fork. Maybe you get as many do overs as you need.

Because maybe life isn’t a path.

Maybe life is an oil painting.

I like this idea a lot more than “wow, I just wasted 21 years heading down a dead end.” I didn’t waste my time. I completed my first painting. It’s hanging in that hallway. I’m off to start my next. I’m not stuck in the Molasses Swamp somewhere because King Kandy went off to live in a new castle. I’m wearing a kick ass artist’s smock with a ridiculous looking beret holding a paint pallet, brush poised over the canvas, giving sexy Bob Ross energy.

In my last post, I called myself goo. (Attractive, right?) I compared myself to a butterfly in the midst of the pupa stage, chilling in my chrysalis, rebuilding myself into something with wings. That, all of that, is part of my new painting. I’ve got new heights to soar to and I am painting those heights onto my canvas right now. Will they stay a part of my new painting? Only time will tell.

“So, no, your life isn’t going to turn out how you envision it now,” I said to my young friend, “You’re going to sacrifice some of the elements you want in order to keep the ones that really matter to you. Your painting is going to change and evolve over time. You don’t have to worry so much about making the wrong choice right now because you’re not tied to anything forever. You’re not walking down a path with no way back. You’re creating a work of art that is your life.”