Words of Prophetic Women

A slow build up of anxiety and fear has crept upon me over the last four weeks. I'm really doing this. I'm really doing this. I'm really doing this. I will not chicken out.

I am a creature of comforts and one that, like most humans, would like the easiest way to maintain a consistent state of happiness. Status quo. It's seems far less painful and certainly requires less work.

This morning arrived. 5:00. 5:15. 5:30. I should just get up and go running. I'm NOT sleeping, by any means. 5:45. 6:00. The alarm goes off, John Boy has a flight to catch this morning so he needs to get up and get ready. I follow suit. Coffee is of course, first on the agenda. Laundry, clothing, dishes...all in that order while the pot hisses and finally concludes with what, may or may not, motivate me physiologically to get going.

Halfway through my first cup, my heart rate, which has been rather high, rises. Oh shit, caffeine and anxiety DO NOT MIX. I set the cup down and contemplate my next move. Read? Read what, I've read and re-read. There just doesn't seem to be anything more to read, yet.

By the time I'm in the car and transporting myself to anxiety hell, I've visited the bathroom 8 times, contemplated medication, tried to avoid coffee, forgotten to eat, downsized my bag so as not to APPEAR completely neurotic carrying my "security blankets" with me. (If you know me, that would be a mere ten pounds of books in my bag) I'm working my brain between distraction and denial. Nothing is working and my heart rate has now climbed from a steady 82 bpm to 91 bpm.

Radio. I'll listen to early morning news, the music isn't working. As if that proverbial back seat driver that remains a constant presence in my life just reached forward and flipped the dial for me, the announcers voice tell me about a SL Community College essay contest and ..."this mornings reading will be one of our winner's Mary Craig."

If I could have slammed on the brakes and grabbed my chest I would have. I'm not sure the Honda behind me would have appreciated the gesture. Mary Craig. I know Mary Craig. She is my friend. I sing with her. Her beautiful bright eyes and indelible spirit.

And then, her words filled my space, her prophetic words. The soothing sound of her amazing articulation in her own voice.

I was fortunate to have to stop at a traffic light as she concluded her essay. And, I cried. I was so worried about my own new adventure and in how many ways I might fail, trip or indelibly screw it up. I had completely missed my focus.

I pulled into the church parking lot and wiped my eyes, took a deep breath and stepped out into an intoxicating northwestern replicated morning. I-can-do-this. And, I did. Thank you Mary. Thank you Simon.