My Worst Nightmare

I remember sitting in the waiting room of my doctor's office when I was about 4 years old, knowing that I was going to get a shot that day.  I remember that the longer my mom and I waited, the more anxious I became with anticipation of the pain of the needle.  When the door opened and the nurse called my name, I did what any normal kid would do: bolted full-speed in the other direction.  I ran all the way out of the office and down the hall before my mom caught up to me.  I screamed and cried and needed to be held down, because I was so fearful of the pain of the syringe.  Eventually, after much trial and tribulation, the needle entered my arm, and I almost immediately stopped crying.  The anticipatory fear was much worse than the shot itself.

Fast forward about 25 years.  During the time that I was married, I frequently had a nightmare in which my husband was gone and I was alone.  It was always a little vague as to why or how he was gone, but I'd wake up in tears, with this terrible feeling of abandonment, loneliness, and desperation.  Then I would reach over to the other side of the bed and realize that it was just a dream, and that he was still there.   I think I had a subconscious fear that he would someday no longer be with me, and that was the most terrible and terrifying thing I could imagine.

So when he left in reality, it was literally my worst nightmare coming true.  Unlike the dream, though, I couldn't wake up with the relief that it was all in my head.  And unlike the anticipated shot at the doctor's office, I couldn't run away from it.

But here's the amazing thing: Since he has been gone, I haven't had that dream even one time.  When the nightmare became a reality, the nightmare disappeared.  My fear was released.  I no longer have to live in the doctor's waiting room worrying about getting a shot.  The shot happened.  It hurt, but it's over, and I don't have to fear it anymore.

I lived through my worst nightmare.  It didn't kill me.  Sometimes our fears, our nightmares, are worse in the abstract than in the reality.   Sometimes the anticipation or IDEA of the "worst that could happen" is worse than the actuality of the "worst that could happen".  Before the nightmare came true, I could never have imagined having to cope with such a situation.  But living out the reality of the circumstance gave me the opportunity to test the limits of my strength.  It gave me the opportunity to look my worst fear in the eyes and say, "you will not crush me".  I learned that I'm more resilient, capable, and independent than I ever would otherwise have known.

Given the option, most of us would never choose to come face to face with that which we fear most: to receive that ill-anticipated shot.  But sometimes we don't get to choose to avoid fears, or to avoid pain.  And sometimes, living through those nightmares, facing that that pain, can be empowering.

And one other note about shots: in the end, they are for our own benefit.

Groundhog Day: Living Outside of the Shadow

We're all familiar with the 1993 movie Groundhog Day, staring Bill Murray.  The basic premise: a man gets trapped in a time-loop, waking up each morning realizing that it is the same day (February 2nd) as it was before.

In real life, time marches on, and we'll never physically find ourselves in the same day twice.  But how often do we end up living in a metaphorical "Groundhog Day"?  How often do we get trapped in the same routines and patterns day  after day after day?  Same job, same meals, same exercise regimes, same social circle, same bars?  How often do we live in our own shadow of what is known to us, at the expense of venturing into the unknown?

I don't want to live like that.  I want to challenge myself to do new things, have new experiences, meet new people, go to new places.  I don't want to live in Groundhog Day: the same day over, and over, and over again.  I don't want to live in my own shadow, in a perpetual state of dead winter, focusing on the past and the mundane, static patterns of life. I want to live dynamically, and interestingly, and vibrantly.

Groundhog Day is a good reminder of the importance of stepping out of one's comfort zone, doing something different, making changes, and taking risks.  This is especially important in winter, when there is a tendency to hibernate and close oneself off to all that the world has to offer.

I've decided to use the month of February to make three small but significant changes in an effort to step out of Groundhog Day.  First, I'm taking a hiatus on dating for the month.  Second, I'm giving up alcohol and added sugars, and severely cutting back on processed foods*.  Third, I'm going to crank up my exercise regimen to challenge myself more than I have been.

None of these things are necessarily themselves anti-Groundhog Day, but they are a means to create the emotional and physical energy that is needed to live a dynamic, anti-Groundhog Day life.
 

Today is a new day, and I will not live it as if it was yesterday.  I see my shadow, but I refuse to stay stuck in it.

*NOTE: I'm going on two weekend trips this month, and let's be honest, I'm not going to be following the no alcohol/sugar/processed food rule during those weekends.  Every plan needs room for flexibiilty. :)