One day and one week until my butt is in a seat heading back to Chicago. Praises be.
In the last month, I have begun anxiety counseling. Mostly, I have been reminded of the importance of belly breathing, how to write constructively in columns and on note cards, and how to notice my thinking. It has also made me 300% more aware of every little thing that gives me anxiety. This blog gives me anxiety. Summer gave me anxiety. Waking up and going downstairs on Sunday mornings gives me anxiety. Everything, more or less, contributes to this overriding experience of anxiousness.
In the last week, my family had a yard sale, I saw people for the first time in two years, and I started to say goodbye. These things all suck. Know what else sucks? Packing. I started that too. I am currently on step 1.5: hoard all possessions in a pile in your room without thinking about what you actually need for the next four months. Next comes step 2: feel anxious that it won't fit in the four pieces of luggage you are allowed. and ends with step 4: arrive in Chicago fully ashamed of the sheer number of items you tote around every 16 weeks. Blessings.
Thanks to anxiety counselling, now I no longer need to endure simply being mindful of the packing anxiety that exists, I also get to ride it out. I no longer get to blow up in the final 12 hours of packing (stage 3.7), instead I get to calmly explain how I am feeling, and maybe even make a note card about it.
But mostly, I am much more aware of how possessions have been a crutch. When I begin to feel pressure, anxiety, or tension; my instinct is to consume. (Right now, for example, I really think that I need a new pair of jeans, and some grey and black striped shirts. I do. I promise.). As one may imagine, having a yard sale where we give away items that are full of sentiment may have been one of the dumbest things to do. Especially since I just had this wave of sadness roll over me as I lamented: "why did we sell all the Peru wall hangings, how will I remember my childhood?" I will, I have faces, and memories of smells, and how the wooden benches in adobe churches made great coloring surfaces, and how itchy everything always was, and how good eggs tasted, and salt. I don't need possessions to be compete and to have valid memories.
What is the most interesting about such a revelation, is that belongings have been holding me back from having the memories be the possession. I think our society does the same with pictures. We have all these things that we use to trigger ideas and feelings, without allowing our brains and mental recall to do that for us. I can remember every dress I wore to the dances, and every nasty thrift store dress I bought thinking shoulder pads were cool, and every par of shorts I owned that made me feel like I had fat thighs. I can remember what junk I bought on missions trips and on family vacations, but I have a difficult time remembering faces, names, joys, and sorrows from those times.
I wonder, then, as I wrap up this summer of rest and calm and creation, how I could possibly characterize this summer by something different. How can I begin to undo my mental dependency on physical triggers, and instead live in a healthy mental recall state? And how, on earth, can I make packing a single-step-non-hassle-process?
The end.
