So, I am sitting here, kind of slumped over the table, scratching my head, squinting into the past when I was packing eight weeks ago, preparing for my arrival to Shenzhen. I do remember carefully rolling up ... no, I remember Linds and Cass carefully rolling up a number of pairs of shorts, shirts, some cute dresses and a number of pairs of shoes, and laying them neatly in my suitcase. I do distinctly remember adding almond butter, many bars of dark Ecuadorian chocolate, the Asian robe from NieNie's closet, and my heart shaped measuring spoons that Gram gave me some years ago. And my teddy bear, my companion since the day that I was born. Yes, I remember all of those things getting zipped up into my red suitcases. What I really do not recall, though, is packing my anxiety. Really, I mean, I've been concerned about early onset Alzheimers, and now this is kind of more fuel for that fire, because I thought I remembered leaving my anxiety on some high Andean mountain. Yeah, Alli, correct me if I am wrong, but didn't that get left to freeze at the top of Cayambe?
It turns out, apparently not. For a woman who has such a good sense of self, I sometimes marvel at how I have to learn things about myself time and time again. Mom and Dad are not surprised when I call home, weepy and worried. Me, though, I keep thinking and hoping that I've conquered my anxiety, scared it away, or stomped it down. But, as it stands, here I am again, trying to figure out how to talk sense to the side of myself that thinks ...
What's that noise outside my door? Wait, did that come from my balcony? Shit, how did someone scale up 17 floors ... Remember, Jamie, Michelle said if someone could get on your balcony, he must be Superman, and in that case, you should most definitely invite him in ...
Ah, this is so nice. Yoga really does Zenify my soul. And downward facing dog feels so good on my calves after Body Pump this week ... hey, is that a freckle ... or a mole between my toe? What's the difference again? Crap, what are the ABCs of skin cancer detection again? Asymmetry, border irregularity ... ugh, I don't remember the rest ...
Grrr, are my eyes getting even worse? I've never been to an ophthalmologist. Does the Costco optometrist really know what he's doing? What if I have a degenerative eye disease and I go blind by my 34th birthday? Will Nat and Gia be willing to take care of a blind auntie? ...
What? My air quality app says that Beijing offers better air to breath than Shenzhen again? So today it's like smoking 3/4 of a cigarette, yesterday was a half of a cigarette, times this all by two or more years ... To what extent will this affect the color of my lungs?! ... Where's my Cuban cigar? ...
Mom said the cyst wouldn't get to be the size of an egg. But, Mom, it is. It is precisely the size of a quail egg, I just measured ...
Okay, put on your brave face. You are going to have surgery to remove the cyst. The doctors in Hong Kong are world class, so what luck you are just right across the bay, so, it ain't no thang ... except ... except last time you had a cyst removed Mom was with you ... and why is my body so cyst-y? ... cysts on my ovaries, cysts in my feet ... what's next? ...
Oh my gosh, what if they have to remove the Morton's Neuroma too, and the nerve gets messed up. For the rest of my life. Worse than now! ... What if there is actually something wrong with my nervous system. Are Morton's Neuromas part of your nervous system? What if my system is, like, short-circuiting? What if all of my nerves have to be replaced, one by one. How many nerves do we have in our bodies? ... Google ... Gooooogle ...
Charles said maybe I shouldn't put all of my anxieties out there when I am just making new friends. Right, he told me this the weekend we were in Mindo and I was afraid that Michelle could fall through the top bunk onto my bunk and squish me, and I just didn't want to go by Death By Bestie. And now here I am writing all of this anyway. And, sugar, that weekend was after we climbed Cayambe. Even in my happy place of cloud forest hikes and a world-class chocolate factory, I face it ... I really didn't leave my anxiety to crack in the ice after all ...
Are you exhausted now? Because I am. I am positively pooped. How is it I can be so brilliant and wise and witty, and laugh with such a carefree and happy spirit part of the time, and be a complete ball of nerves and worry the other part?
...
As I sit here writing, something is materializing; it's my yin and my yang. It exists all around us, right? Contradictions, inseparable opposites. I haven't put it altogether yet, but somehow it seems anxiety spurs my creativity, pushes me to be stronger, motivates me to find presence in the moment. It makes me uncomfortable and conscientious at times, but perhaps I shouldn't be trying to fight against it. It simply creates a civil war within. So, I'm working on it, working on hugging my whole self, working on being okay that all of the parts of me got packed. Because, really, we all are paradoxes of sorts. I think paradoxes are beautiful.
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