All the doors are closing. One by one. Slam. Slam. Slam. Slam. There’s no reason for me to stay in this town any more.
I heard someone say once not to worry about Alzheimer’s patients. They aren’t suffering because their spirit is already gone. It’s just taking a while for their bodies to figure it out. That’s kind of what I feel like right now. My spirit has already gone to Colorado, but my body is still stuck here. I’m suffering though, because I know what’s going on. I’m waiting for all the components to line up. The good thing is that I know they really are lining up. I can see the pieces falling into place. I just have to wait. I hate waiting.
While I wait, I have to deal with the anxiety that goes it. Waiting gives me more time to build up a good, irrational fear-based story of “What if it’s no better there? I’m still taking me with me. What if I am fatally flawed and incapable of finding happiness or succeeding in life? What if I fail again?” Luckily, I’ve decided that I have no choice. I am moving and that’s that. Fear be damned.
Then there’s the anxiety of being thrown to the customer service wolves just in time for Cyber Monday. I wish there was another way for me to pay my bills while I wait, but I guess there’s not. It’s only for a couple of months, right? And there’s absolutely no pressure. I’m not looking at this as a stepping stone toward anything more. It’s a temp job. It’s just a way to bring in cash until it’s time to go. I can do this.
One of the most important things I’ve learned in yoga is that you can handle anything for a little while. In yin yoga, we hold poses from three to five minutes and some of them can be extremely uncomfortable, both physically and mentally. It’s hard to be still. The mind isn’t fond of stillness and will do and say anything to make you fidget or leave the pose entirely. It will convince you that you’re in excruciating pain and will beg you to move, but if you focus on breathing instead of listening to your mind, you can endure any uncomfortableness a posture can throw at you. I keep reminding myself that I can handle it as I face another week of training to be on the phones. I know that once I get a few days of phone calls under my belt, it’ll be a piece of cake, however annoying and uncomfortable it may be. If I remember to breathe, I know it will all be okay. I will survive.
The other thing I must remember is to keep my eyes on the prize. I mustn’t forget that there is indeed a light at the end of the tunnel. It helps to visualize and feel how that prize is going to feel. I envision myself driving west with Omaha in my rearview mirror while I give it a big old finger. I feel the air getting drier the further west I go. I watch the tall grass prairie become shortgrass prairie and then become arid. I see the land spread out for miles in all directions with nothing but a windmill-the old kind or the new-on the horizon. Then I watch as the mountains become larger and larger. I feel relief, anticipation, joy, excitement, and expectation. The mountains and freedom to start a new life are the prizes I’m keeping my eyes on. I can work in a call center for a couple of months if that’s the prize at the end.
While the prize keeps me going, it also causes me great anxiety. I don’t know what I’m going to do when I get there. I don’t know anything about where my life is going. I only know I am leaving here. I’m putting all of my trust in the universe. I trust that I’ve put enough of what I want out there that if I can keep focusing on those good feelings, then I’ll be able to see the path the universe is building for me. Trust doesn’t come easy. Trust means giving up control. I think I’ll be taking a lot of Kava for the next couple of months. Eyes on the prize.