Sitting with discomfort. It sucks, but it’s necessary.
Sometimes, anxiety almost makes sense. In 2003, for instance, I was under the mistaken assumption that if I didn’t owe state taxes, I didn’t have to file state taxes. I think I knew it was wrong at the time, but it was easy not to file them. And truly, I didn’t owe money.
So, when the postman showed up on my doorstep to drop mail in the box and knocked on the door first before depositing my stuff, I didn’t really think about it. Not even a minute later, I pulled the mail from the box, and there were certified mail cards.
At that moment, I went into full-blown panic mode. I actually turned around and attempted to chase the mailman down in his van. I ran behind him, sobbing, yelling at him to stop so I didn’t have to go to the post office.
But, eventually, I did go. And it seemed, by all accounts, to be dire news. The IRS had sent me forms indicating I owed a bunch of penalties for not having filed. I was terrified — frozen.
Did I file my taxes as a result? Yes. Did I get a decent-sized refund? Sure did.
Did that matter? Nope.
Here we are, 14 years later, and I still have to steel myself when I get the mail. I still have to give myself credit for taking the mental leap every time I stick my key in the box.
So, that spark of anxiety I feel when I consciously choose to get the mail? It, in its weird way, makes sense.
Then, there are days like today. About three hours ago, the dread feeling settled in. Why? Did something happen that my intuition sensed, but my brain didn’t? Have I forgotten something? Am I overreacting?
Feelings that come from fear are nothing. My thoughts are nothing. Trying to explain the unexplainable is an exercise in futility. There might not be a reason. There probably isn’t.
See? Sitting with discomfort. Uncomfortable, but necessary.