Me Versus The Leaf Stuck In My Windshield Wiper

To the leaf that was stuck in my windshield wiper.

I see you.  I know why you’re there.  A fallen leaf from the tree in my front yard.  I should know the species, but I don’t, so at first, you mock my ignorance.  You are yellow with specks of brown.  You flap in the wind while I drive down 205.  I activate my wipers and you just roll with them, taking a ride, and all the while I can’t stop looking.

But that’s the point, isn’t it?

I am supposed to ignore you.  I succeeded in my efforts to become less anal-retentive.  I do not have OCD.  Anytime OCD reared its head I shot it down. I was lucky.  I did not want to be a slave to ritual. I didn’t need the world to be symmetric and organized the way my brain likes it.  I should just let you go.  Whether you are there or not, I should look ahead and concentrate on my driving. It’s safer.  I am an adult.  I should move on.

But you keep flapping.  It’s a small vibrating movement out of the corner of my eye.  You are testing me to see if I crack.  This has become a battle of will.  I cannot let a dead leaf beat me.  I am stronger.  I will focus on my job.  I’ll listen to my podcasts and watch for traffic and pretty soon that leaf will fall from memory.  I daydream a little about when my kids were little.  I think of Thanksgiving and Christmas, and Halloween costumes.  I am reminded of how excited the little ones get when the temperature drops.   I think of the taste of nutmeg and pumpkin pie. I imagine that stuffed feeling you get when there is too much sugary crap around.  I see an SUV in front of me and wonder if it’s parents out shopping for gifts.

Dammit.  You’re back.

I thought I had it. I went about ten minutes without looking.  I had two stops to make and you were completely out of sight and out of mind. Then the flapping kicked in again.  You returned.  The cycle began anew.  I hate you, you asshole.

I see you again and again.  The flapping. The damn flapping. I notice there is a second leaf wedged in there as well, but he’s not flapping because he’s not an asshole.

You win.  I give.  At one of my last stops I yank you and your friend out and whip you into a nearby driveway. Congratulations.  You beat me.  

My victory is that I don’t care that I was bested by a dead leaf.  I’m not saddened; I don’t beat myself up.  I laugh about it. Then I write about it. 

Thanks, leaf.

Silly Goose and the Story of Self-Care

                

Everyone loves a pretty picture. 

                I have a little story I like to tell people when I compare my life before anxiety meds and life afterwards. To illustrate, I have to explain what it was like inside my brain for about 39 years or so.  
               Every time I had a spare moment, I would shit on myself.  Loser, too poor, too immature, too ugly, too dumb, untalented, fat, cockeyed, worthless piece of garbage.  I am not exaggerating.  My thoughts were almost always negative, and they were only periodically interrupted by my kids and their laughter, my wife and her company, or some friends and their conversation.  But when it was over, darkness and insignificance.  
               After the pills kicked in, I could feel those thought loosen their grip.  That’s what it is.  You don’t get happy. Your sadness loses strength.  Day after day, as the chemicals that support your positive emotions have a chance to be felt, you understand what it is like to feel joy. Like when you’re a kid and you see a big open field.  You just run through it because it’s there.  And you’re a kid.  And nothing inside you is telling you to feel one way or another about it.
               There was this time where I was doing my job.  I travel around Oregon, taking photos of homes for insurance companies. Easy stuff. I also do technical sketches of the homes, so while I’m there, I need a pen to help make notes.  I realized, while I was in the backyard of a home in Beaverton, that I left my pen in my car.  And, I swear to all that is holy, I said the following phrase out loud to myself:
               “You forgot your pen, you silly goose.”
               Silly goose?  Silly goose?  I never in my life had ever said that phrase.  I don't think it ever crossed my mind!  But there I was, on a cloudy spring day, calling myself a silly goose.  I stopped in my tracks.  I couldn't believe it.  I laughed to myself a little.  I was embarrassed, like someone heard me release an embarrassing fart.
                 Dumbshit. Dum-dum. Idiot. That’s what I was used to.  Silly goose had replaced all of those. I did not realize it at the time, but I was learning to practice self-care.
                 Not sure what self-care is?  That might be because you've instinctively been practicing it your entire life.  You have engaged in activities that affect your physical or mental health in a positive way.  Exercise. A good diet, but knowing when to have a treat. Spending time doing what you want instead of what you need to, or what you think others want you to do. Free time.  Sleep.  Rest.  Positive interior dialogue. There are countless ways to engage in self-care, but for me it was nearly impossible.  I was (and am) a people pleaser who always put others ahead of me.  I never thought my time had any value.  Until the meds.  
                  I learned to give myself a break.  People read that type of thing and they may think that I am stressing laziness or to not strive for things.  I’m not.  (I mean, sort of, but that’s an entirely different issue.) I just mean that you have to regard YOU as a priority in your life, as well as your family, friends, community, and work.  There is a balance.  I was ridiculously off balance for a very long time.
                 So, now I try little things to make me feel better about...being me.
                 I like nerdy things so I surround myself with them.  It’s a reminder that I did a little something for me.  My Star Wars mug.  My framed Spider-Man comic book. I like to see the books I’ve bought for my enjoyment; I prefer they are visible on a shelf. I take walks with podcasts or music of my choosing. I do cookouts in the summer.  I watch football when the season rolls around. I take time when I’m working to grab a few photos for myself.
                 I try to remember to work out, and I hope to get better at it. I communicate with my family. I want to really know them and what is happening to them. I feel better when I’m connected.  I keep in touch with old friends and I like to be there for them.
               I also like alone time.  I’ve recently enjoyed just sitting in my house when it’s silent, with no screens on or music or anything, for short stretches of time.  Just breathing and reflecting. I don’t know why I  enjoy this so much but I’m certain it has something to do with understanding my brain a little better.
               It is part of being me.