Attack Panic

Radio KFUC FM

I like to think I’m not lazy (although maybe I have to look at the possibility that I am) and I prefer to think of myself as extremely selfish—selfish with my time that is.  Time is our most valuable commodity.  It’s irreplaceable, something we can never get back--and no matter how long we are allowed to live, we will never have enough. 

So, long ago I made the choice--whether conscious or not--to abandon the hope of getting rich and instead ride the rails of near poverty.  I made this somewhat foolish decision in order to buy more time to write.

Now, as the 2 of you who read me know, this is probably a wise decision because the amount of craziness I experience & project into the world is directly proportional to the volume of words/projects/ideas clamoring for attention up in this here noggin.  The amount of money in my bank account means very little if it means sacrificing time to birth the hundreds of ideas begging to be born.

But financial insecurity & worry can be just as undermining to the creative force as sacrificing all your time to a bullshit job.   For the past couple of years things have been steady.  I’ve had yoga clients and plenty of work with kids.  This July—it’s all come to a quick and drastic halt.  So here I am.  Sitting with myself.  Feeling pathetic.  Trying desperately not to panic. 

The only thing I can do in this situation is take full responsibility for where I find myself which is currently, flat broke.   It’s really no surprise that my financial game of craps doesn’t always pay off.  Sometimes, the dice just don’t roll in my favor.  This month, because of the Monday holiday, all of my checks coming in are late.  I currently have a roommate who cannot pay his (significantly pro-rated) portion of the rent.  To top it all off my car needs emergency attention and I have no idea what the damage is going to be. 

For most of the week I manage to use my tools effectively to keep the terror at bay.  Staying grateful.  Putting one foot in front of the other.  Working.  Job-hunting.  Doing what I can to change the circumstances.  Accepting what I cannot.  Trying to wade through the difference.  I am pretty proud of my brave face and attitude of gratitude. 

Friday arrives.  I wake up and everything is perfectly normal: the sick feeling of dread about how I am going to pull it off and my usual mantra running through my head, I’m fucked.

I observe a pretty strict routine to combat this morning voice of doom and gloom. My holy trinity of sanity:  Music.  Incense.  Coffee. I usually ALWAYS meditate for 15 minutes while my coffee brews.  These 15 minutes give me space between my fears and my day, between my thoughts and my actions. 

But not today.  Oh no.  After a week of fighting the good fight—the fear wins.  Everything I do now comes from this place.  So, instead of sitting down, taking a deep breath and meditating like I HAVE been doing all week--I proceed to do EVERYTHING wrong, beginning with fueling my fear rather than observing it.  

ACTION:  My second fatal mistake after skipping my morning mediation, is to check my bank account first thing out of bed.   The wire transfer that was supposed to come through Thursday, didn’t.  The rent check did, putting my account 2K in the red and tipping me from dread to instant panic. I can only keep the crazy at bay for so long.

Holy shit I’ve never bounced a rent check in my life.  I’m a fucking goddamn loser.  How can I even call myself an adult?  How can I help others if I can’t even help myself?

REACTION:  I fire off an email to the person responsible for getting me paid.  It wasn’t angry—it was more passive-aggressive than anything else.  He replies with “Bridget we have been more than accommodating to your needs and getting you paid on time…” Now on top of feeling panicked, I feel ashamed.  I apologize for my reaction & try to move on.  But it’s too late for this girl. 

SPIN:  The cycle has been put in motion.  The crazy train left the station.  The fear gears turning.  Let the spin begin.  At some point during my manic panic, my aunt, very wise and very dear to me, calls and says, “Just don’t do anything drastic.”  She knows me too well...

Drastic?  Oh no…I would NEVER do anything drastic.  Not unless you consider moving into a random house with 3 other women, “drastic”.  Or getting a job on a cruise ship.  Or teaching English in Africa.  Or becoming an Au Pair in Australia. Or better yet, applying for the Mosaic Scholarship to become an Unofficial Ambassador for the United States in a Muslim country.  I have already requested the information for all of these options—not to mention calculated the blue book value of my car and started taking pictures of my furniture to put on Craigslist.  All of this in just under 2 hours.  My mind makes drastic look perfectly reasonable.

I look at my Firefox browser and laugh at my complete and utter ridiculousness.   I surrender.  I’m friggin’ nuts.  I can clearly see my insanity, laid out before me in a series of Craigslist ads and browser tabs.  Laughing at myself seems to be the moment things start to turn around.

My bank calls.

Awesome Banker: “Bridget your rent is coming through and you don’t have enough to cover it.”
Me:  “I know.  Supposedly my money is coming in today.  I have an emergency cash stash I can bring right now—it won’t cover it—but it’s something.”
Awesome Banker: “Ok.  Bring it over and we won’t return the check.”

I’m stunned.   I thought that ship had already sailed, that check already bounced. I intentionally picked a small bank because I hate the big guys and I have a personal relationship with all the people over there handling what little funds I have.  Most of my friends laugh at me and think I’m absurd, but this turns out to be a huge blessing because if I was dealing with Bank of America or Chase they wouldn’t have given a fuck.

I realize if only I had meditated and not checked that account online first thing--I would have avoided a lot of unnecessary stress.  The phone rings again.

Eddie the Mechanic:  “Mi amor.  Your car is done.  It’s going to be $500.”
Me:  “Shit, Eddie.  I don’t know where I am comin’ up with that but let me get back to you.”

I’m not panicking anymore, but I’m thinking maybe it’s time to try amateur night at the strip club.  It is a Friday after all…Just then my roommate walks in the door and hands me some of the money he owes me.  It happens to be exactly $500.

It’s not that I solve the problems; the problems just magically start solving themselves.  All I need to do is step aside and make some room for life to do its thing.  In the face of fear, everyone responds differently.  My natural instinct when I am backed into a corner--is flight.  I’m not much of a fighter, (although I will sling some daggers on the way out).  Some people become paralyzed and inert.  If I’m feeling like my life is out of control, I will frantically start running towards whatever I (mistakenly) think I can control.  I'm not just active.  I'm over-reactive.  But what I’m learning (slowly, oh so painfully slowly) is that sometimes, the best thing to do when you're backed into a corner is PAUSE.

Sit.  Breathe.  Wait. 

The answers will come and even if they don’t—at least I’m not creating more problems. The phone is ringing again.  It’s the agency about Australia.  I have to tell them I’m not quite ready to make that leap although they should try me again next month around the 1st…

But right now, today...I've got nothing but time and plenty of writing to do.