There are people who went to space. There aren’t many of them, but there are people who walk amongst us who have been to space. I think about those people a lot I think about the fact that they’ve seen earth is this blue marble, something you can only see by being out there…away. Away from earth.
how often do you think these people are sharing a public restroom or standing in the checkout line and have an overwhelming sense of surrealness for the contrast of their experiences?
I think about Alaska a lot.
Alaska took something from me. I don’t know what, but I didn’t come back the same. There was something raw and rugged, and difficult about doing the nomad life in Alasaka. There was also something incredibly validating and life-giving. Something that said, “yeah…this is right.” I feel like it was my final boss of the RV Life. Something that had I not done, I wouldn’t have really completed all the levels. I wouldn’t have finished the game.
And now I’m in Suburban Florida, in an upper middle class neighborhood with a schedule packed with kids sports and school events and a lighter wallet for it. I stand in the checkout line sometimes and think of all the checkout lines I’ve stood in, in all the cities and states. I think of how they varied, how they changed with Covid.
I remember a busy grocery store in San Diego whose line stretched from the front of the store to the back because of the social distancing. I wish I had photos from that to illustrate. I wish I had been more cognizant that it wasn’t going to be forever. I wish I had appreciated every minute…not been so involved in whatever emotional dragon I was slaying. Traveling gave me the strength I needed to slay those dragons. To be a better person…and it allowed me to be present with my family during that time. It wasn’t always this way.
“Tell me I’m not dying. Tell me I’m fine.”
Nearly every week I would say that to my wife. I would be in a cold sweat, fighting for my life through a panic attack. Winters were really hard for me. Seasonal Affective Depression about killed me.
The worst thing about my experience with hypochondria is that when your mind and body conspire to convince you that you have a medical condition, your brain believes it. In the same way it believed you should run from the Sabertooth Tiger. And it kicks in all the same systems. It’s very difficult to experience those panic attacks, but it takes a toll on even your most ardent caregivers.
My wife was so tired, because we had little kids who consumed so much energy, but also because it was late, and this happened SO often that it was hard to take it seriously. She was with me though. A real “til death do us part” commitment.
Many people in our religious community were skeptical and even wary of medicine for mental health. So I avoided it forever. I prayed harder [link to tktk], tried alternative means. I actually had a “happy light” that I would sit in front of while I drank my coffee. I still look fondly on that light. Even if it didn’t work it made me feel like I was doing something, and I actually trust the placebo because I know how powerful my hypochondria is.
Meagan encouraged me that I had fought the good fight on this, and I had tried hard and “given it to God” and done everything I could, that it was time to try medicine.
So I started on a low dose of Zoloft, and in 3 months I was normal. No fear, no panic attacks, no dyspnea (shortness of breath). I could see clearly for the first time in many years. My days weren’t overshadowed, my fears weren’t waiting at the bottom of the stairs greeting me every day … things just … normalized.