All the Weight

On a plane flying into Kansas, and it starts it’s initial descent. The flight attendant rings in and reminds us once again to make sure our seat belts are securely fastened and that, like the captain said earlier, things are going to get a little bumpy. I slept through that part. Dread fills me and I think about how I wish she hadn’t said that. I hate turbulence. But then, who likes it?

I start soothing myself in my normal practice of trying to mentally rise above my lite plane fear. I fly a lot, and it’s always been ok. I remember an article my mom read about turbulence that was written by a pilot, and how it’s basically impossible for an airplane to just fall out of the sky. I start an inner monologue about how there is no point in being scared because right now I am strapped inside this big metal object hurdling thousands of feet above the earth–a decision I chose–and it will either land safely or crash but worrying about it doesn’t do a thing, not a damn thing.

And that’s when it clicked like a flood of an “Aha!” moment in my brain, just like that. That this is a parallel, and I’m not even at BeachCamp. That worrying about who I really am or worrying about whether or not this person will want me or worrying whether this plane will crash to the ground serve no purpose and make no difference. I am who I am, she will want me or she won’t, the plane will land or it will crash. And, except for the latter, it will all be ok. And in the case of the latter, I’ll be dead so it really won’t be my problem any more.

It’s like this: worry is a weight and it’s heavy and consuming and pointless. It has sucked the life out of me off and on for a few solid months, and that my friends is not an acceptable thing. It’s about control, really. I want to control who I am, and I can do that in some ways, but I can’t in others. Not the inherent things. I can’t control whether or not somebody wants me like I want them. I can’t control whether this plane stays in the air or not–I have as much control over those things as the slightly creepy guy strapped in the seat next to me. But then I think to myself, “I do control some things!” I’m taking control of what I’m doing with my life. I’m taking control of my finances. I’m getting things together to make this trip happen in two years. Those are things I’m controlling. But then I start thinking that I’m not really in control of those things. My world could split open in some way and change everything, and I will be in control of nothing. I could lose both of my jobs tomorrow in freak fires and have no finances to speak of. So if this is not control, what is it?

Here’s what it is, and this is better: enjoying the ride. Making the most out of what you have, because what you have is not static. This plane will go down or it won’t, and I can either spend my time gripped in fear or marveling about how surreal it is to see the tops of the clouds, how blue the sky is, how quick the trip. I can be uncomfortable and ashamed about who I am, or I can be embracing and known. She’ll want me or she won’t. I can be in agony, consuming, consuming agony about it or I can give it my best shot and if it doesn’t work out be completely ok. That this doesn’t define me, that there are other people, that life goes on and everything is copasetic. I can do my best with what I have, and that doesn’t involve worrying. That is the opposite of worrying. Things are going to get turbulent, and all you can do is make sure your seatbelt is securely fastened, and after that you can do nothing at all other than sit back and make sure your head is in the right place. Because that is the only thing we have true control over.