Chamomile and Worries

This is something I wrote over a year ago, at the close of the summer before my senior year at LVC.

It's funny -- once in a while I read back through something I'd written a while back, and it startles me to realize that I'd been turning over some of the same issues in my mind ... sometimes I feel like my head and heart are some kind of awkward slow-cooker, and all I can do is hope that the result that comes out after all that turning tastes ok.

All of my writing in the past few months has been about the pain and confusion of entering the world, coming out from the shelter of college and having to look your gifts, along with your demons, straight in the face.

At the very least, the following piece made me realize that I definitely saw it coming.
___


There’s something in the rush and flow of daily routines that’s been jarring lately. It’s like my body, my mind, can feel that I’m on a precipice, at the close of a period in my life. A carefree period where it was ok to take summers full of listless hours spent socking away money – full of carefree time with friends – full of lovely evenings spent reading and knowing there weren’t any deadlines to meet or responsibilities hanging over my head.

And now that suddenly seems not to be the case. Now my mind has trouble relaxing. It has trouble tackling the fact that there’s a lot of things I could and should be doing to get ready for the responsibilities of the future. Typical pre-senior year angst? I guess so.

But it’s a lived experience that you don’t really understand until it’s you – you realizing what they always say about staying young at heart…about holding onto your childhood.

I sat in MJ’s last night reading and drinking chamomile – and as stupid as it sounds it made me realize that it was the second cup I’d had that week – and also the second cup I’d had since I was 9. When I was little I used to have sleeping problems. My mom would give me tea to quiet my nerves…she understood that even little kids have things to be nervous and upset about. So it’s funny now that I’m reaching for the chamomile when my nerves are frayed and bothersome…when I’m feeling lonely and missing home. When I’m wondering about my own direction and purpose. I guess it doesn’t matter if you’re across the sea or 30 minutes away – it’s still something extraordinary to make the cut from the comfort of a wonderful family.

The nights spent at home are certainly easier to treasure lately.

Night after night after night I’ve been trying to drag out the reasoning behind the knot in my chest – and haven’t been able to find it. Yet tonight something clicked. During a mundane moment of downtime I realized that my mind’s really just reacting to change. I’ve lived an incredibly comfortable life thus far. I’ve had the privilege of growing up with money and a car and education and food on the table when I want it. Essentially, I’ve known more happiness and comfort in my short life than anyone should really be able to hope for.

The change, now, is that my mind’s having trouble making the leap I want it to make. I’m trying to get myself to realize that in order for my soul to be happy with the life I’m living, I can’t just make myself go straight into grad. school – and then from there into a steady 5-day-a-week job covering obituaries and traffic jams for five years, pretending that the work I’m doing matters. It won’t. On some level it does. But if I do that eventually, it can’t be from a bubble. It’ll need to be after I’ve lived enough to realize how those obituaries – how those traffic accidents fit in with the lived experiences of others in other parts of the world. I need to see it with my own two eyes – I need to be enveloped by it, a part of, engaged with more than just my simple, wonderful life.

So I think the hurdle I have to jump within myself is to learn what options I have to combat the doubt and lack of motivation within me. To cherish the wonder that’s categorized all of my years so far – the utterly crazy wonder that’s shaped my decisions and friendships and loves and losses…To remember those late nights laying awake in Ardmore, 12 years ago, thinking thoughts that I’ve long since forgotten…stressing over problems that I’ve solved and stepped over. Problems which, like those of today, are real and tacit while they’re staring you in the face – but which enfold themselves over time into the fabric of your life. The problems that, as you look back, really aren’t or weren’t problems at all, but changes … steps forward in a life that’s as amazing both for the things we have the opportunity to do as well as for the people we meet along the way.

Years before the chamomile, when I was very small, my dad used to sit by my bed when my five or six year-old face was red with tears from some youthfully tragic event … an unkind cut or a friendship gone sour. He’d sit there, with a hand on my face, singing this song – ‘The Red River Valley.’

“Come and sit by my side if you love me …” – that was the most powerful line. And I know that’s why he sang it. Someone, once, sang it to him. “Just remember the red river valley, and the cowboy who loved you so true.”

Amidst the fear of growing up I think I’ll always hold a bit of the ‘sappiness’ – the emotion of those nights … nights where I had the sound of my father’s voice to soothe away fears, where I had the warmth and comfort of a hot cup of tea and the loving ear of my mother to listen to my troubles. They gave me something I’ll cherish forever: a love of emotion, of heart, of honesty and tenderness – and a love of people who exude those qualities. And in their own way they’ve shown me, through the work they do, that as you grow up, that honesty and heart and tenderness, directed, can be the fiercest and most forceful tools you own.

I guess the leap comes when you realize they’re about to be tested.