In the car with my large, gangly and gregarious 14 year old son, I glance nervously over my right shoulder. Purple storm clouds have gathered, a wall across the sky. Remembering myself and the task at hand, I bring my attention back to the road. It is dirt, with deep trenches drawn across it from rain in the desert. We have moved and are renting a house on an unpaved road far north of Scottsdale, Arizona. Combined with my husband’s affinity for low clearance sports cars, the daily drive has become a challenge within itself, especially, in the rain.
I’ve lived in Montana for 21 years. I’ve driven in snow, blowing snow, white out snow, black ice, snow drifts, 20 below mornings and freezing rain nights. For whatever reason, maybe as I age, I think I have more time to consider things or maybe I just have less experience driving in the rain in Arizona. Rain now invokes a fear of floods. What do I do if my car is swept away? Do I quickly roll down the window to avoid being trapped and drowned? What if I just don’t see the water across the road and damage the front of my car? A damaged car is less of a problem than death, but still, a problem. My mind goes on and on with potential what ifs.
The other part of my mind, the counselor part, pipes up. Trained as a therapist since birth, dramatic yes, accurate, also yes, this part of my brain is a well-oiled, overly calm and at times slightly pompous machine. Clearly, I’m in a new situation and feeling anxious. “What ifs” are the product of anxious emotions manifesting as emotional reasoning. These are not facts, Emily, just fears given words. Ignore the fear, the fear itself is the problem. See, problem solved!
The giant child next to me laughs and jokes, seemingly oblivious to the difficulty of my task and the looming clouds to the West. I use the word seemingly, because the boy has a surprising way of suddenly stating the exact nature of my internal experience on occasion and without warning. I experience this aspect of his personality as both disconcerting and endearing.
I make my way slowly to the paved main road. There, I decide. I will not focus on the fear of the rain.
I pull this off with some level of success, laughing with the boy about his ideas that he should cough loudly in the line at Target as people buy so many things. Carts full of disinfectant, hand sanitizer, snacks, soap, the items roll on and on and on, and then off of the check out conveyor. All except for toilet paper, which has long been ripped from the shelves in the early stages of frenzy. The fear is palpable in the air. Awareness of emotional energy is another occupational hazard of mine, a by-product of being a lifelong counselor.
On to the grocery store, and there is more of the same. It is packed and frantic, and fear hangs between people. The separation makes it harder for me to cope. Relationship first, I connect, support, and be supported. Not this time. Not with Corona.
Outside, the rain has passed while we were in the store. A deluge now dissipated into mist. Fear of the rain has gone. Ha! Says the therapist part of my brain. I told you so! See, your problem WAS the fear and it was unfounded! No need to spend any more time on fear. Except, I don’t think it is that simple. I think we are entering confusing times and I think my fear makes sense. I am a social person, operating my whole life in an amniotic sack of relationship. Now, fully stocked with food, water and everything but toilet paper, I begin life for the first time, alone.
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