About two weeks ago I had a vivid dream. In it, I was slated to compete in a triathlon but learned the night before the race that the swim portion was to be 26 miles in open water. I was horrified and felt I couldn’t do it physically or emotionally; fear flooded me. But nevertheless I got my race kit together. As dreams do, I then overslept the “start time” to the race and was in my wet suit trying to hail a cab to drive me to Half Moon Bay (the actual location of my last triathlon) so I could compete in this futile race. And then I woke up.
“You’re putting too much pressure on yourself,” was A.’s assessment when we met for our biweekly yoga session. And it’s true. I have been putting a lot of pressure on myself.
So if the dream was warning #1, warning #2 got louder. My body took all this somatic stress and lashed out. A painful auto-immune skin issue that’s plagued me for years—but was largely out of the way for the last five—came roaring back. Boo, hiss. That added another layer of internal pressure/anger about the healthcare system.
The combination of things like my exasperating real estate (non)sale from a distance plus a lot of ongoing uncertainty around work/income/transition logistics has been quietly piling up inside of me. And I am loathe to admit, that under that is a chronic, unhelpful combination of internalized pressure to be skinnier, look younger, have piles of money and successful career, run faster, etc. Your basic Instagram/social/media hangover—and even if I think I am bigger than it, and can hold it at a distance, some of those horrible social gamma rays still penetrate. (Also, we can get astrological about this and point to my Saturn square Sun. Fuck nuts.) I say all this to lare bay the human condition of 21st century womanhood. Also I could use a space suit!
Last night, an old friend called me. We went to high school together and have known each other for basically 30 years. While I wouldn’t say we’re extremely close, we’re both sober and thus have a deep level of understanding that transcends surface details. He is an attorney in New York and moved with his wife and three kids to Vermont during the pandemic. Given that our educational profiles are similar, we commiserated about how we feel we’re both deprogramming from a certain kind of future-oriented striving to earn more, be more, get more, impact more.
It’s always annoying when the reminders to “let go” need to be the equivalent of a Las Vegas-style marquee sign. But there they are. It’s daily work. I am trying to let go just a little more each day—and trust more that everything that needs to happen will happen. My body will heal with the right medication, rest, and diet; my condo will sell eventually and I am taking action; my needs for security and safety are all taken care; I am beautiful just how I am; I love and I am loved.
As we say in 12-step, it’s just one day at a time. We went to a show last week to see the band Heartless Bastards and I have been obsessed with their most recent album, and in particular the titular song and lyric. “It’s a beautiful life if you let it be.”
And I did have a good dream on Sunday night. I dreamed that a young, slender man, with a wispy black pony tail, bought my apartment and we had a meeting where I handed off ownership. Inshallah.