Out With the Old Anxiety

Out With the Old Anxiety

Anxiety and I are not on quite such good terms yet. What Bergman called a friend, I am currently calling my ex. Still, I recognize that we must coexist. And if this is so, I expect something in return; it shall serve as my most effective motivator — the sense of aliveness that gets me out of bed, to my desk, anxious to work. Indeed, without some anxiety, I would not be here right now, typing furiously, searching for the perfect words to describe it.

Ultimately, I have had enough experience with anxiety to sense when it may turn destructive. My strategy is to call it out when it surfaces. As it starts to crest into a wave that threatens to turn tidal and take me under, I take a step back on an imagined beach: “Hey! You!” I silently yell. “I see you coming.” I take a deep breath. I stand my ground. The acid-green water begins to still, the swirling winds die down. Something lifts. I dive in soundlessly and swim.