a quick interlude
probably one that should've stayed in the drafts alongside my shopping lists and text messages I've never sent
You know that part in the Disney movie ‘Tangled’ when Rapunzel is outside for the first time and her emotions do a flip-flop as she celebrates her newfound freedom?
I can’t believe I did this.
I can’t believe I did this!
Mother would be so furious.
But that’s okay. I mean, what she doesn’t know won’t kill her, right?
Oh my gosh. This would kill her.
This is so fun!!
I am a horrible daughter. I’m going back.
I am never going back!
I am a despicable human being.
WOO-HOO! Best day ever!
*Breaks down crying*
This is very similar to my own current internal monologue as I move through several big life-changing moments all at once, which altogether is having a kind of cannonball-destroying-a-ship effect on my emotions instead of a fist-pump-in-the-air-like-an-eighties movie vibe which I was hoping for. Really I oscillate between the two but I want the latter, I need the latter.
The other morning I was at London City Airport waiting to catch a flight to Glasgow. It was all going so smoothly, I’d put makeup on at 5 am, I did my whole skincare routine, I was wearing SPF, I’d cycled to the station, taking full advantage of the empty roads, and I was horrendously yet beautifully early to the airport (I like to be ahead of schedule for flights, this is the correct way to do it). I then breezed through security (because you don’t have to take anything out of your bag anymore??) with so much time on my hands to spare that I started to mildly hyperventilate. Not out of fear of flying but just of fear of… being? Bouncing my knee, sitting in the toilets with my head in my hands, and later avoiding eye contact with relaxed business jetsetters who all had those small rectangular suitcases designed specifically for people who fly around the world as part of their job.
Of course, once I was on the flight I was completely fine. The lady next to me had her coffee in one of those to-go cups like this route was her everyday commute, and I felt assured when she kept nervously sipping it or checking her phone, allowing me to see out my peripheral vision that she was wearing a Rolex and a small fortune on her wedding finger. If you can do this glamorous stranger who I presume is some kind of wealthy CEO of a responsible granola bar company, then I can do this too. I promptly fell asleep before waking up in Glasgow.
My best friend always tells me I can’t trust my thoughts past 9 pm - which is great because that’s when most of my panicking occurs. I like to lie in bed and tell myself “No one would make a mistake this big” or “Jesus Christ that is so embarrassing” before orchestrating entirely false scenarios with my blessed yet cursed imagination. Failing that I send my older brother and sister-in-law desperate text messages that begin with “Guys I know you have two small kids and are probably asleep but do you think I’m insane?”. If I apply my thinking to the logic of “don’t trust your thoughts past 9 pm” I become consumed by the understanding that 7 am follows 9 pm and so does 10 am and any other hour…so…do…I…just…never trust my thoughts, like, ever?
When does it end? (It never ends).
It’s those moments, at 10 pm (or 5 am at the airport) that are particularly wince-worthy, and annoying, and nail-biting. What a way for my brain to be wired. I shake my fist at my ancestors who have given me this specific blend of fight or flight. Why couldn’t I be more fight and less flight? Actually, I don’t want to fight I want to fly, away, on the plane. Let me leave!
A few years ago I got an important promotion at work and immediately called my parents to tell them the good news. Part of their advice to help me savour the moment was to record a voice note on my phone of how I was feeling so I could listen to it as a documentation of the best times (I have a penchant for dwelling on the negative if that wasn’t already apparent). So I sat on my bed and spoke for roughly five minutes, chatting in the third person to myself about how she was capable of achieving anything she put her mind to. I then promptly left to catch a bus to Shake Shack so I could enjoy a chicken burger and root beer on my own. This is now a customary format for celebrating anything.
I think it’s true what they say - life is a combination of peaks and troughs. Extreme highs and terrible lows. You can’t have the bad without the good. It’s all just swings and roundabouts. What goes up, must come down. I’m working towards taking stock of these negative thoughts so I can get to the point where I’m like “Okay, cool, yeah, thinking that was is a complete waste of my time and I’m going to carry on with my life”. Until then it’s just boarding planes (metaphorical and physical) even when my heart is in my throat.
(I wrote this whole thing while listening to ‘Waking Up in Vegas’ by Katy Perry on repeat if you would like to do the same while reading?)
(Also if you feel like this and have an inner monologue that sounds like mine, welcome).
Until the next one,
Lory x