I had a pang of fear as the plane was landing last night. I’m not afraid of flying, and don’t worry about the plane crashing, I was nervous about coming home. I think it goes way back, growing up the family mantra was that if you’re going to have fun, you have to suffer. There was always a catastrophe waiting for us when we got home from vacation. I can’t remember any of them, just the feeling, the dread of coming home.
So I’ve been working on this, coming home, for a long time and this time when I felt it, I knew something was off. I just knew there was nothing to be afraid of. ( Partly because the day before I had texted Bailey, who watches the farm, to make sure everything was ok. I had come up with a horrific story about how she didn’t show up for some unknown reason and what became of the animals, I won’t go into detail). I realized that even scarier than not feeling anxious about coming home was the idea of not having that old feeling. Because as uncomfortable as it is, there’s something comforting in it. It’s familiar, it’s known. And without it, well, it’s the unknown, anything can happen. It’s like coming home to an empty house, like being alone with yourself. As the writer, Sherman Alexie said, “If we forgive our fathers, what’s left.”
I think it’s about trusting myself and being in the moment and not letting the stories run wild in my mind. Trusting that I can handle what ever may come along even if it’s nothing.