Anxiety Rears Its Futile Head

My sister came for a visit at the beginning of the week. I laughed so hard the first night she was here that I thought my ribs were going to break. Our laughter was an antidote to my anxiety. I’ve begun to feet anxious about being suspended in the vacuum of not knowing, the very state that I’ve scripted for myself. My rig has been in the shop for a week. I’ve been told to expect its return today or tomorrow but expectations come without a fulfillment warranty. Since things went awry during my first week with B0bbie, my rig, this second week is rife with the creeping sensation that the dark side has more in store for me and Bobbie.

I espouse that that anxiety is a useless emotion. Mastering a state of the absence of anxiety is more than flipping a switch. If it would help, then taking advantage of being anxious when the opportunity arises would become commonplace. But it causes heart palpitations and ensuing tension. I’m working with the antidotes in my tool kit…meditation, yoga, walks with my dog, Lola, music, and laughing.

Yesterday I spoke with the service manager at the facility in Mississippi where my rig is undergoing its repair. He spoke with a strong southern accent.

Me: “Hello, Dan, Can you tell me what caused the leak in my rig?”

Dan: “A cla-ump came aloose. That’s the matter with yur fresh waters.”

Me: ” Seems like a simple fix.”

Dan: “Yep, We got ’em parts a comin’ in.”

Me: “When?”

Dan: “Don’t rightly know for shore, but ‘spec today or t’marr.”

Me: “But there is another plumbing issue as well?”

Dan: “Yessir, Yer tank waste line’s broke. Yer jack foot tore it when it drug the road.”

Me: “And the parts for that repair?”

Dan: “They’s on the way her, too.”

Me: “What about the jack stabilizer that malfunctioned?”

Dan: “Hits on order, also, but it could take a week, maybe two. You wanna come back fer it later, we’ll put your name on it.”

The degree of what I don’t know has been lessened. I do know that I can jaw in Mississippi tongue. I ain’t anxious about them conversations.

Published by jmlewisjr

Hello. This is Jimmy Lewis. I'm in Memphis, Tennessee. My golden doodle, Lola and I are leaving on a North American tour in May, 2021. We'll be traveling in a 2021 Jayco Melbourne 24L motorhome. We have neither time constraints nor exact destination specifications. We'll spend May in Virginia, North and South Carolina, and then head north through New York, Maryland, Massachusetts and Vermont. If Canadians resume the practice of putting out a welcome mat for Americans, then we'll cross the border.  The seed for this journey began after my wife, Sarla passed away in May, 2020. Sarla was a yogi. An early yoga teacher of hers implored her to "Have what you need, and use what you have." As I prepare to close on the sale of our home on April 30, 2021, I'm deciding what I need based on the likelihood of using what I have. I give some things away without a flicker of feeling. When more meaningful items like the piano I inherited from my parents leave the premises, I feel like I'm saying goodbye to an old friend for the last time. Sarla's death lessened my attachment to the home we had enjoyed for 15 years and life as I knew it. I didn't need and couldn't possibly use a house that could satisfy the needs of a family with four children. I'll no longer experience residence, a concept identified with staying in a specified place, as I've heretofore known it. Life will never be the same, nor do I want to attempt to shape my future into a likeness of what I once knew.   I've set my sights on adventure. I want to be challenged by not knowing who or what I'll meet on the road. The outdoors is one of my default antidotes for stress. Other than my rig, I won't have an indoors base. Whereas others might opt to downsize so that they have the stability of a landing spot, I won't be able to go "home" as I've known it. I'm jazzed about the prospect of being at the whim of the muse, to go where my finger lands on turning pages of the Rand McNally atlas. My dog, Lola is indifferent even though I've been talking to her about the journey every day. She looks quizzically at me when I enthusiastically say we're hitting the road together. I'm confident that she'll do well. We've previously driven together to and from a destination 12 hours from home. She curiously gazed out the window and occasionally snoozed in the passenger seat. She didn't express displeasure about the podcasts and music selection that I chose to entertain and inform me while driving. This trip isn't driven by personal goals. Will I learn more about myself? Will I take advantage of the opportunity to reflect? Will I be lonely? Will I be uneasy? I'm motivated by a curiosity to follow the questions.

3 thoughts on “Anxiety Rears Its Futile Head

  1. I wish there was an emoji of someone asking for a rig horn blow! Wonderful words, enjoy this new chapter.


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