It never fails. As much as we convince ourselves that we are becoming more comfortable with uncertainty, don’t trust ourselves to be consumed by anticipation, we inevitably fall into that age-old trap of being disappointed by the expectations of which we set for ourselves, and allow to govern and rule our day to day worlds. The topic of this week’s meltdown? The international fellowship I applied for months ago had stated at our final interview in February that we would hear an answer by April 5th, yay or nay, by telephone. This date became a fixation for me in every aspect of my life…like I couldn’t even schedule my dog’s haircut without knowing—knowing whether I’d continue a life in New Orleans and settle down into a reasonably stable, gloriously fun and challenging existence in a city I adore, or continue down the path of international work that would likely bounce me around the globe for the next few years. And when I say fixated, that’s putting it lightly. I’ve compiled massively extensive lists in the NOLA vs. abroad column…just waiting for that magical day to say, phew. Now I can get Netflix. Or, I can finally call my lender, fix the chain on my bike, take Spanish classes, sell used books, buy that tee shirt I want. Oh, I really shouldn’t go to that museum until I’m sure I’m staying in New Orleans or not. Huh?
I went crazy. Literally. By Monday night, I had stared at the screen of my Blackberry so many times, I was seeing icons when I blinked. I sobbed hysterically at the kitchen table, drank a bottle of wine, and allowed myself to feel knock-down, drag out, horrible about myself. Rejection and doubt are a bad combo, particularly when the rejection hasn’t even been confirmed yet. And again, I became mad at myself, because instead of being “rational and understanding Aimee” who realizes that there were numerous and likely reasons why there was a delay in communication, I permitted myself (with reckless abandon) to go to the bad place. That horrid, unhealthy place where you hate everything, above all yourself, and curse the very mentality you pretended all this time you didn’t have. It manifests itself in ugly ways. Your road rage exponentially increases on the way to and from work. Road rage in NOLA is a bad idea, people. Nobody has insurance and everybody owns a gun. You eat Taco Bell for like the third time in a decade; you convince yourself it’s ok to go to bed at 8pm. You decide with definitive authority that you detest each and every one of your coworkers, the majority of your friends, and even tolerate a short fuse with that loyal, fluffy, geriatric poodle who has never wronged you in your life.
It’s bad, and it’s your fault. The power of your own thinking is extraordinary and totally bizarre. It’s your expectations that have brought you to this mental space that’s unraveling you more by the day, and what has honestly changed between this week and last? Really? Nada. It’s still the waiting game. It’s still the same day to day existence you were living last week, so why all the hysteria? Because we are our harshest critics, our worst enemies, and the expectations we create and intend for ourselves will never be surpassed by anyone else. So, fine. Lesson learned. Again. Breathe. Live presently. Exist calmly. The universe will unfold in due time, either on April 5th or otherwise.
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