Jumping at shadows

In mid-July, my 17-year-old son invited me to start running with him. Trying our best to beat the heat, we were heading out just a little after sunrise every morning. But with the start of school, we have had to push our morning runs up, and now we are running while it is still dark out. Max has continued to brave the unlit, uneven, partially unpaved two mile trail that runs around the neighborhood, with the confidence of a young man in peak physical condition who has never suffered a serious sports injury. I, however, am a middle-aged woman, not in peak physical condition, who is just eight years out from destroying my ACL and meniscus and enduring the surgery and recovery that went along with that, so I choose to stay on the lighted sidewalks of the inner loop. There is some light, yes, but it's not like the areas where I am running are bright enough for me to see everything around me. And sometimes the light seems best only at conjuring extra dark shadows, which move around as if possessed. 

One day in the last week, I literally jumped off the sidewalk into the street (not to mention almost out of my skin), not once, but twice during a single run, startling at some wavy shadows dancing around on the sidewalk in front of me. And, then, of course, upon closer inspection, I felt silly for being so scared of NOTHING. Thankfully, there aren't many neighbors up and about at that hour in our neighborhood, so my embarrassment did not have any witnesses. 

But I got to thinking about this tendency to jump at shadows, and it made me consider that this concept is very similar to the way anxiety works. Frequently, with an anxious brain, there is only a perceived threat rather than an actual one. But it FEELS real. Real enough to make you jump out of harm's way. Or freeze up. Or fight imagined monsters. Or spiral into more and more worst case scenarios. I used to really hate this about my brain--making a big deal out of things that turned out to be nothing and feeling like I couldn't stop it or control it. 

I still wish I didn't have such an overactive amygdala (the "fight or flight" center of the brain, specializing in fear and anxiety), but I have learned to appreciate this part of my brain. It desperately wants to protect me. Instead of fighting against the anxiety now, I'm learning to embrace it, to say, "This feels scary, but I can get through it and it might actually be okay." This part of my brain is trying to help me, not hurt me. It is a friend, not an enemy. But even well-meaning friends sometimes need to be questioned when they are offering advice. Thankfully, I'm learning to examine my thoughts and question their validity and their helpfulness. Yes, I jumped when the shadows startled me, but I didn't stop running. I didn't refuse to go again the next day. And if there had actually been a snake on the sidewalk, I would have been so grateful for the instinct to jump. Anxiety is no small thing, and for some people it is truly debilitating, but sometimes there are ways to manage it so that you don't have to be ruled by the shadows. You may still see the shadows and they may still feel uncomfortable because of their shiftiness, but you are allowed to take a breath and ask a question and reexamine the situation once you have more information. I'm thankful I have a friend in my mind that wants to keep me safe. But I'm also thankful that I can sometimes tell her I appreciate her concern but I'm good. 

Repairing the cracks

After our road trip to Colorado last month, I noticed a tiny--probably smaller than the tip of my pinky fingernail--chip in my windshield. Having learned from experience, we immediately bought a windshield repair kit and patched up the crack to keep it from spreading. That gives me a certain degree of confidence that I will not have to replace the entire windshield for this one tiny ding. It is not really in my line of sight but my eye is drawn to it every time I get in my car, and I have been pondering that little pock mark quite a lot lately. 

The car I was driving prior to this one also had a small crack in the windshield. I didn't bother to repair it, since it wasn't in my line of sight and it didn't seem like too big a deal. But, over time, with cold winters and hot summers, the little crack started to spread. I still didn't bother to do anything about it, because it still wasn't in my line of sight and fixing it seemed like a waste of money. It seemed like a problem not worth investing in. But eventually, the crack made it's way across the entire windshield, and there came a day when it actually seemed like it could possibly be a little unsafe. Like if just the wrong kind of pressure was applied, the whole windshield would come crashing in. My now-husband, who I was just dating at the time, became concerned. And one day while I was at work, just before taking off on a long road trip with my kids, he hired a company to replace the entire windshield. It was a kind gift, and I was truly touched by the gesture and may have fallen a little in love with him as a result. Ignoring the problem wasn't making it go away, and I was thankful someone who cared about me stepped in to help when I clearly wasn't taking care of the problem on my own.

So why am I thinking about cracks in windshields, you ask? Well, it's because I can see the cracks in my life, and I have learned from experience that it is better to repair them while they are small than to wait until they spread to a point of destruction. Not all of them are impeding my ability to go about my days. But they are there and they are real. There are broken pieces doing their best to act with wholeness, integrity, kindness, goodness, and love. But they are still broken pieces with sharp edges and a propensity to spread to others and create potentially unsafe spaces if the work isn't done in a timely fashion. They are easy to ignore. Until they aren't. Small issues not dealt with become big issues that demand attention, sometimes in very unlovely ways. Cars are meant to be driven, and in driving them, dings will happen. In the same way, lives are meant to be lived and there will inevitably be some collateral damage. However, if you can find the tiny cracks--the toxic attitudes, the unhealthy mindsets, the learned destructive patterns, the emotional immaturity, etc.--and work to repair them before they become problematic, you might just be able to save the whole windshield. You may still be able to see the crack, just like I see the little ding every time I get in my car. But it is only a reminder of the hazards of the road and a messenger bringing a sense of gratitude that allows me to proceed with confidence, knowing it will not destroy me or harm the people I care about because it has already been dealt with.