I Have A Jacket

A couple of days ago, I had a bout of anxiety. This is not unusual for me, but it's less usual lately, now that I'm back in America. I'm also medication-free now, which sometimes means dealing with more heightened emotions than I've been used to for a few years.

I try to go walking when I feel anxious. Actually, I try to walk most days to prevent anxiety, but it doesn't always happen. I went for a really long walk the other day, and I thought about a lot of things. I tried to "self-soothe" by reminding myself that I don't have to have it all figured out, and that what I have for today is enough for today. I try to talk to myself like I would a friend,or a child, because I know I would do my best to comfort an anxious friend or child in as healthy a way as I could.

Feelings of displacement come when I least expect them. It's hard to explain what this feels like. I guess it's a little like that feeling of coming out of the store and forgetting where you parked. You know your vehicle is somewhere in the parking lot, but you have no idea where because you weren't really thinking about that when you arrived; you were thinking about the groceries. Take that tiny, niggling sense of panic and multiply it times a thousand and you have displacement. I don't feel it all the time. I wouldn't even say that it happens often. But when I do feel it, it can be crippling.

I could be happily crocheting or reading or writing, and suddenly I'll feel a tightening in my chest or a heaviness in my stomach, and I'll be overcome with a sense of fear or panic. I can't explain it or justify it. I simply feel as though I don't know who I am, where my life is headed, or where I belong.

Where do I belong? America, yes, I know that much for sure. That sense of peace that comes from  being among my own people, and in my own culture, is very solid. The first few months I was here, I was happy and wide-eyed and simply joyful. And most of the time I would say I am still happy, and if not wide-eyed and joyful, at least engaged and grateful.

However, life is more complicated than that. At 33, I find myself living with my parents again, saving up for my first car (no, I have never owned a car!), and wondering where my life is headed.I built a life, such as it was, for myself over the last seven years that no longer exists.And I've returned to a life that is only an echo of what I left behind. None of my family live in the state I was born and raised in anymore, and my parents moved to an entirely different part of the country five years ago. I am not the carefree girl who left America for England, nor am I any longer the jaded and sad woman whom England spat back out. Who am I?

I'm from Maine. I'm a Yankee in the truest sense of the word. I like snowy Christmases and wood-burning stoves and waking up to see a moose in the pasture. Kentucky is not a place I ever thought I would live.Yet here I am in the heartland, or the "top of the south," trying desperately to become accustomed to another place with weird weather and weirder accents. I am trying to like where I am, even when I don't, though often I do. It's complicated.

There are things I like about this place a lot. Things that surprise me, like wildflowers I've never heard of and hazy October evenings, warm enough to sit outside in short sleeves. There are also things I don't care much for, like hot, hot summers that make me feel faint when I step outside the door, cicadas, poisonous snakes, and foods like grits and boiled peanuts. Living here is like living in any new place; there is much to learn and much to get used to.

I don't know how long I'll be here. I could be here for years, or I could leave in a few months. I often find myself wishing for answers and clear direction, even when I'm not particularly anxious. I'm trying, however. Trying to be content. Trying to just be, and to realize that I have what I need to survive right now. I've survived so much already, so much worse, and I'm stronger than I sometimes believe.

As I was walking and fighting this anxiety, I suddenly thought about the jacket I was wearing. I don't know why. I just did. I've had it in my closet for months, since I flew into Boston in May and went up to Maine with my dad, because he was working on the old house at the time. It was still a little chilly up there. I haven't worn it at all down here until a few days ago when the temperature finally dropped a bit to more fall-appropriate levels.

This jacket is a sweet, floral, lightweight trench-coat that my friend Kristen gave me in England when I didn't have a coat that fit or the money to buy one. I really like it. It's one of the very few warmer clothing items I brought back with me. Wearing it reminds me of her, and how grateful I am that we became friends. Our friendship is one of the bright spots during my time over there.

As I was thinking about that, I tried to self-soothe again, addressing myself as I would a little child who needed calming. "Today you have a jacket, and that is enough. It's getting colder, and you need it, and you have it. That's enough for today."

And it was. It was nowhere near enough for the next day, or the rest of the week. But it was enough for that day. One foot in front of the other, with a jacket to wear in the cold. I can do this. I've done it before and I'll do it again. Life is messy and complicated. There are no absolute "right answers." What is true today may not be true tomorrow. What is a comfort today may be disillusioning by the end of the week. Who I am now, I will not always be. But all of this is okay. It's life. Life is good and precious and wonderful.I know this.

And that's enough for today.