It’s the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine?
When trepidation can’t be escaped, what’s next?
BY GRACIE KIBORT WITH ART BY NATALIE WILLIAMS
Each day, ”this is it, it’s finally happening, everything has fallen apart” crosses my mind approximately six times. I know that seems melodramatic (it is), but as a self-identified worrier, sometimes something as simple as opening my computer can send my brain haywire. A million microscopic Gracies dart through my head, shrieking at the top of their tiny lungs, “Fire! Fire! Get out while you still can!” Don’t shoot the messenger, but these are tough times, which appear to be getting tougher as the days trudge on. It has been a grim few years, only occasionally sprinkled with hope. But I swear, I’m not a total bummer. Not to brag, but through a lot of therapy, and I sure do mean a lot. I’ve looked my dread in the face and decidedly named her Alice.
Alice is your typical manifestation of dread and anxiety. She follows me around constantly, lurking in every corner and sitting next to me in every class. The first good morning and the last goodnight. She waits beside me each afternoon, reminding me of the awaited horrors I’ll surely face tonight. Her favorite time to tag along as my plus-one is each weekend, begging for my attention and clinging as I attempt to ditch her in the masses. She’s a crowd pleaser, without a doubt, not so gently reminding me about matters ranging from COVID cases to how people feel about the size of my nose. (Who cares? Alice does.) To be frank, Alice is a total pain in my ass.
But by naming and identifying Miss Alice, I’ve recognized that she isn’t transferring back to her hometown of Hell, USA, anytime soon. She’s going to stick by my side, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, with divorce unfeasible. There might be brief moments of deliverance from this partnership of doom; they’ll be short. It’s allowed me to befriend her, letting her know that she may stay only under my terms.
Through this practice, I’ve found ways to briefly slam the door in her face each day. By accepting my anxiety about the state of the world, I’ve accepted the balance. Each day brings something new, and despite how much that deeply terrifies me, I can remind myself of what it means. Yet another bad grade followed by a night with my friends I will never forget. Did someone embarrass me in public? I get to hear my mom laugh about it on the phone tonight until tears stream down her face. The bad stuff might not go anywhere, but neither will the good stuff. Find what makes you feel alright, and hold on to it even if your knuckles turn white.
If things are feeling particularly bleak, as they often are, I begrudgingly take the advice of every adult I’ve ever spoken to and write a list of who and what makes me feel the most grounded. This can be followed by a group of lists ranging from gratitude, things that make me feel the most ‘me,’ to a ‘who loves me’ list. The latter is particularly important. The world tends to make us feel more isolated than we actually are. Maybe this list won’t solve my problems, but it will certainly remind me that I’m not alone, and nothing is more soothing than that.
The world is a scary place, just inching closer to the inevitable with each passing day. Nevertheless, humanity has made it this far and hasn’t done that by ignoring the simple treasures of being alive. I hate to be a cliche, only leaving you with the advice to romanticize your life, so I won’t. Instead, I’ll remind you of when your coffee’s just right or the warmth of a perfect hug. Grass in the summer, soft snow in the winter, crunchy leaves in the fall. The little treasures are how any of us have gotten this far. Who says it has to be miserable if we’re living in misery?