Sick of It

(The title is deceptive; disregard the normal connotation and read on.)

Last night I was scheduled to work a tech rehearsal of IOT's production of Dora the Explorer Live!: Dora's Pirate Adventure at Arbor Court Community Theatre. I'll be running sound for the show one weekend, and it's time to get my bearings.

Within a few minutes of arrival, I was drowsing; my energy was low. I checked my blood glucose and when I found it normal, was at something of a loss. Why was I so tired? Well, I've been tired before; I knew I could power through it.

A few minutes after that I started to feel nauseous. What the hell? Where did that come from? I do not have time to be sick! Maybe it's transient; I decided to wait it out.

Half an hour later, no better; worse, if anything. I could think of nothing highly likely that might be causing these symptoms—I had "cheated" a little on my Primal lifestyle and eating habits the day before but nothing major, and I was sad that Laughter on the 23rd Floor was over but I've been sad over shows ending before, and neither of those seemed likely in and of themselves to be implicated in feeling craptacular—but the cause wasn't as important as the effect; I wasn't going to be able to stay through rehearsal.

It occurred to me, however, that those two potential causes might "pile on" with the overarching concern in my life to cause the symptoms I was experiencing. That concern was the subject of two blog entries yesterday—I'm Sorry and Antinomy—so clearly it's a pretty big deal.

By the time I asked Wayne (my best friend and the executive director of IOT), I was pretty sure that emotional considerations were at the root of my problem. When I asked to be excused and said that, Wayne looked me in the eye and said, "Believe me, I know."

We are not divided beings: mind, body, and spirit all discrete and apart. We are one being: mind, body, and spirit fused. Our mind and body and spirit are unitary. "Heartsick" may be an emotional malady, but it affects our body and mind. When we are physically ill, our minds and spirits are affected.

I am "sick of it," not in the sense we usually use that phrase (tired of something repetitive, tedious, and annoying), but rather in the sense that the legitimate, appropriate, and necessary cares of the moment made me sick. So okay...

It's okay, I think. The future can only be reached moment by moment. There aren't any shortcuts. We don't go from hurt to healed without going through healing. It's like grief (it's very like grief; anyone who doesn't think I'm grieving doesn't understand at all): you don't necessarily have to do the steps in order, or in the same way others do them, but you don't get to skip the work. No one can wave a wand and make you whole.

I wouldn't be surprised if people wonder how I can talk about incredibly painful things and keep smiling, even through tears. It's simply this: I know that the feelings are real, that the people I feel for are worthy of strong emotion, that the circumstances deserve a powerful response from me. I'm not ashamed of my strong feelings; on the contrary, I believe they mark the significance of others in my life.

If sometimes those strong, worthy, meaningful emotions make me sick? Well, I can't say I'm happy about that, but I'd rather that than not to feel at all.

Breathless

I'm actually doing this. I'm not going to do it; I'm doing it. That's an important distinction. I'm going, and that takes my breath away.

At first I was breathless with fear: paralyzing, stupefying,appalling terror. There was no question what made my hands sweat, my limbs shake, my gut clench, my breath catch: it was fear, pure and simple—that visceral reaction to threat that kept our primal ancestors alive in a menacing world. And fear is still part of it...

But fear is not all of it, not any more. Fear is not even the biggest part of it.

I'm breathless with anticipated grief. I am leaving my family, my theatre family, my friends, my best friend, my students (the only children I've known)... and I feel that loss as if I was already gone. "I miss you" doesn't come close to what I'm feeling, and I haven't even gone yet. I tear up every time I remember those I'm leaving.

I'm breathless with excitement. I feel the things I've always felt before a first date: anticipation, nervousness, hope. There's no knowing how it's going to be: if there will be "chemistry," if we'll be "compatible," if we'll "fit," who we'll be to one another. It's exciting!

I'm breathless with awe. Awe at the prospect of being where my heart has called me for so long, awe at the thought of remaking myself in a new place, awe at the boundless possibilities (including the possibility of epic failure). Awe at the amazing support of family and friends from whom "never was heard a discouraging word," but rather endless encouragement.

Breathless.

Tonight I'm reserving my (one way) ticket. Early in June, I'll book passage for my Harley.

I'm going.