It's a pretty overwhelming feeling. Now I know that my own struggles with anxiety are far from extreme, but in my life as an official 'worrywart' I have begun to see patterns. I see myself looking forward with hope and trust and faith. The far future is always manageable to me. Someday I'll have children and of course I'll be perfectly capable of handling them...someday I'll run a marathon or bike around Bear Lake or give another solo piano recital or fix up a house with Neal or make a big quilt for our bed. I am so very good at setting high goals for myself in the future. I have lists that stretch for miles. And I truly want to do all of those things. I make measurable goals to accomplish them. I figure out the financial and scheduling cost of each activity.
But only in the future.
At some point in high school I took a human biology class. It was wonderful. When I met with my teacher during parent-teacher conferences, she suggested I go to medical school. I told her I wanted to be a wife and mother. She told me I should consider what I'd do if I wasn't married. I told her I'd get a masters and then a doctorate. She thought me odd. I sort of surprised myself with my response to her question. I then considered what it would be like to be a graduate student. Although I really didn't think I'd remain unmarried that long, I saw myself as an overachieving star student.
Fast forward a few years and my experience with graduate school is somewhat different than my high school self predicted. For the most part, I've managed just fine. But then that nagging anxiety just started taking over last semester. It may be that for the first time I didn't have teachers telling me what to do, or that all my homework friends are graduated now. Most of the graduate students in my year have moved on. So I'm just left to my own devices. My stress intensified. And at some point my stress overwhelmed my ability to cope and I just sort of shut down. I mean, I still did things. I cleaned and cooked and organized and taught and worked. But on my thesis, I was unable to handle anything.
But I planned what I'd do. I can't tell you how many plans for "tomorrows" I've made. And then in retrospect I sometimes wonder how much time I wasted planning for tomorrow. Sometimes I still see my life in the perspective of my missionary planner. On one side was the idealized lessons we would teach, the people we would meet and really talk to. On the left was a column for "backup plans." Most of the time our backup plans were what really happened. Sometimes in the middle of sweltering summer we would spend hours knocking on doors as our backup plan. Hours where no one even answered the door. I think my life as of late could be similarly wasted only instead of knocking on doors, my backup plan was to plan some more and escape in a good book.
So I keep trying to focus on the now. On this moment where I can just do one more thing that I've planned. I struggle to get up and just do anything at all. I have no real reason to stay still except the fear that whatever I try I may fail.
But if I fail, I want to at least fail well, which means I must really try to begin with.
Ultimately I see my path toward graduation as a mini lesson in mortality. I want to be like the Savior. I can list His attributes and chart how I might emulate Him in my daily life. But no matter how much I plan to be Christlike, I still have to act. I have to try. I cannot do it alone. I need the help of neighbors, friends, family, and most especially Christ. And sometimes when I'm trying to be kind it will come out wrong. When I want to be standing up for truth, my voice may be rambling. What I think is the right thing may sometimes hurt more than it helps. In other words, I will fail. But only through my failing will I ever learn to succeed. I know, banner realization.
Neal and I recently renewed our efforts with our plants. We even began growing sprouts. It's incredible how quickly the little sprouts grow to grassy goodness. But we have other plants which we have neglected. They were hidden in the spare room without heat or enough light. When I finally pulled them into the front room, much of them was dead. With little hope, I trimmed away what seemed to be the entire plant and set them on the warm window. Their growth back has been much slower. Some didn't make it. But others wake up and stretch their green feelers to the sunshine. I'm so very careful with this new growth because these plants have been through a lot. But I don't just through them out and start over. The easily grown sprouts are also fleeting in their life. My chives and peppermint can grow and produce for a long while more.
They need light and water and warmth though. Growth cannot remain static in the back room or it withers. So as I try again to face forward and act in faith instead of fear, here's to new growth, however small.
Our little sprout kit after only a few days.
Neal demonstrating how delicious the sprouts are!
Wheat sprouts with their complex web of roots.
Our Wheat grass flourishing with such little effort.
The poor peppermint after my fierce clipping. But see those tiny little sprouts coming up? This guy can make it yet!
The new growth for the chives after a couple weeks.
And on a completely unrelated note, here is a lovely jar of parsley from our Bountiful Basket. It's been a delight in the kitchen window and our dinners.
My best loaf of bread so far in my life. I wanted you to see the lovely swirl from rolling it up, but the picture just doesn't do it justice. This beauty is 100% whole wheat and rose like a charm. Yes, it was super delicious. I am officially converted to vital wheat gluten as a small supplement to the process. It's worth it people. Your bread will rise more quickly and evenly and will be so fluffy!
