You Are Now Free to Move About the Cabin

5/11/17

I am currently on a plane to Miami, FL. It is the first of two legs on the way to Brasil. I am extremely hunger, in need of a back massage, and highly confused about the smell of my brand new purse. All of these thoughts appear trivial, even a bit vapid, in nature. If you did not know me at all, I would expect some sort of judgmental comment, derrogatory in nature, implying that I do not know patience or humility.

And you could not be more wrong. . . .

These thoughts at the forefront of my mind serve as protection from anxiety causing "ideas". I can tell myself that a solution can be surmised for each superficial thought.

I can remind myself of the layover I have in Miami, allowing me plenty of time to purchase and eat dinner. It won't be "plane" food, and I have all of my medication to prevent any unwanted digestive problems. Heartburn, nausea, indigestion, bon apetit.

I am aware that items purchased from third party sellers, with shipping fulfilled by Amazon.com, may have incurred a slight odor in storage. Such smells normally dissapate after a few hours. Further, I have free returns.

Stretching will cure my back tightness, and we are almost to Miami. Man up?

I have control over those problems, so I do not mind revisiting them. I can fine tune my solutions. Salad or Pasta? Downward Dog or some standing extension? Use your backpack as a backup or visit the duty free shop (should I be that dramatic)?

What I cannot solve are the trigger problems. They wrestle with my attempts to curtail racing thoughts, heart rates, and shallow breaths. They toy with my hypersensitivity and hang doubt above my head to the point that I question if I remember how to brush my teeth.

These are the thoughts that lead me down the dark hallway to shame and self-doubt. The walls echo with questions of the ugliest kind:

Are you certain you can maintain a healthy lifestyle abroad? Are you ready for what happens when you regain the weight?

How will you gain respect when your Portuguese is subpar? Are you going to be ready to respond when your Spanish slips are met with awkward stares?

What will you do to get around? We just got to a safe feeling level leaving the house . . . will a stranger's elongated stare send you to the confines of your taupe microfiber blanket?

What does a black woman from Michigan think she's doing in Brazil? You look like one of the lower class. Will there be an assumption tha your kinky hair belongs in the service entrance?

This could spiral, quickly, into me alone in the corner of my room abroad - buckling and bending to the cruel will of my anxious mind. Complaints and questions would emerge from the lips of concerned third parties, and I would barely respond while obsessively pulling at the coils of my hair.

Or I could focus on my superficial problems and my processed solutions. I can sit with my seatbelt fastened and my tray table in the upright and locked position. I can note that the contents of overhead storage may have shifted during the flight, so caution is needed. 

I can accept that I have generalized anxiety disorder, but I know that it will not have me. I can see aa young woman, a law student, ready to embark on a new adventure. I can see the lights of Miami during our rather turbulent descent. You can see a twenty-something black woman with an afro, neon lined shoes, and a purple shirt. We cannot see my anxiety, and you will never know it is there if you choose not to look with all of your senses. Not common, since our society is selectively myopic as of late.

Anxiety . . . you can look right through me, walk right by me, and never know it's there. (Thank you, Chicago).

We have now begun our descent. Welcome to Miami. My checked luggage will meet me in Brazil. My invisible illness will meet me for dinner. It's still deciding if it wants to worry over food quality, cleanliness, or how the prices will fit into my shoestring budget. All choices are so appetizing, and the third is served with a side of student loan debt interest. Delicious.