I think the trees have it out for me. I don’t know why. Sure I drive a car, but I always recycle and compost and care about the environment. Maybe nobody has told any trees that. Or maybe trees are just cheeky sometimes. One balmy, summer day I was hiking with my partner and came across one of the most mischievous tree’s I’ve ever seen. I had wandered off the trail a little to pee when this tree ensnared my foot with its roots. When I tried to stand up, I found my foot was trapped under a root. I fell forward, pants still at my ankles, ass in full view of anyone who walks by, and face-planted into the dirt. I writhed around for a bit on the downward slope and was unable to even get my pants back up, let alone stand up. Just when the captivity was starting to cause me to panic, my partner had to yank my entangled foot to freedom before I managed to stand up. By this time, a few people had passed by and one offered his help, much to my chagrin. If my partner hadn’t been there, I would have had to accept the help of a complete stranger with my entire lower half exposed. Lets just say I’m no “stranger” to emotional hang-ups to random situations.
I was on my way to an appointment in a 16-floor building when I saw a woman hovering by the elevators without actually boarding one. With eyes wide like a hound dog, she asked sheepishly if I would ride the elevator with her. She was too scared of elevators to ride alone. Knowing there had to be some trauma there, I agreed to ride 8 extra floors with her. Upon entering the elevator, she grabbed the handle bar until her knuckles turned white and her hands cramped up. It turns out she had been stuck in an elevator three times in the past year. She said the worst time was when she was alone, the emergency call button wasn’t working, and her phone was dead. The minutes past like hours while her anxiety and claustrophobia steadily increased. By the time she was rescued, her breathing was labored and she was in such a panic that paramedics were called. She told this story so quickly that we still had 6 floors to go. I soothed her nervous fidgeting by showing her my phone had full bars and I could call for help immediately if anything happened. Also it has a really fun fish game on it. When we finally arrived at her floor she gave me a big hug and said she hoped her next riding companion was as understanding as I was. And I didn’t even have the chance to tell her my tree root, naked ass story. Not that it’s anything to brag about.
I’m absolutely terrified of the dentist. This is heart racing, jaw-clenching, anxiety-attack level fear. I usually deal with it by simply avoiding the dentist, which has wrecked havoc on my teeth. A few days ago, I cracked the temporary crown I haven’t been brave or wealthy enough to get a permanent on. With my pain levels rising, I finally called the first dentist who was open after work hours. I got lucky. They still use this miraculous substance called nitrous oxide. During my procedure, my brain went a lot of different places. Why does the English language insist we pet our pets? How many times can I use my new unicorn floaty in the lake this summer? How do celebrities keep from getting zits? When am I going to travel again?….
…and BOOM. My intoxicated, euphoric brain had hit upon a serious topic, which I was not in the right mental state for. That thought morphed into vivid memories of me traveling the globe when I was younger and more carefree. My recollections were so strong it was like reliving all the adventures. Then again, I was under the influence of a dissociative anaesthetic, so maybe that’s a bit dramatic.
Before my dentist appointment, I killed time by visiting a local gluten-free bakery for a pastry and coffee. The tables were full, so I braced for a chill and asked if I could share a table with two older women. I was relieved to find they were friendly and very chatty. I soon learned that neither of them is from Seattle. Go figure. Anyway, Rose* was a best friend and caregiver for her aunt Betty*, who was getting up there in years and needed a companion for her complex medical issues. Rose was a former travel agent, back when the profession was lucrative and in-demand. We shared travel stories from around the globe and it felt so good to remember who I used to be. I’ve faced some medical challenges myself and don’t feel as confident in my ability to travel. I told Rose I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to travel like I used to. I loved staying in hostels and immersing myself into different cultures. While I did do activity tours like scuba diving and horseback riding, I liked seeing some less touristy spots too. The logistics involved seemed more overwhelming to me now that I’m not 20 anymore. Rose smiled while Betty chimed in with what I needed to hear. They were getting ready to leave on an international cruise for 30 days. Betty then told me she is a dialysis patient and is able to do this because the ship has its own fully staffed dialysis unit. Rose explained that part of her job used to be navigating these challenges and helping people see the world. The two ladies had been on over 10 cruises together already and just kept coming back. As they were leaving, she told me never to give it up.
I was worried I might grow out of traveling one day. It had been a series of youthful escapades for me in the past. I might have to adjust my expectations, but I can still see the world. I haven’t grown out of my fear of the dentist, so I refuse to give up on traveling!
I never dated much in college. I was a socially awkward curvy girl with low self-esteem and a chronic case of word vomit. So not much has changed. Throw in the fact that I live within the confines of the Seattle Freeze, and my perpetual single status was inevitable. So I wasn’t prepared when the unexpected happened. I was sitting at the coffeehouse on my college campus when a casual acquaintance I knew through a school club plopped down beside me on the heavily loved couch I was perching on. He didn’t waste much time before asking me if I wanted to go swing dancing with him sometime. I stared blankly at him for a minute while my mind caught up to what was happening. In that time, his nerves got the best of him causing his verbal diarrhea to flare up. He began telling me about the sweater he was wearing, made for him by his grandmother. It had a wolf howling on it and he told me the exact thread count of the sweater. Recognizing the signs of a nervous babbler, I rescued him by saying I wanted to focus on school. I didn’t have the heart to tell him we didn’t really have much in common and I wasn’t interested. We never really hung out after that, but I know he is happily married. He just needed to find his people.
I recently volunteered in the first aid tent at a Renaissance Faire. I got to help people with cuts, heat exhaustion, and even anaphylaxis, all while wearing a corset. It was the most fun I’ve had in a long time. Part of the whole experience was camping on the festival grounds, along with every other vendor and volunteer. The community atmosphere was as refreshing as the Aloe vera I spread over my entire body. There is no Seattle freeze within the Renaissance Faire, just camaraderie and fun with like-minded people. So I let my guard down and allowed myself to just be the amusingly awkward, nerdy person I love to be.
Once the festival ended for the day, the vendors and volunteers gathered for some after-hours fun. I was walking from my tent to the meeting spot when a woman joined me on the path. I instinctively reached for my phone, as most Seattleites do, before remembering I was free to chat. Without even asking her name, I told her about what was in my head. My roommate had found a cat she wanted to adopt after losing her beloved furbaby Thundercloud to old age. She had a lot in common with the 10-year-old rescue cat and wanted to give her a loving home. The only thing standing in the way was the adoption fee. I had decided earlier that day that I would pay it for her. It seemed like it was a relationship that was meant to be. I told all of this to my new nameless friend. By the time I was finished, I expected her to give me a passive-aggressive response and put in her ear buds. But she didn’t! She liked the story and thanked me for sharing it.
So I babbled, just like my coffeehouse friend had. It was about a cat, not a wolf, but close enough. I also have no intention of making a sweater using cat fur (though I know that’s been done). I’ve learned that random, often awkward, chatter is ok when I’m surrounded by my people. Maybe that’s the key to thawing the Seattle freeze?