Recurring nightmare

As I child and far up into adolescence, I used to have nightmares about snakes. I can still recall waking up with feelings of utter helplessness combined with complete terror. I really hate snakes, to say the least. The difference is that when I dream about them today, I am able to focus on remaining calm in order to find the nearest escape route. And it works. So you would think I was making progress...

But that which scares me even more nowadays, that which several times a week has me waking up completely on edge and out of breath , is.....that I am about to miss a flight. The scenario constantly replaying itself in my psyche is that I suddenly realize my flight is embarking in, say, 5 minutes. Meanwhile, I am still at home or at a hotel and supposed to be on my way home, completely disoriented. Nothing is packed. I can't find my passport. I move in slow motion as though I were swimming in molasses as I vainly attempt to manuever myself out of the room, with an increasing sense of panic that slows me down even more.

Often times, enough time has elapsed to realize my flight most likely has taken off, but I continue steadfastly on, pulse pounding and stress hormones trickling out of my ears, in the feeble hope that my plane by some miracle has been delayed.

Last night, just to spice things up, the trip involved my husband and kids as well, and no one was even near ready. To top it off, my mother kept calling me, since I had apparently booked her ticket to wherever it was we were headed, and she was missing the last four digits of her reservation number. I promised that I would e-mail it to her just as soon as we hung up, which I immediately forgot to do. So she calls me back, once, twice, and finally tells me they won't let her on the plane without those numbers (which I still hadn't looked up, and now we were hopelessly late ourselves, and I couldn't locate the computer that I also knew was already shut down).

Besides the stressful, mental breakdown I encounter everytime I have this dream, I also find myself experiencing feelings of deep shame for causing this, in my eyes, uneeded failure. I absolutely hate doing wrong that which I feel I could have and should have done right.

I think I just need to miss a flight at some point, for real, so that I once and for all can realize that it wouldn't mean the end of the world. Otherwise, in the words of Voltaire, I am yet again letting "the perfect (be) the enemy of the good."

Mental Tourette's

Not exactly a cheery title, but it's a recurring pattern I want to break. On the outside, I have gotten much better at keeping my cool. Still, for whatever reason, my stress threshold is mighty low, so every time something happens that isn't what I want to happen, curse words start flailing about in my mind. Maybe it's a way of letting off some steam, in order to prevent a complete breakdown?

Even so, is having to get up to answer the phone just after I sit down any reason to become irritated? So what if the car in front of me wants to drive 5 miles under the speed limit? Is is really a huge inconvenience to have to rearrange the pillows on the couch to suit the way I want them to be?

Really, who do I think I am?

My body's not liking it one bit, either. E-v-e-r-y s-i-n-g-l-e t-i-m-e something starts to get me riled up, I get riled up (like, duh?!). My stomach knots and my chest tightens. Yay me, for being better at identifing signals; shame on me for not being more accepting. I think it's because I am feeling more driven, both with work and myself. And being driven is tiring.

In meditation I was wondering if I should take a break from yoga. I thought I would come to the conclusion that it was time to let go a little from my practice. I was genuinely surprised when my silence answered, "staying fit is part of the discipline". How true, I thought. Acquiesence isn't the solution either.

Or if it is, I'm not there yet. So far, I've recogized my problem. I've decided I want to change it. F-i-n-a-l-l-y, I've taken the time to sit down and write about it. (It amazes me every time, the calming effect writing has even when I feel no direct pride in what I am conveying.)What would my namesake Yogamamma suggest?

She would probably tell me to take a breath instead of swearing. I'll give it a shot.

April 3, 1999

Easter Saturday. Outside the hospital window, I can see the sun is shining as a Swedish flag dances in the gusty wind. At 1:59 P.M., my first-born arrives, and it's a girl.

There have been 12 other birthdays since, accompanied by 8 others thanks to the arrival of our son four years later. Having been probably the world's worst at a) being pregnant and b) giving birth, I have never longed for a third child. And as they have grown, I have never even experienced the bittersweetness often associated with the realization that the baby years are over, followed by the toddler years, preschool years, and so on.

Until today.

She is beautiful - my daughter. Her inner light glows far beyond her years. I wish for nothing more than her feeling confident enough to grab onto Life by its horns and explore every avenue she wishes. Yet earlier this morning, lying in her bed with her head resting on my chest in the same manner it did just moments after she took her first breath, I could hear the slight cracking of my heart. I see pictures hanging on our walls, portraying the different phases of her life up until now, and I know all I can do is try to accept the inevitable passage of time.

P.S. I know I am supposed to be grateful and happy for my tremendous good fortune, and I am! But if a girl can't wallow a little in self-pity in her own blog, then just when can she wallow, for God's sake?!