I often find that I am different after a crisis. I slow down, reflect, take a big step back and remind myself of what’s really important. I act as if each moment matters. I am grateful. I ask for help. I live life instead of letting it live me.
All of the other hours of every day, I’m a stress magnet. I am rushing to get things done, constantly feeling like I’m not doing enough and striving to do more, make more and be more. I keep going as fast as I can until I hit a wall (and I ALWAYS hit a wall). When I am like this I barley know what my calm self looks like.
Last week we thought my cat was missing for 3 hours. It was a morning of pure panic and ruthlessly searching the neighborhood. She was my first love, my best friend, my partner in crime. I needed to find her, but I also knew that I wasn’t going to. Lucy was a master at hiding, and if she was gone, she was gone. After hours of searching around the neighborhood and trespassing peoples property, I realized she wasn’t to be found. I went back inside and sat on the bed. I let the tears come out and told myself that this is just how our relationship was going to end. Maybe she didn’t want me to see her die, I thought.
Then I heard a scratch. There was no way she was in the house. We had searched it a ton of times! On top of that, we were staying in a rental property that was very bare – there were no places to hide.
A few minutes later I heard the same sound again and decided to search the apartment one more time. I went through every kitchen cabinet high and low, I looked behind the toilets again, I looked up the chimney and inside of the pull out coffee table. I then told myself to look under the bed one more time, the one place that she had spent our entire stay at this rental property. I was scared of how I would feel looking down there knowing she wasn’t there. I looked underneath, and then saw a rumble in the box spring. I put my hand on it and felt her nails. I don’t know how she got in there but I didn’t care. I ran outside screaming and called my friend and husband. We lift it up and tore it open and got out Lucy.
Even though she was found, I still felt like I had lost her. I continued to tremble for the remainder of the afternoon and really tapped into what matters most. At least for the rest of the day.
It didn’t take much time for me to lose that feeling. I quickly snapped back into stress & struggle. Why can’t we stay in the feeling of ‘what matters most’ longer? Why are we hardwired to stress? What would life be like if I lived in the tragedy-like-feeling more often? Why does a tragedy need to happen for me to pump the breaks?
