Fear, Anxiety and Dread

"Hello darkness my old friend, I've come to talk to you again." Simon & Garfunkel

Most mornings since I stopped working, in the fog between sleep and consciousness my first thought isn’t really a thought, it’s more a feeling. 

A primordial soup of fear, anxiety and dread. I’ve come to think of it as a weird unbidden companion. 

They’ve come to have the familiarity of waking up and seeing your partner of twenty years in bed next to you. 

I’ve considered giving my morning bed companion a name so I can properly greet him. 

“Good morning, George,”

“What are your plans for the day, Daryl?”

Damn, maybe I need to start dating again.  This can’t be good.

Having a job was incredibly beneficial in keeping my "three amigos" at bay. Despite any grievances I may have had about the business or my financial concerns, I found solace in the fact that it was a stable source of income.

The issues that arose were not insurmountable; rather, they were challenges that could be addressed and resolved.

There was something I could DO about them. 

I’ve tried using my rational mind to quiet the amigos.

“Do I have a roof over my head?” Yes.

“Are the kids OK?” Yes.

“Is there still money in the bank?” Yes.

“Ok, then can I please get out of bed and make myself a cup of coffee without you screaming in my head that there is a problem to solve.”

That’s what’s so hard about this crisis.  On the surface there is nothing wrong.  In fact, most people would think I am in an enviable position so what am I complaining about. 

Maybe you’re in the same position. 

Maybe on the surface everything looks good. 

Your life is fine.

Its depressingly FINE. 

Sadly, this only makes it worse.

Gratitude journals definitely make it worse because they just reinforce that something is wrong with me.  After all I have so much to be bloody grateful for.   

My father’s voice pops into my head, “What are you crying about?  I’ll give you something to cry about.”  

Or my mothers voice, “Think of all the starving children in Africa.”

I realize that the busyness of my former life – solo parenting; demanding hospitality business- provided a perverse form of self-medication.

I know what you’re thinking.  Maybe I really just need some good old-fashioned Prozac.

Maybe I do.  Maybe this is all just a chemical imbalance. But I wonder. 

What are my three amigos so worked up about?  Do I really want to silence them or are they here for a purpose – an urgent call to make sure I don’t let another ten years slip by without asking myself some serious questions.

“Is this it?”

“Is this the totality of this life I’ve been gifted?”

“If my life is a work of art so to speak, do I like what’s on the canvas?”

“Does my life truly reflect who I am, or is it a patchwork of other people's desires and expectations for me?" This question prompts me to reflect on the authenticity of my life and whether I am living in alignment with my values and aspirations.

It urges us to examine if our choices and actions are driven by our own inner compass or if they are influenced by external pressures and societal norms. By pondering this question, we can gain a deeper understanding of ourselves and make conscious decisions that align with our true selves.”

“When I get to the end of my days will I look back and say ‘Hell, yes this was a good life.’”

This last one catches me short.

It’s then I realize that my three amigos aren’t a male bed companion at all. 

They are 90-year-old me.

A voice from the future.

Old, wrinkled, too tired or aching to do much more than sit in a rocking chair – and she’s scared. 

She’s scared that I’ve been living my life on a kind of autopilot and time is running out.

“Wake up,” she screams.