Waking Up from a Thousand What Isn’ts

I’ve been drifting. Drifting beyond this this because there’s a thousand what isn’ts that are a thousand times better or at least more interesting, different, refreshing than this what is.

Confusing? I’m sorry. Please bear with me.

My last post was about present-living, and I suppose this is the sequel nobody wanted. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have my fantasy worlds — past, present, and future versions — to attend to.

I’ve always had a rich fantasy life. My childhood journals prove it, writing myself and my friends and family into elaborate stories eerily reminiscent of Jumanji and Back to the Future. Trapped in my head, wandering the labyrinths, “Walter Mittying” at a moment’s notice.

Someone at dinner the other day caught me dazing beyond my plate. I can’t imagine what I look like when this happens. Walter Mitty, probably. Just standing there. Not blinking. Head tilted a bit. There, but far, far away.

It’s been happening more frequently lately — I just zone out. I forget things more, too. I leave things at my house all the time. Accidentally leave books and shoes and water bottles when I go on trips.

I never used to forget stuff. I was freaking valedictorian. I was the only person in history to claim a perfect impossible 100 on my world history teacher’s 400-question exam.

I’m slipping, guys. My brain. It’s going places.

I need to do more sudoku or something.

So, I’m in counseling for the first time in my life. Have I mentioned that yet? Probably should have started with that.

Yes. Counseling. Or therapy. The former sounds more natural, the latter like I’m a loony tune. Which I am. But you don’t need to know that.

Counseling, therapy — whatever it’s called, it’s huge. Been wanting to take the dive for years. I’ve had numerous friends undergo the process. I trust their testimonies that it’s been vital to their growth.

I’ve had two counseling/therapy sessions thus far, and I go to my third tomorrow. I wish I had some, any juicy details to spill.

Alas. It’s been kinda boring thus far. Basic introductory stuff. Maybe this blog would be juicier if I waited 24 hours.

I have several hopes and goals with counseling. Curbing social anxiety. Increasing confidence. Analyzing addictive behaviors. Building healthier coping skills. Consistently practicing disclosure. Communication. Accountability.

And perhaps above all — staying present. Getting out of my head. Out of the Walter Mitty labyrinth.

Last session, my therapist asked me what I thought of our first session. I told him it was fine. But that afterward I started to wonder when it would get intense. How soon the dirt would start to be dug. How soon the tears would spill into the soil. How soon I’d tell this stranger things I’ve not told another soul in 31+ years.

That’s crazy, right? Having things I’ve never told anyone. Is that normal? Do we all have things we’ve never told another soul? Big things, little things? Lustful things, non-lustful things?

What’s holding us back? Fear? Shame? Time? Basic boundaries of the brain?

I just find it odd for me especially as someone who’s made vulnerability my “brand.” Gosh, do I have coffins of stuff to share. Is there even enough time to unearth a single one?

But back to being present. I find it so difficult. Perhaps my greatest challenge.

I entertain a thousand fantasies on any given day. Many of them “harmless.” Or maybe not. A move to this city. A quick wandering to that one. Staying here in the Blue Ridge the rest of my life. Leaving tomorrow. Old friends, new friends.

Wild scenarios, one after the other, filled with a rotating cast of characters free also to choose their own adventures in response to or in conjunction with my fantastical decisions.

Traveling, as I blogged about last week, helps me stay grounded. Helps me take better action each day and lessens the Walter Mittying.

Returning home, in contrast, sets me afloat. Makes me restless as I drift inward.

Feels backwards, doesn’t it? Shouldn’t I experience more grounding in the place I’m grounded? What even is grounding if I’m not grounded while supposedly grounded?

I’m sorry, I’ve confused you again.

If you’re reading this as my friend, there’s a good chance I’ve fantasized about you. I’m sorry for this as well. I’ve ignored reality and dreamt you to be something you’re not.

I’ve dreamt about a healthier, closer relationship with you.

I’ve dreamt about unhealthy choices with you.

I’ve dreamt about being a better friend.

I’ve dreamt about living nearer you.

I’ve dreamt about living with you.

I’ve dreamt about living far, far away from you.

I’ve dreamt about us no longer in one another’s lives.

I’ve dreamt about your messing it up.

I’ve dreamt about my messing it up.

I’ve dreamt about your ditching me.

I’ve dreamt about my ditching you.

I’ve dreamt about being friends, good friends, best friends the rest of our lives.

Good and bad, I’ve dreamt it all about you. And I’m sorry. It isn’t fair. It’s not reality. It’s not what’s actually on this plate — yours, mine, ours. Today. Here. Now.

This life. I want to make this life better. For you, for me. For us.

Maybe by the end of counseling — will it ever end? — I can wake up from these thousand what isn’ts and live wholly here in this what is.

But until then. I’m staring at this flickering candle before me . . . and I’m Walter Mittying again . . .