I am, by nature, an empathizer. If you tell me about your bad back or your daughter’s loser boyfriend or your son’s lack of ability to turn in his homework, I am going to nod understandingly and tell you I know just how you feel. I am going to pat you and encourage you to give yourself some grace, and then I am going to try to make you laugh.
When it is me, though, who is feeling frantic about the fact that I am 47 and working full time and taking Geology and Geography (have yet to crack this book btw) and this godawfulhard Math class and keep up with ALLMYSHOWS, I really struggle with it. I am, at any given moment, about equal parts FREAKEDRIGHTOUT and perfectly calm.
Same with all the medical stuff…either in a mental fetal position envisioning my theoretical funeral or just fiiiiiiiiiiiiine, depending on the moment, depending on the last Google search on ‘positive FOBT no symptoms colon cancer.’ And, trust me, folks get onto me all the time about all the googling going on over here. JUST STOP WORRYING ABOUT IT. How many times have I heard that?
About a zillion times is how many times.
But here’s the thing. Telling someone whose job it is to stop thinking about the theoretical medical things that may or may not be going on in her innards, and whose job it also is to GOOGLE STUFF ABOUT MEDICAL STUFF, is like telling a carpenter to stop thinking about wood things. or sawing. hammers.
Not possible.
But just because I am thinking and googling doesn’t mean I don’t have faith that whatever the outcome is, I will be fine and finely taken care of…
Where was I going with this.
Oh, this math class.
I tend to think I am the only moron who is sitting there trying desperately to look like I have one clue in the world about this guy Polya and his infamous book on problem solving or that theory on number series 1, 3, 5, 7…
I mean, last night, I was sitting there, smushed in this desk, HAVING A HOT FLASH for crying out loud, probably the color of a nice ripe watermelon, readers perched cutely on my nose, hoping the sweat that was pouring down my back wasn’t getting my shirt wet, and I was nodding knowingly, like I knew exactly what the next number in the the series 1, 5, 18, 32, 98 would be. Ah yes, 102.
I didn’t have a single clue. She could have been speaking Mandarin.
But appearances!
Don’t look stupid!
Don’t look like you don’t know ALL THESE THINGS.
I don’t know that I’d really allowed myself to survey my classmates to that point, and there are only 9 of us anyway…but to that point, I had been purely focused on eye contacting Mrs. Hillyard and making her fully believe that I was GETTING ALL OF IT.
Then she gave us two problems and broke us up into three groups. Me, the cute little dark-haired girl (Nellie) who is Casey’s age, and THANKFULLY someone roughly in my age demographic (Lisa). We wrote the problem down and huddled our tiny little desks together…and for the first time made real eye contact.
And imagine my COMPLETE AND UTTER GLEE when I saw that her eyes, too, had that crazy panicky look that I had been trying so hard not to let come out of mine!
Even the young cute one had it.
NOT JUST ME.
HOOOOORAYYYYY.
And in that moment, I knew that it was going to be okay.
I am going to be just fine.