I may have just stumbled into a bit of insight about myself. Now on something of a mad dash to leave no stone unturned in finding someone to rent or farm the land, I discovered several pages of people looking for different farmland related properties. A divorced dad wants a place for his daughter to be able to play with her horse. A family wants to get away from their shitty school system. People want to raise all kinds of animals or build something reminiscent from their youth.
In the “click every link” strategy you find all of the poorly laid out after-thought websites that act as classifieds. From the page you’re sure hasn’t been updated in 12 years, but you still post to just in case, to the page that’s probably the standard bearer despite being clunky and buggy at best, peeking into everyone’s world caused me a moment that happens so rarely, I decided to try and speak to it now.
The current crisis is the “irrational” anxiety that has my blood pressure and heart rate skyrocketing. I’ve been searching for a way to approach it or describe it so that the next time I get a cuff put on me, it’s the last thing on my mind. Obsessing and manipulating my body for artificial fixes proves unhelpful. I switched to actively searching to do or think about anything else in order to push the thought to the back of my mind. Something I’m historically bad at, so I figured in the spirit of practice, no time like now to try.
While that had some effect, I still test myself to see if the feeling arises when I get reminded about the impending fateful moment. While I could feel the tension rising, I started to read an ad from a woman who wasn’t interested in considering small plots, had money to burn on any improvements the land would need, and just carried a tone of possibly justified pretension. By the end of her post, for a moment, the rest of my life with the potential to be like her set upon my chest.
I felt being so rich and so direct that nothing could excite me anymore. She can’t possibly feel like her whole life rides on anything. She’s playing with numbers and refining her attitude. And for a split second, I felt like her, and the tension immediately dissipated. I got bored with myself. I saw what happens after I’ve traveled everywhere, put my hand in every honey pot, and still didn’t manage to save the world. I looked at my rich friends and knew there was little we could do but hunker down or move if Hitler 2 ruined the country. I felt old and tired and set.
It speaks to the tricky nature of anxiety. Will that moment reassure and save me when the time comes? Even writing this I struggle to feel as desperate as I did. What was I really scared of? That I actually mattered or had some awesome individual storied life to lead? Who am I the day years from now I’m writing the post “No little guys need apply, prefer to only spend 250-300 thousand, will supply own alpacas.”
The anxiety is tied not to monetary concerns, but the idea that I’d never be useful or perhaps something different. Farming isn’t different. Having more money than you really know what to do with isn’t either. Different seems a commitment to using your ideas and resources to bettering the environment for everyone. The idea of being stuck terrifies me. The idea that I could spend so much time exploring what’s on my mind, digging up dreams and expectations, excelling at whatever task was put to me, and then because of my stupid heart rate I have to force myself to start considering some form of “normal” life at a slave-adjacent job again?
Of course there’s always options, but I haven’t faced any pressing ones in years. I’m at the same time reintroducing a bit of a time crunch to the genuine prospect of being on the precipice of long term financial security. As far as my body’s concerned, I’ve just got the world on my shoulders and tried developing this habit of dropping it.
These kind of moments are worth talking about because it’s the same kind of thing that has happened when I’ve gotten over (well-enough) heartache. I just got fucking bored with myself. I read enough posts that could have been written by 16 year old me. I got tired of hearing how unbelievably special everyone’s spouse was and how they could possibly do whatever they did to turn horrible. The best thing for me would be to listen to a bunch of complaining and failed dreamers. I suppose condescending rich people might be easier to find and would work as well.
While it’s not just “poof!” and gone (just like any proper heartache), this is the first time I think I’ve found footing on reinstating my generally normal state with regard to getting my blood pressure taken. I suppose we’ll see if the feeling can last or be reinforced. Or, perhaps, lack of feeling. The goal is to become a cold profit-driven actor who seemingly tries to fix the world with his experiments and investments. “The world” and the people in it will ultimately have to save themselves, because there’s plenty of money and cliched brains out there that aren’t doing shit but getting by. That infinite well from which to draw resolve will hopefully suit me in the short term.
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