My Internal Argument

6/28/2012

This is something I wrote for myself in an an attempt to try and figure out what was holding me back from clearly a beautiful trip to the Bahamas. I'm happy to say that in the end I went, the trip was fabulous and the resort and beach - breathtaking!

I sit at the breakfast table alone with my cold coffee staring at the brochure that Jeff had ever so casually left for me to see.  The brochure was touting a trip to the Bahamas with deluxe accommodations at a resort on a pink sand beach.  The pictures of the beach and the resort property is appealing, of that there is no doubt.  

When I said I was alone at the table, that wasn’t entirely true.  I was sitting with my near constant companions – fear and anxiety.  They’d been with me for years and though I had been in therapy for years (and I do mean that literally) there they sat.   They were burdens I carried with me day after day, heavy on my shoulders and burrowed deep in my mind.

It’s not that I didn’t want to go to a fancy resort and pretend that I was Bo Derek as I lounged near the ocean.  It was the plane ride - in a small plane with only one little whirly-girly blade on the front and if it stops you’re screwed, more or less.  

Over the years I had become more willing and able to fly over land, probably because it was just that – terra firma.  If there was a problem, and there never had been, at least you were still going to have dry feet.  Flying over the ocean was a different deal all together.  The trip, in a small plane, takes 90 minutes over the deep blue sea and that was the problem.  A huge problem for me.

To be sure we’d be wearing life vests, have a raft on board and be flying pretty much together with other pilots anxious to be rid of winter, even if just for a few days.  There was just something about being over the ocean, which is way over my head.  I don’t swim and have a fear of water if it’s above my knees.  

While I contemplated my decision to go/not go, I grilled Jeff on proper disaster etiquette.  When and how did you get the raft out of the plane?  As a non-swimmer I wanted to be clear about how I was going to even be able to get in the raft.  Did he expect me to jump?  That hardly seemed likely.  The Nervous Nell in me wanted answers.

I brooded over my decision for a entire day.  The brochure remained in place on the table.  I knew three things for certain: (1) I could delay my decision until there would be no room at “the inn” for us.  If that happened then I would be absolved, in my mind, of denying Jeff this wonderful trip; (2) declining, no that’s not the right word, refusing to go altogether based on any number of made up excuses; but, fear and anxiety not being among them; or (3) pull up my big girl panties, and decide that I was going to go come hell or high water (funny).

I went on the web – whatever did we do before it was invented?  I know we didn’t just drop everything and run to the library and consult with an encyclopedia.  Remember those?  I checked out the resort – pricey but beautiful, read the reviews and knew without a doubt that I/we deserved these few days in paradise.  The cost of the room was way out of my Jeff's comfort zone, not to mention what it was going to cost us in fuel for the plane, rental of life vests and rafts, etc. You get the idea.

In the morning I still hadn’t been able to come up with a decision.  As I was leaving for work, I penned a note on the brochure, “I’m thinking.”  On my way into the office that day I argued with myself.  I knew as did everyone around me, that we deserved this trip.  Everybody needs something to look forward to and unfortunately we usually only looked forward to work and more work (we work full time and run two family businesses on the side – can you say drama).   I argued about the “what if’s”.  What was the worst, the absolute worst, thing that could happen to us?  You already know the answer – we don’t come back.  And, if that were to happen I sure hoped it was on the return trip!  

Once at the office, I polled my co-workers.  Would you go? Even in a small plane over the ocean? The answer was a resounding yes.  Apparently, my co-workers know me almost as well as I know myself.  I showed them the website and several of them said they would be happy to go in my place and would take their chances over the ocean.

I talked to a close friend who doesn’t even like flying commercially and he told me to go.  He, as well as Jeff and I, have both suffered losses in our family that have changed our lives and who we are forever.  He understood my fears and said “go for it.  Everybody needs some happiness now and then.”

I was convinced.  With the picture of the ocean and the pink sand beach on my computer screen, I called Jeff.  All I said was, “Book it Dan-o before I change my mind.”  He took me at my word and made our reservation that day.  As a condition for going, and he would have done it anyway, I asked that the plane be checked from top to bottom – or whirly gig to tail more appropriately.

I have nearly two months before it’s “wheels up” but I’m already on Ebay, which is my all time favorite shopping site, looking for some kind of lacey cover-up which will allow me to embrace my inner Bo Derek as I walk along the beach.  

For now, I have kicked fear and anxiety to the curb, at least as far as this trip is concerned.  Will they return?  Likely, but I’m determined to go anyway.  I’m going to drink something that comes with an umbrella on the side and for just a few days soak my body and soul in the Bahamas sun.