Bismillah ir Rahman ir Raheem

I recently saw the movie Arrival.

It might have been the toddler-free experience. In fact, the everyone-free experience. (I was alone. And. It. Was. WONDERFUL.) It might have been the rave reviews everyone gave it.

But really, I think it was just a flipping wonderful movie.

That is also about grief.

Would I choose to do it all again?

I’ve been thinking about that a lot. If I knew what was going to happen, would I have married? Would I have had a child?

Now that I think of it, my anxiety disorder is essentially the terror of not knowing. Of being caught off-guard by humiliation, hunger, any number of negative emotions I wasn’t quite expecting at that moment.

So perhaps knowing would help me savor the good times and brace for the bad.

Maybe we can all do that anyway. Except we savor the good times that help us brace for the bad.

Maybe the bad times aren’t as bad as we think they are. Because they are simply the ebb and flow of life. And the good times are just wonderful. Because why shouldn’t they be?

I’m trying to disconnect from the stories I tell myself. Which all end in me going crazy. No, seriously. Not even kidding. I’m done with the anger and the frustration.

I’m going to let the emotions pass because I know they are going to be replaced by another. And I’m just going to be.

That’s how I want to deal with grief. With so much emotional baggage. And with joy too. Unexpected. Lurking in every corner.