As I mentioned previously, I’m not exactly a stranger to the idea of a long-term sabbatical. I find removing myself from the ceaseless rat race that capitalism foists on as as the only option available to comfortable living to be a welcomed renewal. More people ought to do it, and the over-worked American society would do well to take my example–this is an uphill battle, I realize, as we can barely rationalize even a week’s vacation as a society.
But I may have neglected to fully explain just how married I am to structure, and just how much I end up flailing about when I am outside of its firm embrace–and flailing I have been. Two nights this week I’ve woken up (earlier than even I typically like) in a cold sweat, worried that something or other needs to be done before some other whosit can whatchamacallit before the thing can happen. Gotta send an email to that guy so those other people aren’t waiting for me because everyone depends on everyone else around here, soldier! (Side note: I would’ve flourished in the military. It’s their goddamn loss that they were so fucking hostile to homosexuality up until the very, very recent past. All that structure, all those uniforms?) It’s not been easy.
Over these past few days since taking this path, I’ve had to remind myself on multiple occasions that I’m just fine, I’m not being chased by a tiger. I’ve had to consciously slow my heart-rate, slow my breathing. Let the pause wash over me, rather than knock me down and take me out to sea. Everything’s okay, Steve; just relax. Always easier said than done, but my therapist assures me that the less stress in my life, the less cortisol in my system, the easier things will become. But here I am, apparently going into withdrawal, generating stress out of thin air.