I’m so sorry to do another Substack Saturday about doctors appointments and hikes, but now that I’m a full time writer, when I’m not writing, this is how I spend my days. My new hobbies, if you will. Plus all the writing is making me dig deeper into my psyche and that causes my anxiety to manifest in physical form so I need to hike and see doctors. It’s like an Ouroboros - a snake eating its own tail. Because then I write about it. On Tuesdays, I see my therapist. It was finally warm this past Tuesday, weather-wise and I was able to bust out my favorite thing in the entire world… jean shorts. My therapist said she liked my jean shorts when I dramatically walked in all bare-leggy and I delighted in her recognizing their greatness, because jean shorts feel like summer, feels like freedom. She asked me how I was feeling and I said, “I am a full spectrum rainbow of every emotion. From devastated all the way to ecstatic.” “Good, she said. That means you’re alive, feeling all your feelings.” Then she taught me a mindless game. Wait no, opposite… She taught me a technique, a way to get into the ever elusive thing the over-culture is always talking about these days. “Mindfulness”. Here’s it is: Reflect upon your day, and write down five things that you remember from it. Then write five feeling each of these memories evoked. As she explained this, obsessive thoughts wormed into my mindfulness and took over: What would I remember in a day? What would stick out enough for me to write it down at the end, in a general sense? Memory is so weird and fickle and days and experiences tend to just blur together. I bet if I saw a snake I’d remember it. If I saw a snake I would definitely remember it and write it down at the end of the day. And it would make me feel some type of way, though I’m not exactly sure what. And if I touched a snake, I would REALLY remember that. Whoa, imagine seeing and then touching a snake. That would be crazy… She was still talking about mindfulness and all I could think about was touching a snake, but it was so weird, I said nothing. After therapy I went to a doctor’s appointment. I had to get an ultra-sound for my umbilical hernia. The doctor creeped me out, his vibe felt off, he was too quiet. I laid on the crunchy white paper with my shirt hiked up, while he splooged clear goo onto my belly from a plastic container. I focused on the little constellation of raised moles in a variety of sizes on top of his bald head as I felt my whole being tense up. It dawned on me just how terrified I am of men, but the moles made him seem almost vulnerable. We were alone in this sad, cramped, low ceiling’d room and I prayed he wasn’t an actual sadist as he pushed his scanning device, a little harder than I would have liked, into my soft flesh. I’m afraid of men and I’m even more afraid of doctors and his silence was eternal, but when he spoke, I was surprised by his kind tone. He said, “There’s nothing here. Nothing at all.” Then he turned the screen to face me and showed me what lies just beneath my skin. Tissue, fat, and muscle, all in a neat layer like a flawless lasagna. “No hernia,” he continued. “What’s wrong with me then?” I asked, half relieved, half dismayed. He didn’t respond, but he’d proven himself to be an awkwardly silent man. Afterwards I felt a little excited that I could workout, as I’ve been afraid to rip myself open any further, but now I knew I wasn’t ripped. Not ripped due to exercise OR lack of exercise, funny how many meanings “ripped” has, and also I was not torn. Not physically, at least. So I drove to Fryman canyon, because I was in the valley, and I parked and began walking up the paved fire road wondering if I should continue my quest to try to unearth what’s wrong with me. Or maybe just let it go for now, seeing as all my blood work is healthy, and I feel good, and now that I know I’m not herniated, it doesn’t feel weird anymore in my stomach area. The brain is so powerful, I really felt fragile and tender when I considered my bellybutton herniated but now thought of my strength, while reminiscing on that nice lasagna layer, keeping all my organs neatly tucked within. Deep in thought, I suddenly came upon a man standing before me with a snake on his arm. I’m afraid of men and I’m afraid of snakes so I stopped dead in my tracks but managed to find my voice as I said, “Hello sir. Is that a snake on your arm?” I thought about continuing with, or are you happy to see me? Not wanting to give the wrong impression, I managed to withhold that last bit. “Why yes,” he answered. “A baby gardener snake.” “I thought I might see a snake today,” I said. “In fact I was sort of hoping I might.” “I was also hoping to see a snake today,” he responded as the little serpent slithered around his extended appendage. Near him on the ground, was a long black pole with a shiny silver metal rod on the end, bent into an L shape. A snake handlers stick, I suppose. He told me he was a snake guy, and had just been in the jungle looking for them. He told me his name was Tim. He seemed kind and gentle, but then so do a lot of murderers. He asked if I wanted to touch it. I quickly decided I should make myself. Giddy, but freaked out, I gingerly extended my pointer finger as he held the head of the mysterious creature so I could run my tentative, manicured digit lightly along its backside. It was as smooth as touching velvet while high on Molly. “What do snakes mean to you?” I asked. “Snakes are wildly misunderstood. They’re beautiful, gentle creatures. And I love how clean they are, because they shed their skin.” “Snakes remind me of death and rebirth,” I said. “And I like that. It’s soothing.” While I was in this moment I felt I was simultaneously back in my therapist’s office thinking of what might be relevant in a day. It was all so surreal that I couldn’t quite separate the two moments as being on different parts of the timeline. Perhaps I was also dying and being reborn right then and I pondered the illusory concept of time. I left Tim and his snake friend and continued my hike in a bit of a daze, and at the bottom I saw a sign with a drawing of a dolphin on it reminding the world to not throw plastic into the storm drain because it will go into the ocean and hurt these playful mammals. I really considered this deeply and suddenly I was weeping, openly and heavily, thinking about all the plastic in the ocean and all the sea life being smoldered and suffocated. Though, I guess I always cry when I think about the bottom of the ocean, it’s just so overwhelming. I really understood right then that whatever you focus on is what you feel. We can move our focus around, shift our gaze and our emotions will change. I felt sad about the dolphins and the ocean, but also, maybe I don’t have to carry that. I don’t have to hold that sadness always, I can let it go. And maybe I don’t always know what’s scary or bad or good or right or sick or healthy. Maybe I mostly don’t know anything and everyone is misunderstood and I need to stop thinking I can just go around deciding shit all the time. Because there was a fifth thing that left an imprint on my mind. Something that seemed scary and then I forced myself to be brave and discovered it to be safe. But I can’t say what, as I do need to keep some things in my life private, just for me. At the end of the day, I wrote down five things I remembered, and the five ways they made me feel. Then I sat and let the rainbow of emotions that each conjured wash over me. And most of all, I felt grateful to be alive. 1. I touched a snake Scared, excited, wondrous, hopeful, open 2. I don’t have a hernia Relieved, strong, confused, lighter, curious 3. I wore jean shorts Free, ecstatic, hopeful, optimistic, sunny 4. The plastic in the ocean is hurting our sea creature friends Grief, sadness, hopeless, overwhelmed, amazed 5. *Omitted for privacy* Validated, surprised, awestruck, horny, proud Follow my Instagram! (Pics of Tim and his snake friend live here!) You’re currently a free subscriber to HollyWould . For only six bucks a month, you could upgrade to paid!
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