Man, this has been a loaded couple of weeks since last we spoke. I have never been so anxious to tell a story, while having no idea exactly what to say about it. It’s like the total package for story, bodily injury coupled with serious anxiety. What could be better?

It’s funny how often things happen and if you didn’t know better, you’d think they are for a purpose, some kind soul education, keeping you on the path you were always meant to follow. The confluence of a body breakdown, in the form of badly banged up knees, coupled with massive anxiety about a pending trip were the perfect storm, an experiential gumbo that would not go down easy, sneaking back up into my throat, leaving me gasping for emotional air.

A number of months ago, I began to freak out over arrangements that needed to be made for my grandson’s Bar Mitzvah in Weehawken, NJ. Long before that, I decided making an ass of myself in my writing was just perfect. I also happen to think that self-deprecating humor is something we are always free to do. I am not even sure why I bring this up now, seriously. OK, that’s not true. If I can’t make fun of myself, after all these years, I’ve learned absolutely nothing along the way.

When I was much younger, the pirate in me became increasingly unsettled walking the gang plank of tomorrow’s uncertainty. I had a pretty good run. There are enough super heroes in the world, who do unimaginable feats, but i am definitely not one of them. I had this implacable optimism about the future and never thought about endings, other than my own.

Even before I screwed up my knees, I was really beginning to feel terribly uncomfortable inside. My trip to NJ was going to involve a number of firsts and as one who loves the predictable, this was going to be a series of tests. I think you might have to be older to appreciate how seemingly small things can explode in size, becoming mountains to climb.

Upon landing in Newark Airport, I had to Uber(a first) to my Air BnB(another first), transportation and location both feeling like choking enigmas to me. I downloaded the app for Uber weeks before leaving and prayed it would work when I needed it, facing abandonment in its absence. Yes, I got to where I needed to be, but for weeks prior, I was not brimming with confidence.

A car was rented for me, which was located in a secret spot, hidden from the airport. Picking it up wasn’t the concern, it was driving on the NJ Turnpike to various destinations, using Google Maps to guide me, another crapshoot in my mind. Driving the Turnpike loomed like a Top Gun experience

You know, when I evaporated to Kauai, everything became so incredibly simple. My world had shrunken to the borders of this little treasure in the middle of the Pacific. I have been aware of my burgeoning propensity to repeat my daily patterns, often feeling like a bona fide Rain Man. Now, I had to deal with going back to a world I had long ago left behind. When I left NYC in my early forties, I felt like a life explorer, the only boundaries, my imagination. It was a long time ago.

For weeks prior to leaving, I felt like I was choking on all the uncertainties I’d have to contend with. I kept thinking about all the things that could go wrong, leaving me in the middle of nowhere with no idea what to do next. It has been my experience that whatever you leave for last, is usually first. In my case, it was dealing with family, stories I simply can’t share, because that’s not my style. 

So, here I am, grappling with a trip and its myriad ramifications and the icing on the emotional cake is banging up my knees very badly, weeks before leaving. I helped a guy start his Harley by pushing him, so he could jump start his over-priced, tribute to branding, known as the Harley Davidson. I got him started, but slammed my knees on the pavement in the process.

I am sleeping like shit, worrying about everything that could possibly go wrong on my trip to NJ. Now, I have an injury and it is pretty bad. I went to Urgent Care twice, both times assured it was going to be OK and would take some time to heal. Many of you can’t possibly understand that healing takes far longer when you are older. So, the longer it takes, the more you get concerned about the severity of the injury, because we are so accustomed quicker healing. What happens? You worry the injury has to be worse than the doctor’s assessment, because it just isn’t getting any better. It must be worse than the original evaluation.

The screaming testimony to my suffocating anxiety was a 4:30AM visit to the ER, convinced my heart was caught up in the worry. The non-healing injury, coupled with the outrageous pressure of leaving my maze of repetitious familiarity, were the culprits of my discomfort. Surprise, I was fine!

Well, I am back from climbing my emotional Everest and finally able to do my Zen sit in a half-Lotus position. The story here is not how things ultimately turned out, rather it’s the absolute, senseless self-torture of grappling with the unknown, things beyond my control. 

I have no problem being an idiot, an embarrassment to myself, which much of this story feels like in hindsight. Receding back into my maze, having learned nothing from all this, would put me on par with the intellect of a mouse. It is easy to pay confident, lip service to what we haven’t experienced, but the possibility of true learning can only come from living it. I have been in school for at least a month and I’d like to think of this confession as my education.

Meanwhile, I can’t seem to find that damn slice of camembert, no matter where I look. Oh shit, I ate it before I left for NJ.