It’s a saying we’ve all heard time and time again be it from a friend, a teacher, or a dead grandma, “Don’t sweat the small stuff”. A flowery little sentiment that reminds us all to keep our chins up and refrain from turning into puddles of Alex Mack when life’s little turds hit the fan.
Luckily for me, I was born with severely handicapped armpit glands which function at the 1st grade reading-level equivalent of perspiration. That’s right fellas, this lady is rockin’ some Gobi Desert-grade pits! Aside from obvious perks, like saving money on deodorant and constantly smelling like a dozen roses, I literally don’t sweat the small stuff because my pits simply can’t!
As a LWDNL (Lady Who Does Not Leak), I will bravely admit that despite my sweat-free pits, I am all-too-often plagued with severe anxiety and fancy myself a part-time Professional Worrier! To help you better understand the inner workings of my mind, I’ve made a few helpful info graphics.
On a good day, my emotional “Resting State” is this:
The naïvely optimistic, cucumber-cool, Dory from the beloved Disney classic Finding Nemo*. Typically, I’ll chill with a Dory brain for 5 or 10 minutes at a time; at peace with the world and everything in it. That is, until I’m gently reminded that time is an arbitrary concept, conceived by mankind to help us prioritize all the things we need to accomplish before we ultimately rot to death. This, my friends, is how Dory dies.
Things that kill Dory:
“You’re an actor? How do you deal with ALL that rejection?”- Strangers
“You didn’t get a callback.”-My agent
Anything that Lena Dunham, Taylor Swift or Tavi Gevenson create.
The now rotten avocado I bought yesterday (for 1 million dollars) when it was hard as a rock.
“I’ve lived in Chicago for 4 years”-Me to every Über driver.
“You don’t know HOW to drive?”-Every Über driver to me.
Pulling out a single white hair from my head.
“When you are going to get married?”- My aunt Maureen
“You should go to grad school! You can move back in with me!” My mom .
“Why don’t you do a one woman show? It’s so easy!”-My dad .
And so, it is at this point that my brain dives into panic-mode a.k.a.
The Venn Diagram of Heebie Jeebies:
Just last week, I Shelly Duvall'd over whether to order a Caramel Macchiato or an Oprah Chai Latte while waiting in line at Starbucks; so don’t EVEN get me started on the question “Where do you see yourself in 5 years?”!
The heebie-jeebies or “HJs” (as I would like to call them, but should probably refrain from doing so, for obvious reasons) can strike at any moment and when they do, I must attempt to stay Dory. So the next time I come face-to-face with the heebie-jeebies, I’ll metaphorically slip into my favorite Lululemon yoga pants, breathe, and trust that if I just keep swimming everything will eventually be alright.
Or if it’s not, at least I can always blog about it.