How to not have problems

“That sounds like a problem.”

I had plans, big plans, vacations, reunions, and new adventures. Things were booked but I’d been a soggy heap for the past month. Coalescing into a more-or-less-capable-human shape was exhausting. I was sweating to keep that shape together for my work week, and I was consistently failing. I needed a ladder, some rope, or better yet a jet pack to get out of this deep, dark well. 

The tool I found was a mantra. “That sounds like a problem, and you know what I don’t have? Problems.” It was a transporter beam that pulled me away from the suffocating sadness and plopped me back in the moment. 

“Rabbit-hole of regrets”

Whenever I’d spy a rabbit-hole of regrets and start to climb inside I’d suddenly remember “I don’t have problems” and like that I was yanked back into the world. If I stumbled upon some memory, realizing the treachery of his pretty words, I’d think, “That sounds like a problem,” then I’d spin on my heel and dance away.

“over-spending, manic laughter, and outrageous flirting.”

It was meant to be a fix for a few weeks. A band-aid while the raw wounds considered healing and I went on vacation. I knew the over-spending, manic laughter, and outrageous flirting that this mantra unpacked were too pretty and unsustainable. 

What I didn’t realize was how perfect and brittle the problem-less world would feel. It was its own cycle, a tumbling marionette act, repetitive and so-so delicate. It shifted my focus from the aching loss to these breathless stilted movements that somehow pulled me along. 

Three shiny, frantic months passed like this before the panic attacks descended.