Phobias

We are all afraid of something whether we admit to it or not.  And whether we harbor rational or irrational fears, there is a delicate line that some of us walk on a day to day basis.  This is the line between fear and phobia. 

Before delving much further, let me provide some background on the inspiration for this post.  I had been at work not even an hour this morning when I heard some very distinct buzzing coming from one of the light fixtures in our office.  For whatever reason, we always have had issues with bugs, mainly flies, getting into our office via the light fixtures.  So I look up, and to my absolute abject horror I see that it's not a fly up there making the buzzing, but a huge wasp.  Let me also preface this by saying that I have a huge, slightly irrational and completely consuming fear of bees, wasps, yellow jackets, anything that buzzes, flies, and has a stinger.  

So, here I am sitting at my desk with this giant wasp ready to dive bomb me at any moment.  The ceilings in our office are about 15 feet high so there was no way I could just swat him and put an end to my misery.  Instead I had to sit there and watch and he crawled in and around the light fixture, flew from one end of the room to another, and crawled along the wall.  There was absolutely no way I could concentrate on anything work related.  My eyes were glued to this wasp, watching his every move and ready to bolt as soon as he made a move toward me.  

The end result of this tale is that eventually the little devil's spawn finally landed on a window (mine, of course), and I smashed him with my shoe.  This is not the first time I have had to defend myself against these evil, evil creatures and it likely won't be the last.  What worries me is that the more and more I am pitted against them, the stronger my fear of them becomes.  Don't they usually say exposure to the things that scare you help you to cure, or at least lessen the fear? 

I decided to do some minor non-scholarly research to see if my fear of flying, stinging creatures might actually be a phobia.  Some of the symptoms for phobias include:  the need to escape, sweating, heart palpitations, nausea or abdominal discomfort, shortness of breath, feeling lightheaded, and so on, and so on.  While examining the symptoms on the list was interesting, it really didn't bring me any closer to discovering the truth.  Everything listed was rather generic, not too specific, and overall could be applied to a number of situations.  However, I examined some of the differences between everyday anxieties and phobias and found that to be a bit more helpful.  I'll highlight one example. 

Everyday anxiety:  Feeling queasy while climbing a tall ladder. 
Phobia:  Not attending your friend's wedding because it's on the 25th floor of a hotel. 

Okay, the difference between the two is duly noted.  People with phobias will go out of their way to avoid situations involving the person/place/thing they are afraid of, and if they are forced to endure the stimulus they do so with great distress.  Given the example above, it is highly unlikely that I have a full blown phobia, but I would say on the everyday anxiety scale I am scoring pretty much off the charts.  After I smashed that evil wasp with my shoe, my hand was trembling so bad I couldn't hardly tie my shoelace.  My stomach is still in knots almost three hours later, and any little sound from the light fixtures makes me jerk my head up to see what kind of killer insect is waiting to descend on me next.  

I am definitely walking the fine line between fear and phobia.  Of course, knowing this does not make my irrational fear any easier to deal with.  So as the summer months progress and as the temperatures increase, I have a feeling I will be forced to ward off these inhuman terrorists time and time again.  Unless conditions improve, I might just start working from home.      

Sisters, big and little

I am a big sister.  I have been a big sister since I was four years old, and I will be a big sister for the rest of my life.  I remember when my baby sister was brought home from the hospital and I sat on the sofa in our living room while she was gently placed in my arms.  I was cautious, careful, and gentle with this little creature, treating this bundle of a baby like she was made out of porcelain.

Being a big sister was not always easy or fun.  I'm sure the same can be said of being a little sister.  During sleepovers with my friends there was always a little voice, a little girl, who wanted to play outside with us, play checkers with us, and watch movies with us.  At times I thought of her presence as annoying, but when it was just the two of us, just me and my little sister, I was always so grateful for a constant companion to ride bikes, to go swimming, or to play catch in the backyard.

Being a big sister made me a natural protector.  I wanted so badly to protect my younger sister from thoughtless taunts and mean words, from failure and from tears.  And yet, there were times as a big sister when I thoughtlessly caused pain during the adolescent fights that all siblings go through.  

Being a big sister meant I observed and watched.  I watched as the little baby who I once held so carefully in my arms grew up.  I observed as she excelled at everything from softball, to piano, to showing animals at the county fair.  I watched her transform from a quiet little girl into a strikingly mature young woman.  The years of our young lives passed with by with countless laughs and a million hugs, recorded forever in photographs and remembered always by the two of us.  

When my sister and I finally lived in the same town again, I never knew our relationship would continue to grow, both as friends and as work colleagues.  I didn't realize how much I would grow to depend on her, to value her input and seek her advice.  Having her so close these past few years, it was easy to imagine that nothing had to change. 

When my sister decided to move away, to seek her professional destiny on the other side of the state, we started to make plans for new adventures.  Yet even through all the job applications, resume drafts and interviews, I never completely believed she was really going to leave.  Even as the months on the calendar fell away, even as the weeks began to dwindle, even as the days became fewer and fewer, I thought maybe, just maybe, nothing really has to change.

When I became a big sister, I never knew I would treasure it so much.  When I saw my sister's face for the first time, I never knew she would one day become the best friend I have ever had.  As we grew up together in a house nestled between golden wheat fields, I never knew that one day I would look up to her, would admire her for so many qualities I feel are lacking in myself. 

As I watch my little sister prepare to start a new chapter, to open a door to new adventures, I feel a pang of sadness and wonder if we will ever be this close again, both geographically and emotionally.  I wonder also what the future holds....both for her and for myself.

Being a big sister is not always easy, and it's not always fun.  Sometimes there are fights, annoyances, and sibling unrest.  But sometimes there are late night talks and memorable road trips, inside jokes, and a confidant who will always keep your secrets.  Being a big sister means having a partner in crime, someone who will finish your sentences and who will always watch Lifetime movies with you.  Being a big sister means there will always be another person who knows how your heart is hurting when you both lose someone you love.   

Being a big sister has meant a lot of things to me over the years.  And now, as my little sister fills her moving boxes and makes plans for a new life in a new city, it means I have to see beyond my own sadness, my own insecurities, and offer her nothing but well wishes and unwavering support.

Sometimes, being a big sister means you have no choice but to say goodbye.       

Classic Nickelodeon

I don’t watch a lot of children’s television anymore, for obvious reasons.  I’m 26, I don’t have kids, and I have a husband which means I watch (sometimes against my will) a fair amount of sports programming.  ESPN even has its own special button on our remote.  All this aside, I am somewhat aware of the program choices out there for kids today and I have to say that I feel sorry for them.  I mean, I’m sure they believe what they are watching is just about the coolest thing ever, but guess what?

They are wrong. 

Travel back with me if you will to the early 90’s.  These were the years that encompassed of the bulk of my childhood and were also one of the best times in recent history to be a kid…..that is, of course, we are gauging “best times” solely on TV programming.  What made this possible you may ask?  Oh, you know, just a little network called Nickelodeon. 

I firmly believe that Nickelodeon was ahead of its time in the quality of shows it offered to the youth of America.  Compare any of the classic Nickelodeon shows to what kids see today and the differences are blatantly obvious.  In terms of quality, the 90’s has current day television beat by a long shot.  Quite the bold statement, isn't it?  The shows of classic Nickelodeon, while still at times a bit silly (they were for kids, after all), had a level of maturity to them that is missing from TV today.  Okay, maybe maturity isn’t exactly the correct word.  I mean, a lot of classic Nickelodeon’s legacy is tied up in the pouring of green slime over unsuspecting victims.  But the old Nick shows had something…..some special element that is flat out missing from the shows of today.  

Most people look back fondly on the shows of their youth.  Haven’t you ever heard your parents talk fondly about the old shows they used to watch, don’t we ourselves hold a special place in our hearts for what we used to watch growing up?  I don’t think this happens very often as we get older, but during those carefree childhood years the TV shows we become involved in will make a lasting impression on us, will stay with us into adulthood, and essentially become a part of our own personal histories.  

An example.  As I’ve stated many times before I am a confirmed horror junkie.  I love to be scared, I love a good mystery, and for me it doesn’t get any better than curling up on the couch, turning off the lights, and indulging in a scary movie.  I can’t pinpoint exactly when my fascination with the macabre occurred, but I do know that as a kid Nickelodeon gave me a show that without a doubt further increased my love of the dark side.  “Are You Afraid of the Dark?” was, in my humble opinion, a pure genius of a show.  A group of kids knows as the Midnight Society gather around a campfire and do their best to scare each other silly with ghost stories.  As the person is telling the story, it is subsequently being acted out for the viewer.  The intro to the show was delightfully creepy, which you can view here.  And the stories themselves are utterly fantastic.  Watching these same episodes as an adult I still find myself getting freaked out.  I don’t think there has ever been another show on TV like “Are You Afraid of the Dark?” that can match the caliber of the original.  I encourage all of you to go to You Tube right now and watch an episode.  Just keep in mind that the show is designed for kids so the acting caliber isn’t going to be superb, but the stories themselves are what really make this show work.  Isn’t it funny how it always comes back to the story?

While I won’t go into too much detail on some of my other favorites, including but not limited to “Clarissa Explains it All” (I so wanted to be her), “Salute Your Shorts”, “Hey Dude”, “Welcome Freshmen”, “The Adventures of Pete & Pete”, “Ren & Stimpy".....we could be here all day. 

We always like to think that our generation got it right.  Clothing, cars, TV, you name it and we will claim at some point in our lives to have done it better than anyone else.  But in the case of classic childrens television, the early 90's have it in the bag.  Nickelodeon has always been a fantastic network for kids, but during the golden age of programming referenced above it's hard to imagine how they could have done any better.  I still look back on these shows fondly, and watching old episodes is like a wonderful little trip through time.  And I'll say it again, I feel sorry for kids today because they are really missing out.

The classics of anything will never die, and I sincerely hope that these shows are soon revived in reruns or made more accessible on DVD.  Given the quality of most television shows today, I for one would rather spend my time watching 90's Nickelodeon.  And yes, I realize that statement officially brings me one step closer to sounding "old."     

Injured Reserve

One of my co-workers recruited my husband and me to play on a co-ed softball team.  Having come from a mostly fast pitch background I find switching to slow pitch can sometimes be a challenge, even though just about everyone assumes it would be a lot easier.  But, despite my initial reservations, Dean and I added our names to the roster and now every Sunday evening our athletic talents are on display at the city play fields.

My first game went very well.  No big defensive plays in the field, but my hitting was extremely on the mark (much to my pleasant surprise).  Sprinting around the bases felt amazingly good, even if it left me a bit winded, and jogging to the outfield each inning while inhaling the smell of warm grass reminded me of something.  

I have really missed this game. 

This past Sunday I was actually looking forward to our game.  My arm was feeling a bit more in control (after a couple years of not playing catch those first few throws felt terribly foreign), and I was looking forward to more base running and maybe even chasing down some gappers in the outfield.  So finally game time rolls around, and I prepare to make my first appearance at the plate.  I let the first pitch go by.....it was way too deep.  The second pitch comes floating toward me, I swing, see a ground ball go racing between the short stop and third base, throw my bat on the ground and take my first step to go tearing down the first base line.  

I can't even really describe what happened next.  I was setting off to run, and felt a pop in my left quadriceps.  I tried to run, and found I could only hobble.  I urged my right leg forward, trying to force my left leg to pick up the pace.  But there was such a pain in my quad it was all I could do to finish my trek to first base (safe, by the way).  

I stood on the base and tried to stretch my leg a bit, expecting the tight, sore feeling in my quad to gradually fade away.  But damn, it sure hurt.  As the next batter launched a line shot into the outfield I tried to run to second base.....and still found I could only hobble.  This was more or less my status for the remainder of the game, and while my leg actually began to feel slightly better the more I moved around, I was nowhere near 100%.  I had officially pulled a muscle. 

This might not sound like a big deal to anyone who has ever played sports.  Pulled muscles happen all the time, in every single sport.  Except, they have never happened to me.  I have never pulled or sprained anything in my life.  I have never not been at 100% and unable to run, jump, dive, slide, you get the picture.  Sitting at home that night with ice on my leg, feeling the tightness in the muscle and my inability to walk like a normal person, I realized that jumping back into the whole "athlete" scene wasn't going to be as easy as it used to be.  I was going to have to dedicate a lot more time to stretching, warming up, and all those other things that I used to do but sometimes only halfheartedly.  I always took for granted to fact that I never seemed to get injured or have major aches and pains.  This limited mobility I now faced was not my cup of tea. 

Is this a sign that my age is catching up with me?  Like most people I have always just assumed that I would always be young and able to do the things I have always been able to do.  Is the universe's way of telling me that my theory is flawed?

Today I will subsequently spit in the universe's face.  I refuse to let a little pulled muscle keep me down, which is why I plan on running this afternoon.  Probably no sprinting quite yet, but my goal is to hopefully be free of the tightness in my leg by Sunday.  

And yes, from now on I will probably take a few extra minutes to give the quads a good stretch before each game.  And yes, if my leg starts to ache while running I will probably scratch a mile or two off my workout.  I guess sometimes when the universe talks we have no choice but to listen.