I met girlfriends for brunch on Sunday, downtown, gps required. I was late.
I used to be reliable, not on time, early. I was more comfortable planning extra time, rather be early than late.
I could figure out how to run most computer programs on my own.
Jot down a few directions and go.
I’ve flown all over the country and even out of once, alone. Confident, sure I could figure it out, excited at the chance to try. Taken the Tube from a hostel to the theater with a map to meet friends. I was fine. I was free.
Lately I’ve noticed that driving at night makes me anxious. My depth perception is getting worse.
Going downtown, which used to excite me, makes me nervous and often, even with the gps, I make a wrong turn or two, forgetting that street is one way. I’m late, all the time. Count on a good 10 extra minutes, Christina is having a mild panic attack trying to find a place to park. I used to parallel park like a pro. Not anymore, I can in my own car but rarely on the first attempt. If I’m driving Mikes car, I wont even try. I’ll just walk a mile.
It’s been six years since I left my life. The one of comfort and ease, freedom and routine. It seems that with each passing year I loose more and more of my ability to function in what used to be every day situations. I shouldn’t sweat through my shirt wondering if the restaurant is on-street parking.
I’m not sure if there is anything I can “do” about this other than push back. Drive at night anyway, go downtown anyway, etc. I have no plans on not doing these things but I cant lie, I am unhappy here. Not in my bubble as a whole, being home with the boys is all I want for them (for a few more years) but I don’t like that regular, everyday things are becoming events.
Is this aging, GAD, part of being a STAM vs. working full time? I don’t know, but it can hang. I will keep pushing. I won’t be the one who is afraid to drive on the freeway. But I’ll probably be a few minutes late.