What are you doing?
This question hit my skull on Wednesday afternoon (May 17, 2023). The emphasis was especially jarring, pinging through my brain like a pinball. What I had been doing was scrolling through Upwork jobs list, looking for some work to do while waiting for another contract to head my way. But every time I moved on from an ad for one reason or another, this irritated feeling grew and scratched within me until it roared with frustration.
What I had been doing was to aimlessly scroll through some increasingly horrible job postings. But that question made me pause and evaluate. Really, what I was doing was wasting time. And this after my weekend really made me aware of how suddenly life as you know it can go away.
On Sunday, I thought there was a good chance that I might die. Or worse. Not die but be incapacitated for the rest of my life.
The story started on last Thursday, when I went in for a routine checkup and my GP realized my blood pressure was high. Knowing that I have a family history, but that historically I always struggled with my blood pressure, I followed my doctor's advice and got a blood pressure monitor. I took my medication as prescribed on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, but my measurements worried me. They kept hanging around in the above 160/100 range even while I was medicated. On Sunday afternoon, I checked again.
My BP is 172/110. For reference, 180/100 is referred to as a hypertensive crisis. Alarm bells go off in my head and I decide to call my hospital to check if I should rather go in for treatment (I couldn't reach my GP).
While speaking to the nurse, she asks me to check again.
It's 199/110. On medication.
"Please come in," the nurse begs me. "You're still young."
So me and my cousin drove down to the hospital (she's driving), while I did my best to remain calm. It's difficult because I was in stroke territory and we both knew it.
I can't begin to explain the importance of my mind to my existence, to how I see myself. I don't mean this on a basic "well duh" level. My mind is capable of amazing things, and that capability is part of how I find meaning in myself as a person. It's a large part of what makes me unique. And as much as I didn't want to think about it, I could practically feel that moment where my brain would be forever altered, or where I would just... stop. No matter what I've done. No matter what I could have done, what I wanted to do, what I would have done if I had more time. Just... thank you and good night.
Fortunately, the reading seems to have been a spike, and the deep breathing I was doing to remain calm and the reassurance of knowing I was in an ER waiting room brought the pressure down to the 160/100 range again.
Still, my sigh of relief that night that my blood pressure finally dipped below 140/90 didn't release the memory of the terror I had felt while waiting. It still lingers. And it's triggering an existential crisis.
You know that old question. If today is your last day, what would you do?
Well right at that moment on Sunday afternoon, I felt like it might well be my last, and I wasn't ready. It was a weird feeling. I always felt like I'd be like the Isaac Aasimov quote: "If my doctor told me I had only six minutes to live, I wouldn't brood. I'd type a little faster." But as I sat there, feeling like any moment was my last, I was brooding big time. I was internally raging at the idea that I might have to go because I wasn't ready. I simply wanted to live.
To see Berlin in winter one last time.
To cuddle my kitties.
To eat MacDonalds. Yes, I know that's part of what got me into the ER. Don't judge me.Most of all though, I felt like I wasn't done. Done with what? No idea.
All I know is that when I had that question rolling through my brain, something told me that I had lost my way. More accurately, I've known for a while that I was drifting aimlessly for a while, staying still for fear of moving in any one direction because it could be the wrong one.
I know how and why I got here. Stuff happened and I'm dealing with a decent chunk of trauma. Also, I've been struggling with health and energy-related issues since December. So I understand myself enough to know that I've been paring back a lot more than anticipated in an effort to heal after my life fell apart around me.
The thing is... it isn't as much of an excuse as one would think. I have limited energy. So every step I take needs to count in some way. Sometimes, staying still and resting is also important, and it has been incredibly important to letting me process and heal as much as I have. At the same time, I have neglected aspects of my life for the sake of coping, which I have failed to pick back up even though I've been feeling better. I know I have achieved a lot in terms of finding meaning and healing, but I've been waffling a lot when it comes to doing something about the things I've learned.
I know what I want and I have at least a strong inkling about what I should do to achieve it, but instead, I've been falling back to old patterns that... while they worked before, actually drain me more than they help. There are some good reasons why I'm doing that too. Most of them come back to fear of uncertainty and the fear of failure.
I've only recently managed to settle back into something approaching a sense of security. So the idea of opening myself up to the unknown once more keeps making me cringe back. But this is the value of a good existential crisis (and I know because I've had a few).
Questioning our existence on a macro level is terrifying, but it brings with it a unique gift of seeing things in perspective. I've found that if I stick with it, if I stare at the void and just listen instead of trying to fill it with all the fluff and nonsense and noise that we can so easily find in our day-to-day lives, there's a truth. A crucial lesson that can define the rest of my life.
Anxiety attacks lie to you. Existential crises do not. That said, the impulse to look for quick fixes to make ourselves feel better is toxic. (I'm looking at you, mid-life crisis.) At least in my experience, none of the true solutions to any of the existential crises I've had were easy. Honestly, it would be nice if I could enrich my life by buying myself a supercar. The truth is harder. The first steps after each existential crisis were terrifying. We're hardwired to want to run or hide from that void that opens when we become aware of a frailty at the core of our existence. But resolving each crisis I've experienced required for me to step into the void and then live there until a sense of new certainty formed around me.
It means giving up on preconceived notions about who you are. It means sacrificing security because yes, your life is secure but you want to go drown yourself because it's making you miserable. It means doing the things you've been putting off because you don't know whether you have the heart to see things fall apart yet again. It means taking that leap of faith even though you're terrified.
All of these things are things I've experienced, and I'm only 34. On the one hand, existential crises are exhausting, and I sometimes I catch myself wishing that I could just settle into a nice little rut and be complacent in my day-to-day.
But then I say to myself, "But dearest, this is how you grow. You want to live, not just exist. Don't settle for merely existing."
And so, on Wednesday, I stood on the edge of yet another cusp in my life, the void yawning in front of me. I've stood there until right now, Friday May 19 at 3:15 P.M. All this time, I've known what I need to do, but I've been wondering, Am I really going to do this? Yes. I am. And so, I take a deep breath and take a step into the void, into the rest of my life. This time, I'm more grateful than ever that I get to take that step.
To grow.
To live.
YOU ARE READING
The LIFE Project
Non-FictionThis is NOT a self-help book. One month and three days away from turning 34, Misha Gerrick is feeling like her entire life imploded. The process started years ago, in 2014, but after years of staggering through loss after loss and day after day lik...