Freer For It

I drive back towards the mountains on I-36, and the passenger seat is empty. 

A mere three months ago, this feat would’ve felt out of reach for me. Something about driving makes my teeth clench with an anxiety that’s difficult to swallow. My palms are always clammy no matter the temperature; I have to wipe them on my jeans constantly, and my shoulders ache by the end from my strong grip on the wheel. 

You could blame this on the fact that I’m from a small town, the roads are two lanes at their largest, and the intersections are especially easy to navigate. I had no fears about merging or being honked at by an annoyed fellow driver or even of being pulled over and issued a ticket. You could also point to another particular trauma I have with cars, semis, and the road, for the reason why, but it all really boils down to the fact that since moving to a much larger city, and thus encountering much larger and complicated roads and routes, this specific anxiety has made it difficult for me to venture out on the road. Especially alone. 

Being afraid of doing things alone is another coat I’ve been struggling to shed from my shoulders, another type of internal conflict I’ve been struggling to stray from. 

Turns out, I’m not quite as good at being alone as I once thought. Alone time continues to be important to me, hours in my room scrolling online or escaping into storylines on screen and in text—it’s more the venturing outside alone part that has become tricky. From grocery shopping to trips to the mall to commuting across town, I’ve fallen dependent on needing someone to come along with me, a companion to seek and search for amidst the noise, for reasons I’m not really sure how to proceed to unpack.

I imagine the answer fell out through a hole in my pocket, leaving me unsure where to begin the search or maybe it lies within something resembling that basket of tangled wires back home, not sure where it ends or begins.

Slowly, I’ve started to find my way through, at least through the part where doing things alone comes a little easier. I took a lot of something resembling courage, though I’m wary of coining that term here—something softer, maybe, like tenacity instead. 

The long days spent alone in my room waiting for the appropriate time to start getting ready for my nightly weekend plans became less like resting from the long week endured and more like wasting my time for fear of facing my apprehensions.

I started by seeing a movie alone—or moreso, I extended an invitation that sparked little interest, but this was still the first step. Something about standing in line for popcorn was still a little uncomfortable, I could feel my face heat at the idea of someone observing I was waiting alone, with no one to turn to and pass the time a little bit quicker. I couldn’t stop the what if? scenarios that I could see playing out in my head in a way that was so real they felt tangible. However, somewhere amidst all this irrational panic and worry, I realized that even when I do go out with someone, I’m never fully free of awkward exchanges. 

Fumbling for your card inside the wallet that never seems to soften with time and handling at the register always happens. Kindly, but ungracefully assuring a sales associate that no, I don’t need help finding anything, but thank you so much is always pretty much a sure thing. Well-meaning smiles, but dodgy eye contact as you pass those hurrying down the street, arms adorned with shopping bags or hand in hand with a kid stomping in their boots just for the sake of it. It’s all going to happen, alone or not. So, do it anyway. 

When I walked out of the theater, the most shocking thing was that I really had fun. I missed being able to debrief what I just saw on screen with a friend, but I have a sister at home who will listen to anything I have to say anyway. 

How I walked out of the theater was completely different to how I first walked in—I had fun and the time I spent there was valuable to me, the fact that I went alone was no longer a factor. Whether I liked the plot or directorial decisions or the unfulfilled plot holes didn’t matter because my own comfort and company was actually enough. Initial offhand wishes for a friend beside me were gone, a new lightness in my feet, and a cemented independence somewhere inside, in all of the good ways and none of the bad.

So now, I can drive back towards the mountains on I-36 with the passenger seat empty. Maybe I’m a lot freer for it. 

• anxiety
• freedom
• independence