By Mike Moritz
I don't know why I have been cursed with such bad anxiety, but I don't like it.
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He stood on the back of the ferry, leaning over the railing, he could see the front of him and his dad's car on the lower level of the ship where all the cars and trucks sat, idle, waiting the ferry to come in to port. As the ferry moved swiftly through the huge lake, he observed the strong current that the propellors left behind and the suddenly smooth line of water that quickly followed it. The day was strong; little clouds in the sky and a bulky wind from the boat that seemingly rushed through every room and door to the back of his body as he looked up and out toward the large island that they had left just 30 or so minutes ago. He could feel his body and mind tightening up and slowing down, acting uncomfortable while he asked himself why it was happening, the same question he asks every time it starts up.
"Head case!" (Of course, he turned instantly) "Com' ir."
The tall, athletic hispanic man wore khaki cargo shorts, a backwards baseball hat and a black shirt with a plastic cup of beer in one hand and the railing in the other.
He walked up to him, knowing that he was a very comforting man yet he was still intimated by his presence as a coach.
"Vex, talk to me about what you go through on a daily basis."
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If your reading this, you probably know what it's like to feel like a shitty person; someone who feels like they might be underperforming in life; someone who maybe is not as a gifted as they once thought; someone who thought they knew the situation they were in but was surprised to find out something that they didn't expect, or ever wanted to know.
Today, I was at the baseball field doing my usual fielding routine. On the football field I could hear a kid my age, frustrated with himself. The four of them were doing infield practice, with their bags representing bases, and as one of them would hit ground balls to the other two, they would field and make throws to the first baseman. I stopped to watch this kid, as he had gotten my attention through his constant use of explicit words. With every throw he made- most of them were off the mark and most of those throws were no where close to the first baseman- I could see the hesitation in his head being shown through his arm motion. He was scared to throw the baseball across the "diamond" and his lack of confidence created terrible throws.
Here I was, going about my normal fielding drills and witnessing a complete mental lapse that I could fix right there on the spot. But I didn't. I didn't bother to help him. In fact all I said was "You're a headcase! Stop being a headcase!" and that probably made him feel worse.
I regret saying that. But I regret even more not actually helping him, because I think I could have. Now he probably goes home angry and discouraged that he can't make a simple throw to first. Or, he could have gone home confident and feeling good about himself that he overcame another obstacle on his to living up to his potential.
I feel selfish for not helping him. How many times have I done something for myself because I felt that in some particular situation, I might have needed something for myself more than for others. And I still believe it's okay to be selfish sometimes, heck, I believe you NEED to be a little selfish in order to be happy. But I was too selfish and now I am feeling the resentment for it.
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And before that occurred, I had to tell one of my formally closest friends that I did not see us going back, to keep it vague. And I feel terrible about that, especially considering that I really don't know what the future holds.
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I'm getting stuck behind a kid in the line up who did not really do much over the offseason and all the sudden became an All-State second baseman.
"Cam, how did you get to be All-State?"
"I had a sist on my wrist so that shut me down for most of the offseason. During the season though, all I did was turn on every inside fastball. Anything outside, I laid off. Any off speed pitch, laid off."
And I went balls to the wall everyday of that winter. I got stuck on the bench with my coach telling me I couldn't catch a fly ball or I couldn't hit a cut off man.
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Lately, sometimes my anxiety is expressed through the need to text. Just to text. Anyone.
I feel like a shitty person. But I know that I shouldn't because I should be happy to be alive. And so should you.
So every time you feel like a shitty person, feel shitty about feeling shitty. And do something to make yourself happy. I meditate. I'm sure you have your thing so turn to it for guidance. Just don't let the shitty feeling eat at you, because that's an unhealthy philosophy and it will lead to depression; you don't want to be depressed. You and I both want to be happy and healthy people, doing what we love to do.
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He and his brother made the 35 minute drive with their beloved dog in the pouring rain to the hiking trail and swimming hole. His brother made him drive the manual despite the poor driving weather for more practice and he did well, feeling good about himself for it and parked across the street from a middle school.
Their dog was ecstatic, finally being able to get out of the house and into more natural lands. She ran twenty feet ahead and then twenty feet behind and ran back up twenty feet again. Sniffing, barking, peeing and pooping all over the place. Running. And happy about it, joyful. His brother and him carried nothing but the dog leash, a water bottle and each a pair of extra boxers. His brother also carried a green and white towel that the brothers had since they went to camp for the first time.
They walked along the edge of the trail which toward the end became a small yet steep by a couple of inches into the water alongside the river. The dog seemed to sense their urgency for safety as the roots of the trees and other rocks bulged up from the ground became slippery from the constant calming patter of the rain. The dog walked between the two of them, and sometime walking down the six or so inches to the actual water to swim for a couple feet. They reached the swimming hole, a small area of the river between two sets of rocks that created a little bit of white water, but not so much that one could not walk across. Just as it was the entire walk, no one else was swimming. They got just a little blown away before getting into swim. They were already just about soaked from the rain so it didn't matter much to them when getting used to the water.
As his brother twirled around in circles in the water, enjoying his high, Vex decided to get up on a rock that water was splitting around and seemingly happy to do so. He looked down the river for a moment, and then down at his feet to see his white dog with a brown spot of hair around her right eye making the three foot trek across the conjoining rock to join him on his own boulder. He looked down the river again, this time with a little more concentration. As the rain seemed to lighten up a tad, he could imagine a canoe with himself and a former trip mate from one of his trips out of camp paddling down and around the bend.
He loved it. He loved the river. He loved himself. A rare moment in time, in his life where he actually felt at peace. As if whatever he told his khaki wearing, black shirt, backwards baseball hat coach was no longer accurate. He loved being out here. In the wilderness, where the more wilderness he experiences, the more calm he becomes.
He could visualize living a peaceful life in Vermont, the home of his boyhood for 8 summers in a row. A beautiful plot of land with a small barn and a well of fresh water and a backyard that was open and free. A nearby river that he uses for energy for his home. Living in a community, where people who he's only spoken to once still remember his name and voice.
As they pulled into the driveway of their home, the three of them-the dog too- were still at ease. The rain still coming down, though less than before. They relaxed in the sunroom and made a healthy, filling lunch observing the rain as they talked about concepts of living happy.
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