"What If"s

I was thinking today about the two kinds of what ifs.
There is the "What if I had done X instead of Y?" or its occasionally more popular sibling "What if I hadn't done X?".  These are the what ifs of the days past.  The chances not taken, the paths chosen and second-guessed, the choices made and regretted or simply wondered about.  That's the first kind of what if.

The other is the "What if X happens?" - the future potential for regrets, recriminations, joys, or endless wondering.

I rarely indulge in the former because it's pointless.  I wrote before about not having regrets and it's true.  But it's the second kind of what if, the what if that has yet to happen, that sneaks up on me and like a burdock burr will entangle my thoughts and refuse to let go.

I like clarity and structure.  I like knowing what's going to happen every minute of every day, in predetermined chunks and intervals.  I like the safety of planning and the comfort of things going as expected.  And more than anything, I like boundaries.  I need boundaries, even if only to serve as walls to push against.

The yet to happen what ifs go against the grain of everything I find manageable.  There is an endless variety of what ifs and from that endless variety stems an infinity of potential outcomes, each engendering a further glut of possibilities.  The unruliness of this limitless chaos sets my teeth on edge.  It makes me want to crawl under the covers and pretend that I'm in a small, dark cage.  There is immense freedom in firm constraints.

So what are the what ifs that are tormenting me now?  Some are big ones, like "what if I can't find a job?" or "what if someone I care about dies in a freak accident?".  Some are little ones, like "what if I trip and fall the next time I'm trudging through ice and snow?" or "what if my car breaks down when I'm in the middle of nowhere?".  Big or small, they all have one thing in common - there's not a damn thing I can do to prepare to face them.  They are like the night terrors, paralyzing when you're in the midst of one and easily pushed out of your mind when normality reasserts its claim on your mind.

For the moment, my strategy for dealing with them is avoidance - I don't let myself think about them, I don't speculate, I don't attempt to plan, I don't even acknowledge them.  For now, that's working and when it stops working, when the night terrors take over in spite of my best intentions, I will remind myself that when the morning comes and the what if happens, I will deal with it and have no regrets.

And now for a bit of fiction...

"So, I did it..." my voice tails off into laden silence as I glance sideways at Pat.

"It?" He frowns, taking yet another turn in the crowded parking garage.

Finding space for his hulking monster of a pick-up truck is a challenge on a half-empty lot, which this was not.  Mall parking garages in December are not for the faint of heart.  Pat is clearly only paying enough attention to me to show that he's present and accounted for; the rest is reserved for the grunting pick-up.

Ok, maybe he'll just let it slide.  I take a deep breath and open my mouth, about to launch both of us into a conversation on a topic as far away from "it" as I can come up with, but it's too late.

"Wait a minute," Pat's attention is now smack where I don't want it.  He swerves around a car that appeared to be pulling out but instead is just straightening out in the coveted spot, and looks at me. "You did it?  You are serious?"

"Watch where you're going!" I grab the dashboard as Pat curses under his breath and makes a sharp turn to head up to the next level of the parking garage.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

In response Pat just gives me a look and keeps driving.  I sigh.  I'll have to explain now.  For a moment I wish I hadn't said anything, but it's not like I can hide it forever and then I'd have two things to apologize for and explain.

"I don't really know," I start and am interrupted by the sudden screech of tires as Pat slams on the brakes.

"Sorry," he mutters and we both watch as a car right in front turns on its lights.  I stifle a sudden giggle.

"Pat, seriously?  It's a Mini."

He glares at me, but we both know that the chance of him fitting into the spot is about as good as me giving a rational explanation for what I've done. With a sigh, Pat pulls around the car and drives on down the packed row.

For a few minutes we're silent.

"You said you won't do it."

It's unanswerable.  Yes, yes, I did say that.  But then I've said that I'll go to the gym three times a week and stop counting French Fries as a vegetable.

"I know..." I struggle for words. "I did say that, but..."

"So, why then?"

"I just...  I just couldn't leave him.  I know I shouldn't have, I know that three of them in an apartment is too much, but he was so forlorn and he kept coming by every morning and every evening and probably hanging around under the porch all day, just waiting for me to get home."

Once I start, the words just pour out, "He is so friendly and it's been so cold out and I know they have thick fur for a reason, but come on, it's snowing one day and raining the next and he is just so adorable and I just couldn't leave him outside."

Pat swerves, pulling into a just-barely-wide-enough parking spot and turns to face me. I can see the suppressed smile struggling to break through.  He unbuckles his seat belt, reaches into his pocket and pulls out a twenty dollar bill.

"Here", he hands the bill to me. "I made a bet with myself that you won't make it to two weeks of watching that fat furball without letting him in."

I don't know whether to laugh or be annoyed, but I have to know, "And what if I had made it past two weeks?"

He gives me a wry look and shakes his head, "Hon, you know I only make bets that I'm sure to win."

Time & habits

These days I have a lot of free time on my hands.  I could fill it with a lot of different things I normally don't have time to do.  Instead, I find that most of the time I'm just spinning my wheels.  It's not that I don't do anything, it just doesn't feel like I'm getting anything done.

There are so many things I could be doing.  I could be looking for work (I am), I could be doing things around the house (I do), I could read, write, learn a foreign language, take classes online, join a gym, take up a hobby... you get the point.  I could do all of these things, but the motivation to put in the effort is easily squelched by the "why bother?" argument.

I am finding that the mere glut of time and choices is crippling.  I need a structure and yet I balk at creating one.  I write down schedules and make plans, but as I'm answerable only to myself in most of them, it's easy to let things slide.  In the past, I always thought that I lacked the time to do things that are always on the periphery of my activities, but now I'm faced with the uncomfortable truth that it's not time that I lack, it's the discipline.

Most people will probably readily admit that they aren't very good at forcing themselves to do things they don't want to do, but here it's things that I do want to do and yet I'm still not doing them.  At least when I was working full time I had the excuse of working and running the house for why I didn't have time for exercising or engaging in other extra-curricular activities. I don't have the work excuse anymore.  Sure, I'm spending a lot of time looking for work, but there are only so many jobs available and having applied to every one that sounds the least bit plausible, I'm left staring at the computer screen and feverishly devising yet more excuses for why I'm not going to the gym or taking out my Spanish workbook.

It's disappointing...  I had thought that I had conquered my laziness and tendency to procrastinate, but no, it seems like I hadn't.  All I did was bury and mask it with layers of busyness.  So, on top of my other bad habits of biting my fingers and craving sweets, I now have to add procrastination and laziness.  Welcome back, friends.