Just Joanna

 I feel tired. Going to my first class in about 19 years took a lot out of me. I felt great leaving the home this morning. I was excited about the new year and the new opportunity. But as I turned onto the campus, my heart started racing, and I felt very panicky. It took me three tries to park in a very straightforward spot. I could not line up. Obsessed with symmetry, I had to correct it multiple times. I encouraged myself, "Joanna, you are not a spring chicken; hold your head up like the hen you are!" 

The beautiful brick looked warm and inviting as I relaxed and took an easy stride into the building. I entered the space and started to feel the energy of the campus. Students were milling around, chatting, and working. Unexpectedly, I felt a pang of pain. My brain, heart, and soul were forced to remember the last time I stood on a campus. Memories came flooding back, fragmented and warped. The injustice of not knowing it was the last time I would stand in that spot. If I had known, I would have said "Bye." If I had known, I would have said, "Thanks." If I had known, I would have kissed the ground and every leaf along the way for allowing me the privilege to serve. But I did not have the ability to say goodbye and wish the students well, to tell them they have everything in them they need to thrive no matter what life brings their way. And here I was, oddly, among other students. I felt shame. I had to fight the instinct to go up to them to say "good morning," to ask about their majors and classes, to wave and wish them well on their way. It would have been inconsequential; it would have been weird. Here, I was a nobody. It's an identity I am comfortable with, but somehow, the environment triggered a surge of sad nostalgia; I was confused about who I was. I was not expecting it, but the hope and dream in my heart wanted to protest its neglect; why was it cut short so abruptly? 

My brain was confused. I felt heat come over me, causing my legs to buckle. I kept moving and headed to the elevators. I asked someone to press the button for the third floor, but the sound from my mouth came out like a frog's croak. She looked at me strangely because the buttons were right on my side. I could have easily pressed them myself. I muttered an apology, steadying my voice while I shook inside.

I felt small, overwhelmed, like a loser, pathetic. I felt humiliated. I texted my husband that I was panicked. I said that I did not belong there. He said, "Yes, you do. This plan was an idea you have had for years. You have full agency in your life." Then he asked, "Have you eaten? Is your blood sugar low?" I remembered the advice of my boys' pediatrician, who told me, "Sometimes the best answer is the simple answer." I had not eaten, so part of my issue was lightheadedness from not eating. I had not calculated the energy required to start something new. I chided myself that I needed to take better care of myself. "You're not a spring chicken," I thought, then laughed inside.

As I went into the class, I couldn't help but notice how young everyone was; it may well have been a toddler playgroup! It made me feel agitated again, and I started sweating profusely. I texted some friends, who reassured me that I would be OK. Their words of encouragement and support made me feel calmer. Never underestimate the gift of friendship. Friendship will save your life. I imagined them around me, and I steadied. Their presence, even if it was just in my mind, was a source of strength. I sat up in my chair and filled out my name card, feeling more confident and reassured. 

The class is going to be good fun. I am excited. It also helps me process more of my pain by getting out into the world and being around strangers. My pain needs a place to go. That pain is sitting dormant in spots, ready to rage at me. Prepared to trip me up, jumping out like a frog in my throat. How do I release it? How do I capture it? It will take many trips to that exact spot. I will begin to recognize people, and they will recognize me, not as some venerated spouse (which was always creepy) but as just Joanna, that older woman in the class with a weird accent. Bit by bit, I will build some strength in my arm and fingers, enough to wave hello; I will find my voice again to say a big hello, booming across the hall with no shame. No longer mindful of morale, retention, well-being, or endowment. My lips will no longer tremble when I smile. I will once again ask, "What are you studying? Where are you from? I will confidently tell my classmates, peers, and fellow students, "You have everything in you that you need to thrive no matter what life brings your way. Let me tell you how I know."

First day of class. Feeling wobbly, but still needed a photo for posterity.