The fire hydrant

You know that feeling where you feel like you can take on anything and learn everything? Well, I’m usually like that, but recently it’s not how I feel.

Something happened in my life recently, and then some other i.i.d. things happened to my loved ones (deaths, diseases). Long story short, I found myself experiencing what can only be called a mental breakdown while I was driving. I was listening to this for 20 minutes or so. RY X hits differently, and watch out, this song is really “repeat-one”-able:

As I was staring right into the pain’s soul, I was seeing myself, completely immersed in the emotions, and quite obviously hurt. The version of Milad from 2–3 years ago would’ve numbed the pain, but this Milad even opened the windows and the backyard door as the tornado hit (some fluid dynamics tease hidden here).

I checked my tools, kinda like the emergency kit that you only visit once you cut a finger or something. All the therapy sessions, all the inner work. There’s a recursive loop constantly in my head harnessing my emotions and thoughts that I applied to my issue, which can be described succinctly as:

Some days you’re the dog, some days you’re the fire hydrant.

I backtracked my decisions, what was happening around me, everything. The self-love, the outward care, the being in the present. It was working.

I opened up to some of my closer friends. They’ve checked up on me ever since as if it’s their own pain and suffering. They amped up the jokes as I was clearly feeding less to the humor furnace lately. I called my mom and dad and disclosed the issue. We talked for an hour, and at the end, the three of us laughed it off and my dad joked about charging me for the consultation session. Old man forgets I owe it all to them. It was working.

Yesterday afternoon, I was heading to Whole Foods to pick up some groceries. I entered the elevator and pressed the button for the first floor. One beep later, the elevator stopped, welcoming two women and a man in, holding a very, VERY newborn baby. I hid my gaze under my cap as I was battling demons in my head, but eventually I gave up resisting and looked up at the baby’s sleeping face. I involuntarily started speaking in a very low voice: “Congratulations, folks.” He immediately replied, thanking me and telling me that they had been at the hospital for 44 days and about the challenges they faced. I wished the baby and the mother the best and we parted ways. As I was walking to my car, my demons seemed neutralized. I was grounded. The gentle tone, the goodwill that, even if I wanted to, I couldn’t let go of, the love. It was all working.