There's true wisdom in that phrase if you deconstruct it (yes, I learned that word in grad school).
You see, YOU really can drive YOURSELF crazy. Yup--you can take yourself to CRAZYTOWN any day of the week, if you like. It's possible. I've looked through the peep-hole, Alice, and it really is possible.
Case in point:
Yesterday morning, Jonah asked me if he could go on a hike with a friend and his friend's father. Being the control freak that I am, my knee-jerk response was to say "no." Hiking without his own dad there seemed dangerous.
But then I realized, Jonah's a teenager now. He's been hiking with Scouts a lot. He would really enjoy this AND there's going to be a dad there. Let him go.
So, I ask him "how long?" And he says, "A couple of hours." I agree to let him go.
We pack him a sandwich, water, and snack. We spray him with 50 sunblock. Say a family prayer (truly). Off he goes.
That was at 10am. (Hint: foreshadowing here.)
At about 2pm, I start expecting Jonah's return. (Normally when J says a couple of hours, I know it's really 3-4 hours.) By 2pm, he's been gone about 4 hours.
At this point I'm not "worried," but I'm not "happy" either. The hike was clearly a little longer than what we'd originally planned.
But then, 2pm turns into 3pm. 3pm turns into 4pm.
By 4pm, I've called Jonah's cellphone at least 45 times. Each call the same: straight to voicemail.
There is no way to reach him. Ugh. All I can do was wait . . .
and worry . . .
and drive myself to CrazyTown.
So, at 5pm I'm making dinner: spaghetti with a sidedish of WORRY and FRET.
I start thinking about how hot the day was--and how fair-skinned Jonah is. I start thinking that he normally checks in with me when he is gone this long. I start thinking about how I didn't want him to go at first--and how that may have been a "warning" that I didn't heed.
I start to feel sick to my stomach. That kind of worry.
So, I call Dave and give him the update on the hike. I ask Dave, "Should I worry." Dave says one word: "Yes."
That was it. When the one calming presence in my life (Dave) shows the slightest bit of worry, I go from logical to hysterical.
I mean it. Look up the definition of hysterical and you'll see a photo of me taken yesterday via Google satellite.
So, rather than be hysterical alone, I decide to phone the mom of the boy J went hiking with.
Suddenly, I work for the Travel and Tourism Board at CrazyTown.
She tells me she didn't realize that J had gone on the hike with her husband/son, and that she doesn't know where they're hiking, "but not to worry."
It's now 6pm. I try "not to worry."
But by 6:20pm, I start thinking about Elizabeth Smart. I picture Greta Van Sustern reporting on missing hikers tonight on CNN. I start picturing Jonah lost from the group hiking.
I call the cellphone 100 more times. Jonah MUST change that ringtone, I think, trying to distract myself. (Curse you--Linkln Park.)
I start thinking (see, "next stop: CRAZYTOWN")--maybe his phone dropped in a ravine? It's going to be cold and dark soon. I don't even know where he went hiking. What is wrong with me? What kind of mom sends their kid hiking and doesn't ask WHERE? What will I tell the Search and Rescue team, "He's hiking in Utah somewhere?"
I stop myself mid-crazy thought #2,452 and call the friend's mom . . . again. At this point, I'm clearly stressing her out, too. She probably wasn't worried before--but sensing the stress in my voice she says, "Let me try and call my husband and call you back."
It's somewhere in the 7 o'clock hour. Dave is on his way home from work and also in communication with the friend's mom.
I tell Dave, "I feel like we need to call the police. This was supposed to be a couple of hours. It's been 9 hours. If it gets dark and he's lost, how will they find him?"
The friend's mom calls back: she just found her husband's cellphone. He left it home.
That's it. I'm officially insane at this point: the mayor of CrazyTown. There's no way to reach Jonah AND no way to reach the father.
Something has to be wrong. Jonah's been gone almost 10 hours now.
While he probably isn't as worried as I am, once Dave hears that the father doesn't have a cellphone, he calls the local police department.
The police department creates a case number and tell us they will send over an officer. "What was he wearing?" they ask.
I'm dizzy. Not dizzy because I don't know what Jonah's wearing, dizzy because as he left in the morning I truly studied what he was wearing--thinking "if he gets lost today, I'll know what he's wearing."
I'm convinced I'm psychic; I sensed this was coming.
As we wait for the police officer, now at 8pm, I sit with Dave and cry like I haven't cried in years.
I feel a worry and sadness I have never felt.
And suddenly at 8:10pm, still on the phone with the friend's mom, Dave says "they're home."
Jonah's HOME!
Dave runs over to the friend's house--meeting Jonah who is skateboarding back to our house.
I stay on the porch, crying, in some kind of limbo between CrazyTown and home.
Unaware of all that's taken place, Jonah asks "What's wrong?" Dave tries his best to explain all that's taken place since 2pm.
Jonah's confused.
He doesn't know all that's gone on.
He doesn't know his mom decided to drive herself crazy today.
He doesn't know how quickly you can get there.
*********************************************
My lesson for the year: Don't drive to CrazyTown ever again.
Jonah's lesson for the year: Always keep your phone battery charged, change your ringtone regularly, and take a camera whenever you hike (see below--yesterday's hike).
