My coffee-infused retinas scan a to-do list full of things. Some important, some made to be, some quickly falling away. In the background, my subconscious hits “empty trash” on some things I meant to write down but didn’t.
And one of those just-recycled to-dos might have been critically important.
Caffeine percolates across my blood brain barrier as my morning routine’s action potential hums to life. Everything that’s important is marked so… or so my ego tells me. I should check in with her more often. But so much to do, so little time.
I tick a small digital box on a small digital screen in my small corner of the world and dopamine graces my receptors for a small burst of time.
Then it fades.
Then the eminent presence of my intuition expedites a message to my prefrontal cortex. Wrapped up in grey matter, its message simply reads: Something’s wrong, isn’t it?
Physically, my hands switch to autopilot as I tighten my captains hat and prepare to walk about the cabin of my mind. I flip the ‘seatbelts on’ toggle to freeze all of my trains of thought in place.
Nobody. Move. An. Inch. A drip of sweat makes its way down to my heart, turning a well stoked fire of confidence into a blue-flamed anxiety engine.
My stomach hardens into an avocado pit as I mindfully step through each row of mental mile-markers.
Immediate senses and limbs appear placid.
Urges and vices are preoccupied with a puzzle I handed out during pre-flight.
Memory is chuckling from what it told me right after we took off. Expected. Memory is an ass.
The blue flame in my chest has turned into a wildfire. The cabin is heating up due to my search for a problem. I could scream, but that would simply make matters worse.
The passengers begin to pick up on my unease, responding in kind.
Immediate senses and limbs pat their pockets, reassuring their valuables are still there.
Urges and vices get distracted from the puzzle, and notice a gnawing hunger.
Memory’s chuckle transforms from friendly to ominous.
A hand subtly reaches out and taps my wrist as I’m frozen in the aisle. It’s the habit family, looking healthier than when I saw them last. I can see their youngest sat calmly, breathing in and out, hands folded in his lap.
“Everything’s fine back here, captain. We’ll let you know — ” they gesture at the call button, “ — if anything’s amiss.”
I nod in a half-assured understanding and begin my walk back to the cabin.
At first, I want to turn on my heel… continue searching for the problem. But each step brings a wave of cool air. The fire in my chest calms, and my focus returns to my hands at work.
I’m back at my workbench, preoccupied with a curious puzzle I dreamt up last night.
My habits seem healthy. I feel a calm confidence in choosing to trust what they tell me.
