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We all have that one friend — the one who has been there through thick and thin. For me, it’s someone who knew me back when I was a shy child with oversized glasses and braces, who ensured I didn’t spend my summers alone while everyone else enjoyed exciting activities. Two years ago, she and her family relocated from New York City to London, promising to return each summer for a month-long visit. But then COVID-19 struck, and they missed their planned trips back to the States.
However, with vaccines rolling out (thank you, science!), they finally made it back this summer for their long-awaited visit. As summer tends to do, the time flew by, and soon she was down to just a few days left in New York. We had only managed to see each other once during her visit. There were no hard feelings; she had been busy connecting with family and friends after two years apart, while I had been focused on rebuilding my life after losing my husband three years ago. We both understood our limited time together.
Then she mentioned she was available on Wednesday, and I was free after 11. The stars had aligned. “Come into the city. We’ll make a day of it!” she suggested. But before my mind could catch up, my body reacted with anxiety — a tightening feeling, heat rising, and an urge to cling to my chair for stability. My initial response was a firm “no.” Although I longed to spend more time with her, the thought of heading into the city triggered my anxiety. In the past, I might have conjured up an excuse — work, a dog, a deadline — but I felt too vulnerable for that. She knows me too well.
After a moment, I told her I’d think it over. My anxiety often pushes me to decline invitations. Since becoming a young widow, that instinct has intensified. I’ve learned that life can be precarious, and the bigger your world, the more you risk losing when things go awry. Staying within my comfort zone feels safe, and I’ve accepted that saying “no” is sometimes necessary as I navigate my healing journey.
That night, I pondered my “no.” If I didn’t see her now, it could be another year before I had the chance. So much can change in a year, and I’ve learned that regret can be a heavy burden. I decided to confront the reasons behind my anxiety. If any of them felt insurmountable, I’d stick with my “no.”
First, there was the issue of transportation. Typically, I’d take public transit into the city, but this time I’d need to drive. Driving in New York City is, to put it mildly, a challenge. Taxis weave in and out, pedestrians play a dangerous game, and cyclists seem to appear from nowhere. Yet, I reminded myself I’d done it before. It’s stressful but manageable.
Next, I considered traffic. I wouldn’t leave until after the morning rush, and I could plan to avoid the evening rush, too. Even if I hit some traffic, I reasoned, it wouldn’t be catastrophic. My kids wouldn’t be waiting at home, and my dog would appreciate the extra attention when I returned.
Parking in the city is usually a dealbreaker for me. It’s often expensive and tricky. But what if I allowed myself to splurge this time? After all, it was a long-awaited visit two years in the making.
Finally, the loudest worry loomed: the city itself felt outside my comfort zone. I’ve built a life here that feels safe, but I know that safety is often an illusion. Even in my small world, unforeseen things can happen.
The decision came down to this: when Wednesday turns into Thursday, will I regret not going? Will the worries be as burdensome as the regret? I called my friend and said “yes.”
The journey wasn’t without its challenges. Just minutes after merging onto the highway, a torrential downpour struck. My heart raced, and my Apple Watch registered higher than normal exertion. Thankfully, the storm cleared quickly. However, traffic soon became a problem, leading me through the city’s maze, which made my heart race again.
But amidst the chaos, I cherished moments with my oldest friend — we had lunch outdoors and enjoyed a lovely walk, catching up on the past two years. It was a day that rejuvenated my spirit and reminded me of the joy that comes from saying “yes.”
I’m not sure if I’ll start saying “yes” more often than “no.” One positive experience won’t erase my anxiety. But perhaps every now and then, I’ll remember that I can choose to say “yes” when my anxiety attempts to dictate otherwise. And for what it’s worth, my dog appreciated the extra long walk and treat when I got home.
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In summary, I learned the importance of embracing opportunities, even when anxiety tries to hold me back. Saying “yes” to a chance to connect with a dear friend turned out to be a rewarding experience that brightened my spirit.
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