what if

“You’re smiling,” therapist lady says, when I hesitantly tell her, 10 minutes before the session ended, a doorknob confession, I think they call it:

“I might be buying a house.”

And I was smiling, could not stop the smile from happening, and that’s when I knew I wasn’t feigning hope, or pretending any longer, but excited, almost, or rather on the edge of excitement.

The smile doesn’t last through the night. That’s when the what ifs seep in.

What if my dog gets lost and can’t find home? What if I get fired and can’t pay the mortgage? What if bad guys find out I’m a woman living alone and come back in the middle of the night? What if I fall down the stairs trying to find the bathroom? What if I can’t find a doctor, gym, vet? What if the furnace explodes? What if I can’t find the mace? What if I can’t fall asleep, stay asleep, and am awake at 3am, 4am, still concocting what ifs into 5, 6, 7? What if I’m too tired to work?

It’s the dark of the night when anxiety AI takes over, keeping me up, tossing and turning and scared with endless what ifs:

What if a recession war-anarchy-greed-fraud collapses the economy?

What if my neighbors are crackheads or worse – MAGA?

What if mold in the beams activates cancer dormant in my organs?

What if salt air erodes my car?

What if I lose my job and can’t afford the taxes?

What if I get sick or hurt?

What if I don’t meet anybody?

What if no one comes to visit?

Why are you doing this, my brain interrupts. Why move — again? Six times in 5 years. Newtown–Dead Sister Delaware–Newtown–Alive Sister farm–in between cottage–condo. All you do is pack and unpack: people, estates, bills, houses. You have your habitrail right here: community, activism, gym, doctor, vet, friends, and incredibly shrinking family.

Is it too late to pull out? I need to withdraw the offer. “Stay where you are,” my brain concurs. “It’s safe. Affordable. Familiar.”

And yet, I want more. Am desperate for more. More community. More activity. More life. More love.

When my oldest was in 3rd grade, nearly 25 years ago, Mrs. Woodies gave the entire class, and first-time parents like me at open house, our asses smooshed on little chairs and our knees folded under tiny desks, strong, solid grown-up advice that I use often – especially in the dark of night, when AI thoughts invade my dreams and make real tears soak the pillow.

So I’m trying, to reframe it all during the day, these endless nighttime what ifs looping through my soul, to rethink it all when the sun is shining and birds are singing.

What if it all works out?

What if the wifi works? What if the locksmith comes on time? What if the neighbors make me strawberry jam? What if I plant a garden? What if flowers bloom? What if the windows open? What if I fix what’s broken? What if I build a deck? What if I have hummingbirds? What if the neighbors love my dog? What if I meet new friends, find a new gym, build new community, meet new writers, find a new home, build new purpose?

What if?