"Red:" Reflections on Learning to Live Differently, by Allison Andrews

I'm driving to a new pharmacy and I feel worried. Pharmacies can make or break my sense of well-being. They dispense the prescriptions which keep me going, as it were. I'm acutely aware of this, and it makes me insecure. I have reason to feel this way. If the pharmacy techs are over-worked or uncaring, resulting in a delay of medicine, I can suffer a physical "free fall." My supra-ventricular tachycardia can run rampant, my anxiety will increase, my ability to sleep will disappear and other unsavory things may result. I'm just sayin..... I NEED my medicine when I need my medicine!

This obvious dependence on pharmacological assistance is weighing heavily on me as I walk through the parking lot construction to the dingy door of a pharmacy in a rather poor section of town. Don't misunderstand, I chose this establishment because it is privately owned, and my experience is that much better service and caring results from an established, locally owned pharmacy as opposed to the usual CVS or Walgreens.

My brain began to race while standing behind an elderly man who was being served, or rather NOT - but instead denied his medicine by what appeared to be a 12 year-old with flaming, red hair and lovely pale skin. This strikingly beautiful neophyte was semi-berating a rather frail and polite man! For the millionth time, I wondered how any of us managed to survive when every crucial service we seek feels as if it is being run by unseasoned babes who fancy themselves experts in all things and who freely call their elderly customers "Sweetie" and "Darling." The teenager was effectively stalling the poor guy with clipped, repetitive answers and was in fact calling him "Sweetie," whilst maintaining a demeanor of barely tolerating him. I'm sure he was befuddled to discover they were on such intimate terms of endearment in spite of the unfolding stalemate. (The practice of disrespecting others while using intimate terms of endearment is a subject for another day! )

I could easily gather that the man's issue was a highly solvable problem. Toward that end, the stooped soul did his best to kindly ask for any sort of "work around" so that he could get his heart medicine which had been filled at the wrong pharmacy. It was all I could do to hold back from blurting to the girl, " Just call the other pharmacy and tell them to back out their refill so that you can fill the script here!" The words were nearly rolling out of my mouth when the slightly older pharmacy owner swiftly walked to the counter and said exactly that. Crisis averted! I was glad to discover who the "fixer" was in this establishment. (There's always a "fixer" in a pharmacy, one who will make the extra calls, massage the insurance, contact the doctor's office, and untangle general complicated problems. Yes, Kendall, the owner, would be my "go -to" in the future.)

Woops! While lost in my thoughts I was slow to realize that I was already being loudly summoned by the small dictator! "Uh oh, here we go! Prepare for battle," was my internal dialogue. Also running through my mind was how enigmatic this young human actually was. Her pale, blank face was at odds with her loud, authoritative and commanding question, "HOW CAN I HELP YOU, SWEETIE?" ("You can help me by actually helping me," was my first thought.... and secondly "no terms of endearment, please!") But my actual words were the usual statement of name and birthdate, followed by a request for my script refill. As she silently punched at the computer keyboard, I wondered what fresh hell I was about to encounter which mirrored the previous customer's struggle.

I held myself in check when she first declared that the script refill did not presently reside at their establishment and that it would take a few days for them to order said medicine. (I begrudgingly reminded myself that I had to treat her as if she was Jesus standing behind the counter.) Lost again in my thoughts, I missed the moment when "Kendall" swooped in yet again and informed this "paragon of confidence" behind the counter that he had indeed refilled my order and it was just on the shelf at her feet. Whilst providing my credit card for payment, she proffered some conciliatory statements and told me to "Have a great evening, Darling!"

And guess what? I DID have a great evening! The red dragon was merely a garden lizard with other beautiful colors. Both the man and I had received what we needed. Life was already moving on, so I better get home and find something enjoyable to do. Nothing bad actually happened.

I keep having to learn the same lesson. I wish it would stick with me! I'm writing it down today for me and for you. Here it is: "Even the worst possible outcomes, in most situations, are survivable and tolerable." If I close my eyes and imagine how bad things might get if I can't successfully navigate a challenge, I can usually picture myself moving forward ANYWAY! Yep! The bulk of my worries should drop into the "nothing burger" category, and I should expect good things rather than conjecture what new and terrible problem is about to emerge.

It's high time I re-engage new neuro-pathways. Instead of burning up the neurons which default to catastrophizing everything, I'm going to have to think differently. I will be using more detours. This obvious solution is never very clear to those of us with fight or flight sensitivities. We have to make radical paradigm shifts. If not, we will spend our entire life living in the land of the 'almost dead' rather than simply living. I can't help but remember all of the times Christ had to settle his disciples from the same pitfalls of fear and low expectations:

1) "How can we feed all of these people with two fish and five barley loaves?"

2) "How can you sleep through this storm, Lord. We are about to drowned?"

3) "If you had arrived sooner, my brother would have lived!"

4) "Don't go to Jerusalem. It's too dangerous."

In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus teaches in advance of the worries. "Do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink, or about your body, what you shall wear. Is not life more than food and, and the body more than clothing..... and which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life. (Matthew 6)

So there is no denying that the world is run by self-assured yearlings, and I'm just an old and pessimistic soul living in a sepia colored world. It's time I get a new packet of crayons, color a different picture, and think of a new story to step into. I'm starting with the color of red, which for Christians is the color of power, Spirit, and change. "And red tongues of fire came and rested on each of them, filling them with the Holy Spirit. And they began to speak in other languages as the Spirit enabled them..." (Acts 2)

Come, Holy Spirit. Erase the negative and selfish voice in my head. Fill me with a new story to unfold with power and grace. Light me on fire with your Holy Spirit so that the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart will be acceptable to you, my rock and my redeemer. Amen

Red Hair, Don't Care. In Fact, All the better.....