Catastrophe

The basketball pounds like a drum outside my office window. It’s 3:30 p.m., and the neighbor kids are home from school, playing a game of horse in the street at the end of their driveway. They shout and laugh and scream—a youthful din competing with the chirping spring birds. A ruby-red cardinal watches me from its nest in the azalea, ruffling its feathers when I stare back. 

My husband and I sat beneath our sour cherry tree during my lunch break earlier in the day, enjoying the sun on our faces after a long, cloudy winter. The leaves have not yet returned to the trees, leaving only a small strip of shade within the fenced back yard. Bear, our dog, sits upright in the ribbon of shadow, eyeing the barn cats lounging on my neighbor’s wheelchair ramp. Every few minutes, he whines. He wants to chase the cats, even though he knows full well they’ll be off the ramp and under the derelict potting shed before he makes it out of the fence. 

The basketball stomping against the pavement hadn’t started yet at lunchtime. Even the birds were quiet, and the only sound was the rush and click of the train echoing through the bare trees. In a few weeks, we won’t be able to hear it as it passes. The trees in the woods behind our house will thicken and become lush with green, a natural noise barrier. 

After an hour, I head back into the house. Situate myself at my desk. Log back in to my work computer. I have a few hours between lunch and when the pounding starts. I catch myself glancing out the window, ensuring it's still the basketball and not an unwelcome guest breaking down my door. 

I’m a recovering pessimist. My therapist asked me this week if I could be looking for problems in my life, and when she asked that question, a horrible feeling of dread washed over me. Yes, I look for problems. I expect the worst, even when things are going well. I expect every good thing to be countered with something bad. Something unexpected.

There have been seasons of my life where it feels like devastation is around every corner. The first few years after I graduated from college and got married were challenging. Within a week of graduation, my maternal grandmother passed away suddenly. Not long after, my husband and I were involved in a hit-and-run accident where our Honda Civic was sideswiped by a semi-truck. My husband was in another car accident at work a few weeks later. Then, my dad nearly died from an infection developed after surgery. The world shut down due to the pandemic, and near the end of 2020, my other grandmother passed away. I started to expect catastrophe.

It took less than two years for me to develop an expectancy for disaster, but it’s taken me a lot longer to unlearn. I now know that fearing the worst in every situation is a form of irrational thinking known as catastrophizing. Making a mountain out of a molehill. Always expecting the worst outcome. Thinking every good thing is balanced with something bad. A crippling anticipation of my worst fears coming true.

I wish I could say I’ve defeated this thinking pattern and am the kind of person who sees the good in every situation. I’m not, and in my own power, I don’t think I ever will be. It’s a struggle every day, but I’m grateful to be in a place where I can recognize those destructive thought patterns. And just like I learned to think this way, I can unlearn it. 

I look forward to the day when I expect the best. Or even better, I am content to welcome what is.