It’s mid-February, and winter is at its worst on the Carolina coast. The sky is gray, the ocean breeze is stiff, and the air is chilled and damp. These days, my free time is spent outside the office but inside—preferably in the warm, coffee-scented embrace of a Wilmawood café.
I parked Wynd Horse in front of Drift Cafe' and waited as a monster pickup truck rumbled past, growling like an angry bear, flashing enough neon to qualify as a Vegas sideshow. When the coast was clear, I crossed and stepped inside.
They were waiting for me inside. Of course, they were.
Claudia and Lupe had claimed a table by the window, deep in animated conversation, gesturing wildly. At the center of their storm sat Island Irv, looking like a halibut caught in a net.
“Genome! There you are!” Irv called, his voice edged with the hope of rescue.
Fortified by the full armor of a double cappuccino, I moved to their table, commended my soul to God, and joined them—for better or worse. Escape was never an option. Not with Claudia and Lupe. Not in this lifetime.
"So, Genome," said Claudia, "you waited for that truck to pass even though you had plenty of time to cross."
"Yeah," said a voice inside my head. "You stood there like a squirrel contemplating life choices."
That was Amy, my amygdala—the bratty little gatekeeper of my emotions. I call her Princess Amy because she’s spoiled and prone to dramatics.
Lupe, in perfect sync with Amy, snorted. "Were you waiting for a personal invitation? Afraid the monster truck was going to grab you and drop you in the river?"
“Not grab me,” I said. “More like—run me down and then back over me, just because he could.”
"Pfft," said Lupe.
"Pfft," echoed Amy.
Claudia took a slow sip of coffee. “Sounds like anxiety talking.”
“It was Amy,” I said.
“What? Amy?” she asked, confused.
“Never mind,” I said.
Claudia set down her coffee. “You know, the Buddha teaches that anxiety—like all suffering—comes from attachment.”
“I’m not attached to anxiety," I said. "I’d love to cut all ties with it.”
“No, no. The attachment isn’t to anxiety itself but to control,” she explained. “You want to control your surroundings and avoid conflict. But true serenity comes from releasing desire and simply existing.”
“I’d love to ‘simply exist,’ but my amygdala has other plans,” I said. “She prefers steel-plated, street-legal tanks—not real ones. Metaphorical tanks.”
Lupe smirked. "Yeah, Claudia, it's easy to renounce desire when the worst thing chasing you is a mild inconvenience."
A silence settled over the table. Irv had a look on his face that reminded me of a line in a Jimmy Buffett song—I don’t know where I’m gonna go when the volcano blows.
Claudia turned back to me. “So, do you think your anxiety comes from striving to achieve too much?”
"I don’t ask for much," I said. “Just an engaging pastime, some quiet quality time with Ms. Wonder, a good book…”
I paused, then remembered an article I’d read in Vanity Fair.
“Oh! And a cottage in an abandoned Renaissance village in Italy. They pay people to move there and keep the villages from crumbling.”
They all stared at me. Irv looked even more desperate to escape.
“I know, I know,” I continued, “the cottage is a bit of an outlier in my otherwise modest list of desires. But come on—Italy.”
They all smiled and nodded. I suddenly felt lighter. Probably just my mood disorder reversing polarity.
The conversation wound down, goodbyes were exchanged, and we went our separate ways.
Outside, the sun had burned a hole in the overcast sky. Driving down Castle Street, I felt better. Blue skies smiling at me, bluebirds singing their songs—I thought, don’t wake me, this is going to be the best day of my life.
Later, reflecting on the morning’s events, a quote from the Tao Te Ching came to mind:
"Be like the forces of nature: when it blows, there is only wind; when it rains, there is only rain; when the clouds pass, the sun shines through."
The quote describes me to a T, don’t you think? Like a force of nature.
