FUUUUUDS

My first FUDS was two and a half years ago.  I'd heard for months on end about this incredible weekend in Florida--volleyball, beaches, parties, and friends--and when the time came, it was exactly how I'd imagined it.  Better, even.  I danced my heart out.  I drank on the beach.  I made out with somebody on the dance floor.  And I didn't stress about any of it.  Not the total amount of alcohol I consumed.  Not how I looked in my bathing suit.  Not what that kiss meant or where it was going or how I should act the next day.  I didn't care.  She didn't care, this Vacation Rebekah.

Vacation Rebekah is amazing.  She's super chill and fun and low-stress.  She doesn't overthink everything.  She revels in taking risks and being a little out of the box.  She's like Everyday Rebekah after a good spit shine.

This past FUDS, Vacation Rebekah had a blast.  She got in Thursday night around 10 and proceeded to drink two glasses of red wine and eat a rich chocolate ice cream bar all before bed.  She spent the next day lounging around.  She spent the night hanging out with friends and dancing and laughing.  She spent the next day playing volleyball and hanging out with her team, an incredible trio of people who were both supportive and challenged her to play better.  She spent the next night dancing and talking with friends, calling it a night early and being happy to do so.  She finished out the weekend with a great day of volleyball, a tough loss in the semis, a hilarious night of friends acting/dancing out songs over dinner, and an easy morning and and easy drive home.

But coming down from FUDS is as hard as the weekend was fun.  It's like coming off a wicked bender and walking straight into a death metal concert.  It's painful, and it's emotional, and the smallest things throw Everyday Rebekah out of whack as she comes back into view.  One year, I almost ruined a stellar relationship with my landlord because she gave me short notice on my way back from Florida about moving everything out of my room that night for a repair job, and I just couldn't handle it.  This year, I took it out on the guy I'm seeing.  Molehills became real hills became mountains.  Cynicism and anxiety took the wheel.  Everyday Rebekah didn't know how to manage the disappointment of coming home with the excitement of seeing him again with the challenges of work and life.

But it's been a week since I returned, and I'm itching for center again.  I looked up yoga classes.  I pondered meditation.  I took a few walks on my own.  But the truth is, I just need to take my own advice.  I just need to stop harping on it.  I need to let it be.  Mountains don't stay mountains forever, and molehills, well, I imagine they're only ever as big as you make them.