Stress Fantasies vs. Stress Realities, Pt. 2

by Alex and Haley

Stress Fantasy: I attend a party by myself. I know some people that I “know” will be there, and suspect some people that I actually know will be there, but I do not text them to confirm their security blanket attendance. I do not make plans with a friend to walk in together. Like a goddamned adult, I walk in by myself, confident that I scan the room, find people I know, get a drink, and eventually integrate myself into a pleasant and enjoyable conversation, without clutching the arm of a socially stronger person than I perceive myself to be.
Stress Reality: I attend a party by myself. This is not for lack of trying to avoid this possibility: I spend far too many minutes texting other people, confirming their attendance, trying in vain to get someone who lives nearby to at least take the subway with me, if not get a drink first so I can self-medicate my overpowering social anxiety. Upon entering the room, I mentally repeat literally no one cares and just focus on not seeming too desperate to find someone I know. I use those first few minutes to hide in a corner, catching up on all the text messages I had ignored throughout the day, but then realize how antisocial I am being and enter into a conversation with the first person I see who I vaguely know. The party is pleasant enough and I leave, the faint sense of irrational embarrassment trailing me all the way home.

Stress Fantasy: I meet someone through a friend of a friend; or rather, a friend of a friend invites us to the same party, but we find each other, and spend all night talking and by the next morning we’re in love so we take a two-week love holiday road trip across the country, visiting New Mexico (I’ve always wanted to visit New Mexico) and having the most exciting sex of our lives because even though we’ve only just met, we are experts on each other. Returning home, we fall neatly and mutually out of love, but agree to make incredible works of art about our time together and stay great friends, which we do.
Stress Reality: I meet someone through a friend of a friend; rather, a friend of a friend invites us to the same party, but we find each other around 1am and spend a few hours talking and by the next morning we have definitely had sex, so we have brunch and agree to see each other again. The sex is a little better the next time, but a little worse the third time, and sort of dull the fourth time so we neatly and mutually don’t text each other again.
ALTERNATE STRESS REALITY: I meet someone through a friend of a friend; or rather, a friend of a friend invites us to the same party, but we find each other around 1am and spend a few hours talking and by the next morning we have definitely had sex that was great for one of us, but not both. The one for whom it was great thinks a lot about the other one, who is busy working and thinking about who else they might have sex with, and feels nervous and excited for the agreed-upon date the following week, but texts twice in a row in the meantime and ruins the whole thing.

Stress Fantasy: I see a person who makes me, for lack of a word that can effectively convey the emotionally charged physiological experience of a racing heartbeat and clenched stomach and shortness of breath, nervous. I’m wearing my best outfit; one that I like and that I think I look good in. My hair is clean and my skin is clear. I swallow and regain my composure. We talk, briefly, and I make them laugh with a well-timed joke. I gracefully remove myself from the conversation and walk away without looking back.
Stress Reality: I see a person who makes me, for lack of a better word, lose my shit. I panic and try to pretend like I just don’t see them. When that fails, I curse the outfit I was stupid enough to leave the house in, curse my terrible skin and terrible hair, curse my racing heart and strangled breath. They do all the talking. I stay mostly mute and nod and smile until they walk away. I spend the next week parsing the exchange over several text messages with different friends.

Stress Fantasy: A responsible and trustworthy friend is vacating their reasonably priced studio apartment just as I’m considering a five-bedroom share in a neighborhood an hour away from 100 percent of my friends. She posts on Facebook and I am the first to reply, and within an hour I’m perusing a generously sized unit in a charming three-unit house with a washer-dryer in the basement and a sweet little balcony, perfect for working outdoors during the summer months and watching the first snows fall. I get the strong feeling I’ve been here before in a very good dream. When I move in two weeks hence, I feel more healthy and productive than I have in years.
Stress Reality: I move into a four-bedroom share an hour away from 100 percent of my friends.

Stress Fantasy: In a new city, I take the recommendations of my friends with the very best hair and visit their preferred salon. The hairdresser is the perfect mix of conversational and quiet, not forceful or straining to fill every minute with words. They automatically get what my entire look is about. They listen when I tell them what I like. The haircut is razer-perfect. The color is lifted, carefully and precisely, from my secret idealized version of my own appearance. I leave the salon renewed, floating with an energy I thought I had lost.
Stress Reality: I spend several weeks deliberating on the exorbitant cost of my friend’s preferred salon. They say, over and over again, but it’s so worth it, which just makes me more paranoid: what if it’s only worth it for them? What if I hate it? I spend the entire time at the salon side-eying the nice stylist, waiting for them to make the wrong move. The haircut is nice, the color is cute. I feel like the same person when I leave, except for the nagging sense of guilt that I should’ve spent the money more responsibly.

Stress Fantasy: After several months of wondering about my “next big project,” the answer pops immaculately into my head just as a cloud drops from the sun and the brightest red ladybug I’ve ever seen lands in my left palm. I know exactly what I want to do, and the tasks ahead are clear and obvious and very doable so I put my head down and get to work, never wondering whether I’m wasting my time or if I’m capable of meeting my own expectations, and after six months or a year I’ve produced the culmination of my entire life’s work to this point, and I know I have put my everything into it, and I know it shows.
Stress Reality: After several months of wondering about my “next big project,” an answer pops immaculately into my head just as a cloud dips below the sun and a drop of air conditioner runoff splashes into my eye. I have a pretty good idea of what I want to do, but only a vague sense of how to get there, so I put my head down and scramble desperately toward a working plan but I can’t stop wondering whether I’m wasting my time on something I’m incapable of pulling off. After six months or a year I’ve finally got a sense of how to proceed, but I’m still wondering if this is really the thing I’m “supposed to be doing” and waiting for another answer to pop immaculately into my head.

Previously: Pt. 1