May 4

May 4 Don't Panic

This last year sucked on so many levels.

However, without little ol’ things like “offices'“ to go to and “social engagements” and “exercising at a gym,” we had a lot more time on our hands. So when presented with an opportunity we couldn’t refuse, Josh and I bought a 120-year-old house, rolled up our sleeves, and started a massive renovation.

We finally moved in a month ago. I’ve shared photos on our Instagram account (because it’s 2021 and that’s what we do now). I’ve been making a conscious effort to not buy many new things for this place. With the exception of a new mattress, bed frame and small sofa table, I’ve managed to comb the internet, Facebook marketplace and vintage stores for everything else. We really didn’t even need much. But we did need something to put clothes in, and I found the perfect Drexel wardrobe on Facebook marketplace.

Hello, beautiful, non-smelly vintage armoire.

After back-and-forths with the seller, we arranged a time to see and possibly pick up the armoire. On a Saturday morning, while the kids stayed home with Grandpa, we made the pilgrimage to see our new armoire. As we pulled up to the address, the seller text me:

“You’re not planning on picking it up today, right? It’s really heavy, and I’m in a third floor condo.”

Don’t panic, I thought, as I braced myself for sharing the news with Josh. Like of course I didn’t ask if she lived in a house or a condo… or if there was an elevator… or a million other questions he would’ve asked. I just liked how it looked.

This is why he’s an engineer and I’m a writer.

I explained the predicament to Josh, we decided to see the piece anyhow. It was gorgeous, with all the vintage charm and none of the vintage smells. The drawers actually worked. Exactly what we were looking for.

The seller told us that it took three of her family members to move the Narnia wardrobe into the place, and they all said it must 1) stay there forever, or 2) come out in pieces, preferably made with an axe. I looked at Josh, knowing that the two of us moving a heavy piece of furniture always leads to one place: Divorce City, population 2.

Josh pitched the idea of hiring movers specifically for this armoire. While at first I couldn’t wrap my head around paying someone a few hundred bucks to move ONE THING, later that day I saw a meme proclaiming “If you’re over 35, hire movers. Your friends do not want to risk slipping a disc for some free pizza and Bud Lights.”

Sometimes the internet is just so right.

via GIPHY

After 1,298 texts, calls and emails, I finally secured a team of three to help with project armoire. I was trying to be thrifty, so I said we could use our trailer. The only problem? The first available time slot was in the middle of a work day, and since Josh’s job is all traditional, it meant I’d need to deal with the trailer solo.

Psshhht, I thought. If I can birth two babies, jump out of an airplane and do standup comedy, I can drive a trailer by myself.

Last Tuesday, Josh hitched up the trailer and I hit the road. It actually wasn’t as stressful or difficult to drive with the trailer, even (maybe especially) on the freeway. I made sure to make nice, wide turns. Piece of cake.

Then, I met the movers (aka three college students). I was instructed to pull into a long driveway, entirely flanked by two garage bays on either side. I drove the van 100 feet and reached a bonafide dead end.

I can totally back out of here, I lied to myself. I’ve seen my husband do it a million times.

While the movers headed upstairs to disassemble and move the 1,00-pound armoire down three flights of stairs, I decided that maybe the best thing for me to do was turn around and back into the driveway while I had time. I kicked it in reverse, rolled back 10 feet and…. the trailer almost T-bones the garage.

So I pull forward and try again, cranking the wheel in the other direction. Same results, other direction.

How hard can it be to just back straight up? So I tried just backing up. And somehow, the trailer started veering back tot he left.

Just then, three huge landscaping trucks with trailers double the length of mine rolled up and parked on the adjacent street. Six guys piled out of the vehicles, with a perfect view of my little personal fiasco.

Shit, I thought. Now I have an audience. I thought about what I wanted to happen next. Was I a damsel in distress? Hell no. I was going to figure this out for myself.

I took a deep breath, and said aloud, “Don't panic don't panic don't panic." I tried again.

The face of someone trying not to panic.

And for the next 30 MINUTES (!!!) I backed up, and pulled forward. Don’t panic. Backed up. Pulled forward. Don’t panic. I realized I needed let my brain tell me which way to crank the wheel… and then do the exact opposite. Backing up a trailer, especially without someone spotting for you, and especially with a bunch of dudes sitting on the lawn, eating popcorn (*I made that part up), watching you fail over and over again isn’t easy.

But I finally did it. And I never panicked. I think I even laughed?

via GIPHY

When the college movers arrived at the trailer with my new Narnia wardrobe, they were all impressed that I’d managed to turn around.

“I’ve never backed up a trailer before,” said one of them, whose name was probably Jackson, as he casually tossed his long brown hair out of his eyes.

***

Over the last year, I’ve faced many situations where I feel my heart start to race. Like when our truck went missing from our driveway last month (recovered; see the awful details here). Or when a family member shamed me for getting vaccinated. Or when I submitted 20 query letters to literary agents for the book I wrote, and still haven’t landed one. In every instance, there’s a moment when I can decide to panic. Or not.

Not panicking isn’t easy, and it’s definitely uncomfortable. But panicking doesn’t help. It only makes you feel horrible, and in my experience, zaps your ability to perform the task at hand. If someone’s not actually, I dunno, dying or something, there’s just no need to panic. And maybe especially if someone is dying: don’t panic.

Maybe this is my new mantra: