Anxiety is no friend of mine. In fact, I can probably count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I've felt truly, out-of-control anxious. Okay, maybe both hands. I'm not talking about those blockbuster stress events, like when a kid dashes out in front of an SUV or needs a trip to the ER. I'm talking instead about feeling like you've got a brick sitting in your chest, or an angry kitten in your stomach.

I simply don't DO anxiety. I don't know how to. No matter how stressed or frustrated or truly powerless I may be, I usually find peace with my lot by spreading my arms and letting the current carry me toward shore. I may drift a bit, but eventually I can hear the sound of the water change as it grows shallower. My submerged ears begin to hear the shifting sounds of the sandy, gravelly bottom and I find that I can stand up. From that moment, it's just a matter of wading out, and then shaking the water out of my ears.

Lest I sound more zen than I really am, I believe this is a truly helpless choice. I'm not a fighter. I'm not often angry. I go with the flow because it is the path of least resistance.

And yet. I am angry. I am angry and frustrated because life has thrown a giant, lumpy, slimy boulder in the middle of an already turbulent stream, and although I keep reminding myself to lay back, to trust that I will not wreck upon the rocks, I find myself fighting. My head aches from the unconscious clenching of my teeth each night. My shoulders and neck are stiff from the strain of trying to be broader, stronger, more worthy.

I cannot cry. The tears won't come.

In my chest, there is the sensation of tiny wings.

Last night, I curled on my bed, earphones pressed into my skull, trying to follow a guided meditation on relieving anxiety. Normally, a few minutes of soothing suggestions and new-age gong and flutes music drops me right into a deep sleep. But last night every suggestion was wrong. Every phrase, every metallic "boooonnnnng" - everything. I sucked in giant breaths and exhaled dramatically. The tiny wings in my chest grew more frantic.

I'll never know, I suppose, what phrase or breath did the trick, but suddenly those wings were attached to a tiny bird, and that bird was sitting on my shoulder - no longer fighting to get out, or maybe fighting to get my attention. There was the curious sensation of a little feathered life alongside my cheek.

"Fly away," I thought. The little scratchy feet on my shoulder tickled. "Fly away," I said, to the tiny wings.

A tiny wing brushed my face as I inhaled as slowly and deeply as I could. It flew away as I let go of my breath.