Arizona and Me

In February of 2009 I took a vacation, not to get away from work or see a state I haven't ever seen before, but to prove to myself I could break out of my comfort zone.

The state was Arizona. Mesa to be exact. I had been born there, but I hadn't seen the desert valley or the surrounding mountains in over ten years. I hadn't even lived in Arizona since I was two years old (I am 22 today), and had only visited twice since my family had moved back to the Midwest from which they had come.

So it's not like I'm an Arizona native or anything. Not even close. But the Superstition Mountain overlooking Apache Junction, Mesa, Phoenix, and the rest of the Valley of the Sun symbolized a monumental test. If I could go, enjoy myself, and come home, I could move forward with my life stronger than I had ever been before.

I suffer from Social Phobia and Social Anxiety Disorder. I have a shy bladder to boot, and traveling nearly five thousand miles, and spending a week from home, would be no small accomplishment. I'd be going with my uncle and my grandfather, giving me at least a safety net, but I would find my only true comfort would be what I could learn to believe about my chronic disorders.

Could I do it? Could I not only survive but have fun and come back healthy, whole?

What I was attempting was an extreme form of desensitization. Two thousand miles from the comfort of my own bathroom, I had no choice but to urinate in public. I had no choice but to speak to strangers, to order my own meals, to interact with people and confront strange and discomforting situations. It was do or die.

I was not sure of what would happen on the way, or what would happen when I got there, but it didn't take long on the road to realize Arizona was going to unlock doors that had remained closed for years. It took one week and I could converse with people, go to the bathroom in public stalls, order food, and do many other things I had once not found possible.

I had fun the day I climbed the Superstition and looked out over the vast horizon. As I stared out I knew when I got home nothing would be the same. Today, eight months later, I still have limitations, but what Arizona really gave me was the courage to step out of my self-enforced boundaries. Because of Arizona, and because of the Superstition Mountain overlooking the place of my birth, I am one step closer to collecting my birthright as a human being: freedom.