Today in my migraine musings, I found something in myself that I don’t know if I’ve ever seen before. In fact, the sensation is so new to me that I’m not quite sure how to describe it – but I’ll try.

I suppose it all started the other night: my roommate and I were planning on going to a party. Now, as you get to know me, you’ll find the idea of me partying ridiculous. I hate loud music, bright lights, large crowds, and socializing in general. It would only be slightly hyperbolic to say that I would rather piss off The Hulk than go to a wild party such as the one last night. However, I’d convinced myself that this typical college experience would be an excellent way to step out of my comfort zone and grow as a human being.

So I curled my eyelashes and applied two different mascaras (which, IMO, seems excessive, but trying too hard is precisely on-brand for me). I put on my third-favorite lipstick because I trusted it most out of all the others to stay put throughout the night. I did my best to find an outfit I could feel comfortable in while simultaneously looking, well, like I was going to a party. That in itself was a major contradiction. But this part was fun – dressing up, doing face masks, dancing in the bathroom to Adele and Amy Winehouse and P!nk – it was like a movie montage. The “pre-gaming” period of the night is where I really shine. It’s a pity the night doesn’t end there, because I was done before my friends had even left for the party. Exhausted, out of breath, and slipping naturally into Migraine Land, I fell asleep in the bathroom, mid-pee. After making sure I was okay, my friends left without me. Equally relieved and disappointed, I tucked myself back into my comfort zone and slept as if I’d actually partied.

The hangover that greeted me this morning was like that creepy uncle at the family reunion who interrupts your conversation with Grandma to hug you for way too long. Not only was it obnoxious and unrelenting, it was entirely unwarranted. This was the heavy, nauseous aching of a migraine-hangover, which upset me because I hadn’t done anything to earn it. I mean, no one earns a migraine or its resulting hangover, but it seems unfair that my roommate, who got plastered and partied well into the morning, woke up feeling better than I did. Getting drunk off your ass is like prepaying for a hangover – you know it’s coming because you ordered it. I did not order it, yet somehow there it was, like a gift from my secret admirer in hell. Needless to say, the anger that resulted from this series of thoughts along with the hangover that inspired it created a monster out of me, so I went back to sleep to spare my roommate from my personality.

I awoke later to go to her choir concert. She had to be there an hour before the concert started and I didn’t want to wait and walk there alone, so I walked with her from our apartment to the music hall, which is about 20 minutes away, and then watched Westworld for forty minutes until the doors opened. Ten minutes later, while standing in a large line of people who appeared to simply be waiting in front of the door, I realized you had to pay for tickets. Frustration washed over me as I realized that I didn’t have three dollars in cash to buy a ticket to this concert, and I had walked and waited here for nothing. Defeated, I decided to be a big girl and walk back home on my own. Then the unthinkable happened:

As I leisured down the street, I heard a group of geese flying overhead. After they were out of earshot, I heard what I’ve now determined as one of my favorite sounds – silence. Sure, there were birds chirping and occasionally a car would drive by, but ultimately I was surrounded by this gorgeous, quiet stillness. I was overwhelmed with peaceful awareness. I noticed I didn’t feel rushed; I was free to walk at my own pace because there was absolutely nowhere I had to be. The weather was breezy and cool, but in a spring-like, refreshing way. I wasn’t too hot or too cold, and I didn’t feel out of breath. I didn’t encounter anyone who seemed inherently rude, which was a nice change. When a couple passed me on the sidewalk holding hands, my instinct was to be annoyed. But then I heard myself thinking, “well, if someone who loved me wanted to hold my hand as we walked down the street, that would make me happy,” and suddenly the couple ahead didn’t disgust me. (Did I slow down after they passed me so they would get away from me faster? Of course I did. But that was more to regain my silence that had been interrupted by their conversation.) I noticed the trees, patiently waiting for spring to grant them leaves; and the grass, though brown and coarse and dull, didn’t seem ugly to me like it usually does. This is just how it is. Everything looks dead this time of year, but in a couple months it will come back to life, and that is beautiful.

As I approached my apartment, I thought about the grass and the trees and my hangover. Just as I didn’t order my migraine, the trees didn’t order the winter. Just as I ache with pain and defeat, so must the grass as it browns and gets bald. But still, the trees come back to life. Flowers bloom, grass grows, animals come out of hibernation and the world looks alive again. So, I should be able to revive like the trees, shouldn’t I? Though the mere preparation for a night on the town exhausts me, and in the moment I feel like I’ve failed at some rite of passage, I am still able to leave my house. Even when my body feels as though I’ve spent the night in a taffy pull, I am able to walk through the aching and notice the birds outside. Even when I feel like I’m dead, I am able to live.

I can find my way home safely without my friend or her maps. I can see a happy couple without feeling lonely or jealous. I can go for a walk without completely exhausting myself (that’s a big deal for me, but more on that later). I’m not sure exactly what this feeling inside me is, but I think I’ll be okay. I think I can do this.