How are you?

It’s a simple question we answer on a daily basis.

Student Amy said, Tired. I’m so fucking tired.

Bartender Amy said, Better now that you’re here!

Interpreter Amy signed, Good, how are you?

Amy at checkout in the dead of winter said, Sick of this weather!

And then there's Anxious Amy.

I’m good, I’d say. But I can’t stop thinking about the goose I drove by earlier, dying in the middle of the road, its partner squawking from the shoulder. I regret Googling whether or not geese mate for life, because they do. And when I drove past the goose’s carcass 30 minutes later, its partner was sitting next to it.

I’m good, I’d say. But my mind keeps wandering to my friend of 12 years who's in a manic episode that I fear he won’t return from. We would speak on the phone 20 times within 24 hours and every call felt more and more like I was talking to a stranger, so eventually I stopped answering. I had to let him go. And I'm wondering if setting boundaries can be selfish.

I’m great, I’d say, but I keep picking at my anxious thoughts like scabs and can’t figure out how to stop and let them heal.

I’m great. How could I not be? I am healthy, my family is healthy, I have a husband who loves me entirely, I have a beautiful life but I worry I don't deserve it. I worry it could all change.

I’m having a bit of a hard time regulating my thoughts, I'd say. But of course I can't verbalize these things. A simple question isn't an invitation to make a casual conversation my dumping ground.

I consider speaking plainly about the ideas and images lurking in the damp corner of my brain but more often than not, I opt to leave them there to evaporate over time. Thoughts are just thoughts, I remind myself. We are good. Everything is good. We deserve a beautiful life.