I used to think I was claustrophobic. My childhood dentist was on the 16th floor of a Memphis high rise. Rather than take the elevator to the waiting room, I would take the stairs. You read that right: I would climb 16 flights of stairs to avoid a 60-second ride in the elevator. I thought it was the size of the box that spooked me, the crushing smallness of it.

But as I got older I found that same anxiety could flare up in ever larger spaces. I am terrified of airplanes; I get panicky if my theater seat is too far from the aisle; and even now, being quarantined in a 3 bedroom house with a wide open lawn beneath a wide open sky makes me uneasy and prone to a chilling dread.

I used to think I was claustrophobic. I have learned, however, it is not the size of the space that troubles me, but the feeling of being bound to it. And this loss of agency feels like a loss of control. So, I inhale deeply, exhale slowly, and remind myself of this: you were never in control.