A hippopotamus in the room

Once when I was seven years old, I wakened during the night for no apparent reason. I peered over the side of my bed, and I froze.

A hippopotamus loomed there in the dark, right between my bed and my sister’s. My heart nearly stopped, and I don’t think I breathed for a minute or so. I lay awake for a long time, afraid to move a muscle or make a sound, because surely if I made a noise the hippo would attack me or my sister. I was afraid to sleep, because then how could I warn anyone else, when they woke up or tried to enter our room, that the hippo was there? I was terrified. I didn’t know what to do.

It’s difficult now to recall all the details of my vigil that night, but I know I lay awake for hours in a state of semi-panic. I also remember how I felt when I watched the first light of predawn seep into the room and I realized I’d spent the night terrified of—the odd shape made by a dark red blanket draped over the side of my sister’s bed.

I couldn’t believe it. I’d stayed awake almost the whole night for this? Just to feel like an idiot in the morning? I was too upset with myself to even enjoy my relief that it wasn’t a hippo.

I’ve taken my turn worrying over a lot of grownup things since then. Car breakdowns and repairs, being lost in strange places, paying the rent during those months when one and two didn’t want to add up to four no matter how hard I tried, working with difficult coworkers and bosses, and wondering about loved ones who were ill or just too far away for me to know enough about their immediate well-being. I’ve come to realize most of the things I worry about are, basically, like that hippopotamus in my room. They look big and scary in the dark, but they turn out to be nothing at all once I see them in the proper light.

Now I know. It’s the hippo I never see that will get me. The invisible hippo I never knew existed. So I might as well enjoy life, sleep at night, and have as much fun as possible. Because no matter how much I worry I’m not going to see that one coming. Maybe instead of lying awake afraid of them, we should dance with the hippos we see. Throw a hippo party. Who knows, maybe the loud music and laughter will scare the invisible hippo away.

I hope I can remember this strategy in the middle of the night when there’s a hippopotamus in the room.

Quick Update to add a positive turtle-hippopotamus story. Thanks to The Witching Well for the link.