A Constellation of Low-Grade Anxieties

I've been thinking lately about anxiety, and all of its different manifestations, and how seldom any of the things we worry about, usually between the hours of 2:30 and 3:45 a.m., actually manifest in the bright light of day. (Planet X, I'm talking to you.)

If we're unlucky, I'll get tongue tied,
then manage to say something so
incredibly awkward that the other
passengers will attempt to throw
themselves down the elevator shaft
to escape the noxious cloud of
awkwardness.

I have no trouble reading deeply personal poetry into a microphone, or delivering a presentation to a hundred people (thanks, no doubt, to a career that has frequently required me to babble at length in public settings about subjects on which I am at best marginally well informed). However, ask me to make small talk to people on an elevator and, if we are all very lucky, I'll be tongue tied.

Bruce is anxious about nuclear war, North Korea, being left without adult supervision for more than 30 minutes, and where he and his sisters will live as grown ups that will meet their individual preferences while still being close enough to not be a hardship for me to visit them. Yet, on the fourth day of his first year in junior high, he got up in front of a class of fellow sixth graders and acted his little heart out for the first time, displaying emotions and facial expressions that had the class laughing and clapping. He likes to play his viola for me, but he worries if I am ten minutes late in the driveway.

Number of times I've heard her sing: 1
She tells me this is because Alto 2 is really
boring and all she does is hold a single note
for a really long time so there's nothing to hear.
This is called lying.

Eleanor doesn't worry about international politics or war, but every choir competition or performance sends her to the bathroom for a ten-minute panic attack.

Betty can make friends with the new kid in class and deliberately change seats every single day so she can sit with as many new kids as possible, but attempts to hide behind me at family gatherings.

I have a friend whose anxiety sometimes won't let her leave the house, but is brave enough to share her struggles on social media and even begin a memoir about them.

So anxiety is something we all have, but in strange and subtle ways, like a fingerprint whose swirls and ripples tells the story of our emotional lives.

I've been embarking on a sort of challenge here lately, inspired by <I apologize for the banality of this in advance> Pinterest. I know, right?

Okay, it's 15 minutes before
6:00 a.m. But still. Until this
summer, I was pretty sure
all times before 6:00 a.m.
were part of some sort of
alternate and particularly
sketchy dimension.

So, this challenge is in addition to all of the other challenges I keep giving myself. First, there was the Continuous Practice challenge, inspired by a friend-of-a-friend on Facebook. That challenge was to do something creative every day as an act of mindful creation. Now, the actual challenge, I never could figure out how to join on Facebook. But, never fear, I blended it with the Morning Pages challenge from one of my favorite bloggers, Little Coffee Fox. (Her motto is "Inspiration Through Organization," and I promise you, I feel the irony, and it burns.). So, my "something creative every day" became "to write morning pages." I even, and this should call for some form of electroshock therapy, have been getting up before 6:00 a.m. to meet these challenges. And because that wasn't challenging enough, I decided to make one of my three morning pages devoted to a challenge from one of my other favorite bloggers, Brigit Esselmont of Biddy Tarot (since college I've used tarot cards as a tool to help me examine my thoughts, question my motivations, and generally find new ways to think about what's going on in my life). And when you're already doing three writing challenges a day, what's one more? I intended to go to a poetry critique group one Saturday with the prompt of writing a seven-line poem. I didn't actually go, because Hurricane Harvey came through and I wasn't sure if I'd need to go into the office or not. Never fear, though, because I really got into the prompt and began writing a six- or seven-line poem every evening.

So, of course, when you're already doing four overlapping writing challenges a day, what you obviously need (besides to stop following so many bloggers) is to go on Pinterest and find inspiration for a fifth writing challenge. And, oh, my friends, Pinterest will provide!

*Also interesting? How the truth journaling
aspects of my morning pages manifestation
of my continuous practice is reflected in my
tarot draws and expressed in my daily poems.
Because I am a multi-tasking beast, people!
(For those who don't tarot, the reversed
ten of swords, very appropriately, suggests
cutting through the lies you tell yourself.)

Anyway, Writing Challenge #5 is something called "truth journaling." The idea is to pour out what psychology folk call the ANTs (automatic negative thoughts) on paper, and then methodically cross-examine those and debunk them. I like me pretty well as a person and am reasonably content with my life, but I do have some very deep anxieties about my exterior. The interesting part of the truth journaling aspect of my morning pages manifestation of my continuous practice* is how, when I really reflect on each little thing I don't like about my appearance, it really traces back to some bit of social anxiety from my youth. I'm too tall? Comes from years of kids asking me how the weather is up here, hordes of well-meaning adults asking if I played basketball, and decades of frustration in department stores trying to find sweaters whose sleeves reach the wrist. My feet are too big? Comes from the horror of needing black shoes for marching band and having to buy granny shoes at SAS. All minor, low-grade anxieties that linger like the after-effects of a pot of sauerkraut, polluting the air long after the ridiculousness of teen angst has passed. Examined in that light, they were as outdated as the granny shoes and much easier to put in the dumpster.

I highly recommend any one (or more!) of the challenges above. Since July 16, 2017, I have written 267 pages, 74 continuous practice sets of morning pages, reflected on 88 tarot cards, and written 36 six- or seven-line poems. I've gotten some great insights into myself and others, and I've gotten at least a bit more comfortable with looking in the mirror. All of which may, possibly, just maybe, be worth getting up at 5:45 for.

The journal my kids got me for Christmas. I started writing in July and it's half full. This will make them happy because it will give them something concrete to shop for next Christmas.
Also, Sharpie pens are awesome.