Today I was in a rush.
One of my best friends was coming into town for a visit (a rare and wonderful thing!). She was arriving on a morning flight, while I, myself, had just returned the night before from spending a couple days out of town with my daughter.
And there was just not. enough. time. To clean up all the things, answer all the emails, text all the texts, run all the laundry, catch up on all the deliverables, think through all the family logistics, etc. etc. before I needed to drive into the city to meet her.
What I was feeling in my body, friends, was pain. A very specific pain that starts with spinning thoughts, “I’m failing. There’s no way I can get all this done,” and ends with my throat closed, my pulse racing, and an achy, stabbing weight taking up residence in my chest.
As I rushed around picking up the house, peppering my husband with questions, and restarting my computer (because OF COURSE this is the moment it freezes up), I could feel myself sinking more and more deeply into a frenzied slosh of anxiety and trepidation. I wondered if this could be an opportunity to study my rushing mind and explore possible ways to work with it.
So, today I offer to you the three things I tried in an effort to quell my dread, two of which worked okay, and one that worked way better than I expected.
Go Gumby.
First, I imagined possessing incredible, stretchy Gumby arms. Arms that could reach all the way around my body and my brain’s cuckoo catastrophizing, in order to give myself a sweet, tight hug. While I squeezed, I reminded myself that this feeling of pain and panic was totally normal, and just a part of living a very human life in a very human body. Holding space with compassion felt good and calmed me down a bit, but it wasn’t enough to diminish all of the anxiety.
Take a Trip to Fantasy Island.
Next I decided to feel beneath my panic, asking myself, “What do I really want right now?” I discovered what I longed for most deeply in that moment was time. So, for a minute I gave myself permission to fantasize about what I’d do if I did have alll the time today.
I’d spend 2.5 luxurious hours writing! Take 3 hours to purge the piles of random detritus accumulating in various corners of my house! Sit out on my deck for 2 more hours with my notebook and calendar, thinking through the Jenga of work and life (and summer savoring!) that needs to happen in the next few weeks before school begins! I relaxed a bit indulging in the momentary bliss of imagined accomplishment, while simultaneously answering an email, shooting logistical texts about carpools and afternoon playdates, and looking for my car keys.
Take Exquisite Care.
I began to wonder what would happen if I moved toward the rushing instead of resisting or attempting to quash it. I decided to try telling myself, “Okay, we can hurry, but let’s also take exquisite care.”
I scrubbed my teeth quickly, but instead of simultaneously reciting to myself the list of things to remember before I left the house, I gently focused my mind on taking exquisite care with my teeth brushing—feeling the buoyant weight of the brush in my hand, the quick tickle of the bristles on my gums, the foamy shoot of spit directed carefully into the sink’s drain. As I hastily schlepped dirty plates from the sink to the dishwasher, I got curious about what it would mean to do this both quickly as well as with exquisite care. I admired the rush of water over the sticky surfaces, enjoyed the satisfying thunk of each plate as it slotted into the dishwasher. I was still moving fast, but somehow, the panic finally began to ease.
Rushing is a mind-fuck. It’s full of a bunch of BS thoughts from your primal brain telling you that time is scarce and you’re gonna die, blah blah blah. Unfortunately, knowing this doesn’t always get you out of it.
It turns out the best way to get out of this particular mind-fuck today wasn’t knowing something different, but sensing something different—in my body. Reaching into my senses and the task of the moment and letting it take me away from the spinning swirl of my mind.
Maybe you already knew this. Maybe I did at one point, too.
But somehow when it’s game time and the clock is ticking and you’re believing the story that tells you you’ve got mere minutes to drive the ball down the field before the season is over and your job is toast, it’s easy to forget what you know.
And, hopefully, (if I’m lucky!) I’ll have lots more chances to get better at rushing—forgetting, then remembering to take exquisite care, again and again.
"Take exquisite care." Echoes of your commitment to revel in (or appreciate) the way your child slaps your arm upon waking up. I think of this one often. XO