Sidewalk

Nobody actually says–or at least nobody actually gets to say–that just because you’re a “grown up” now, you have to stick to the sidewalk.

Hop up on the wall, if it’s calling your name, and teeter your way along in the sky above the sidewalk for a while.

Or abandon the sidewalk entirely and crunch through the leaves as you venture into the woods.

You are still human. There is still wonder. You are still free, child.

George Bernard Shaw - grow old because stop playing

I have anxiety and that’s okay

I have anxiety.

Some days I am in the zone, killing it.

I am a manager and I’m good at it.

I am great at sales and customer service.

I am great at leading projects.

I am the president of a Toastmasters club and I think I’m a good leader.

I am a really good friend to lots of people.

I have gotten straight A’s in basically every bit of education I’ve ever had.

I write a blog that lots of people read and find helpful.

I am a badass public speaker and can give a great presentation.

I make really beautiful piano music.

I have run half marathons.

People come to me for advice.

I survived and escaped a very toxic environment I grew up in and chosen to live life a different way.

I am really, really smart.

I am funny (don’t ask my friends).

I love to help people and at least sometimes I am good at it.

 

Some days I bury my head in the couch pillows and hyperventilate.

Some days I spend the entire day near-panicking about what would be the best way to spend the day.

Some days I randomly start crying.

Some days I feel this non-stop heavy sadness.

Some days I worry myself sick that I might get sick and die soon.

Some days I am pretty sure my whole life might be a lie, that the people who said they love me, who are supposed to love me, really don’t.

Some days I feel like crying when someone lovingly teases me because I honestly don’t get that it’s teasing.

Some days I worry that lots of people are actually unhappy with me and are out to get me. That if I’m not a good enough leader, I’ll suddenly be surprised by getting booted out the door. That if I don’t make friends or family happy, they’ll tell everyone I’m a bad person.

Some days I worry that I’m actually some really hopelessly awful person.

Some days I’m afraid that I’m just “one of those people” who will never quite be good enough, always find a way to fail.

Some days I feel like I’m floating away and I can’t reach out and grab the world I know, it’s too far gone, and I’m just stuck floating out here where nothing feels right, nothing makes sense, I can’t find anything.

Some days I lay in bed terrified and feel the room spin, and feel like the ceiling is fading away, and I stop seeing what’s around me.

Some days I can feel the *thump* *thump* *thump* of my heart beating really hard and fast and all I can feel is that my heart can’t keep up with the intense panicky drowning “Oh no” feeling.

Some days everything feels yucky and sad and scary and I finally sit down on the floor and cry and cry.

Some days I see people who always make me happy, and I realize that they probably don’t really like me, that they probably are just nice about it.

Some days I try to smile and be in a good mood and be super friendly, but I truly can’t, so I just want to get alone.

Some days everyone and everything is unsafe.

 

If I had to describe anxiety, as I’ve personally experienced it, in one sentence, it would go something like this: Watching in terror as everything you need, everything you thought you had, floats just out of your reach, and in its place, all-the-danger surrounds you.

 

Some mental illness is so serious that someone can hardly function. Some mental illness leaves people functioning well some days, struggling on others. And some mental illness injects a little bit of struggle and sadness into a mostly thriving life.

Minds are weird things. And whether someone has a diagnosed mental illness or just happens to deal with the weird stuff that happens in the mind of a human–whether someone feels good 90% of the time or 10% of the time, or maybe 0% of the time–whether someone has a severe anxiety disorder with regular anxiety attacks, or someone “just” gets pretty anxious pretty often–it is okay that you struggle. And it is okay to SAY that you struggle.

 

Some mental illness just happens, because you just happened to be born with a brain that functions a certain way.

Some mental illness happens because of a thing that happens to your body, like a disease, or like a traumatic injury.

Some mental illness happens because of sudden trauma, experiencing something like watching someone die, being assaulted, being molested or raped, or watching while some tragedy unfolds.

Some mental illness happens because of a life full of trauma, like emotional or physical abuse from your parents, or like growing up with a belief system that makes the world a dangerous place, or like getting bullied a bunch as a kid for being different.

Some mental illness gets better. Some gets worse. Some just sits there.

 

I don’t know why I struggle with anxiety as much as I do. I’ve had a professional tell me I have anxiety, but I’m not really sure if it counted as an official diagnosis of a disorder, or if it just was a statement that it’s something I deal with that doesn’t quite warrant a label. Actually, maybe it shouldn’t need to warrant a label. Maybe you don’t have to be this-far-broken to be able to talk about being broken.

I had two concussions in the last few years, and the second one sent my anxiety through the roof and it hasn’t quite come all the way back to where it was–or where I imagined it was–back when life felt more “normal.”

I started seeing a therapist after my second concussion, and very quickly he helped me realize that it was probably a good thing for my mental and emotional health that I had my anxiety and my feelings shaken up a bit so I couldn’t keep stuffing them.

I learned that I’ve naturally always had a very codependent personality in all areas of my life. I felt like my feelings weren’t important, which helped to bury my anxiety. Sort of. Until I realized that no matter how much I tried to make everyone happy, I would never stop being anxious about it.

I wish I could say that I have anxiety because of the 18 or 19 years I lived in a home that I think was full of very damaging abuse.

But I’m not sure, because I always heard from my mom that I was always a super anxious kid. (I wish she had gotten me some help about it.)

I cried pretty constantly through most of my childhood. I worried constantly about getting sick and dying. I lay awake many nights worrying that I’d end up in hell for eternity, picturing what it would feel like. I sucked my thumb long past the rest of my siblings, because it was soothing and safe. I asked my younger brother to hold my hand when he slept in the bunk above me so that I wouldn’t feel alone. And like I said, I cried. A lot.

Knowing what I’ve learned as an adult about the mind, I can identify significant anxiety attacks I had as a kid. And I remember one year I spent over half the year crying and panicking alone in my room most of every single day.

So I don’t know. Was I born with anxiety? Probably. Did an unhealthy childhood make it so much worse? Definitely. Has it actually gotten worse since my concussions? I’m not sure, but it’s definitely gotten clearer and tougher to deal with.

 

I’m a pretty normal person, I think. If you know me well, you probably know me as generally positive and fun. I look like I’ve got my stuff together.

You probably haven’t seen me panic and collapse onto the floor crying.

A lot of mental illness, people can handle well. You can try not to take it out on everyone around you, you can keep it together while you’re in public and not make a scene, you can differentiate between situations where it’s safe and appropriate to open up about your feelings or where you need to be professional, respectful, or just get stuff done.

So you probably won’t see me panic and collapse onto the floor crying.

You probably won’t see almost anybody do that.

Which means when it happens to you, you might think you’re the only one. You might think you’re not normal, you’re not okay, you’re a failure, that nobody would like the real you.

 

Saying all of this is not comfortable or fun at all. I don’t want attention for it. I don’t want to be treated like I’ve got it especially bad, because, all in all, I don’t. I’m not making a statement about me.

I wanted to share all of this just because this shitty life stuff needs to be okay. Okay to experience and okay to talk about.

If you have intense anxiety or mild anxiety, you are not alone and you’re not weird and you’re not stuck hiding. Lots of people will love you and help you, just like you want to love and help them.

If you struggle with other mental illnesses, like depression, you are not alone. You’re not weird. You can be real about it.

I don’t want to minimize the seriousness and impact of some extreme mental illnesses. For example, some people have such severe mental illness that they can’t function well enough or consistently enough to take care of themselves, and they need real help–from family, from society, from community. Some people have such severe depression that they literally can’t find the strength to get out of bed in the morning, such severe OCD that no matter how hard they try, they can’t stop washing their hands even when their skin is falling off. I don’t want to downplay how much caring support and attention we should be giving those who genuinely can’t make it through without physical, financial, tangible help.

But I honestly think that struggling with mental health is a pretty universal thing. Mild or severe.

And sometimes we just need to know that it is okay, and we need the people around us to know that it is okay. Sometimes the mind and feelings just get weird.

I challenge you to treat your mental health just like your physical health. That means when you need to see a mental health doctor, see a mental health doctor. You go for a physical once a year. Why do we save mental health help for when we’re at the end of our rope? Let’s make mental health care normal.

Don’t be afraid to be real about yourself. Don’t be afraid to ask for friendship. Don’t be afraid that your struggles–little or big–with mental health make you less.

A surprisingly huge number of us are right there with you.

We’re all in this together.

#makeitok

 

P.S. It’s okay to say “me, too.” It’s also okay to NOT say “me, too.” You can be as open or as private as you need. Just know you’re not alone, and you can at least talk to someone.

P.P.S. I wrote this a couple months ago and didn’t post it about 10 times before I finally decided to. I want to help others know they’re not alone, help others have a safe space to be exactly who they are deep down–that’s my passion. It doesn’t mean that it’s “better” to be public about your mental health. So again, there’s no pressure and no need to be vocal. You be you. Just know that who you are is okay.

 

“Some people turn sad awfully young. No special reason, it seems, but they seem almost to be born that way. They bruise easier, tire faster, cry quicker, remember longer and, as I say, get sadder younger than anyone else in the world. I know, for I’m one of them.” – Ray Bradbury, Dandelion Wine

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you’re not alone

Sad People

“Eeyore, the old grey Donkey, stood by the side of the stream, and looked at himself in the water.
‘Pathetic,’ he said. ‘That’s what it is. Pathetic.’
He turned and walked slowly down the stream for twenty yards, splashed across it, and walked slowly back on the other side. Then he looked at himself in the water again.
‘As I thought,’ he said. ‘No better from THIS side. But nobody minds. Nobody cares. Pathetic, that’s what it is.’
There was a crackling noise in the bracken behind him, and out came Pooh.
‘Good morning, Eeyore,’ said Pooh.
‘Good morning, Pooh Bear,’ said Eeyore gloomily. ‘If it IS a good morning,’ he said. ‘Which I doubt,’ said he.
‘Why, what’s the matter?’
‘Nothing, Pooh Bear, nothing. We can’t all, and some of us don’t. That’s all there is to it.’
‘Can’t all WHAT?’ said Pooh, rubbing his nose.
‘Gaiety. Song-and-dance. Here we go round the mulberry bush. …I’m not complaining, but There It Is.'”
~ A. A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh

I don’t know if I’m a “sad” person. I’m figuring that out. I think I have been sad a lot. But I don’t know if I’m a Sad Person.

I have had stretches in my life full of everyday giddiness, high on life, can’t-stop-smiling, can’t-stop-laughing. Like life was one constant summer evening drive with the windows down. In fact, “happy” used to be the word I’d always, always use to describe myself. It was my identity.

I definitely am not always a Happy Person, though. At least not these days.

Do you think you HAVE to be a Happy Person? SHOULDN’T be a Sad Person? Maybe you’re a both. (That sounds pretty human.) What is YOUR relationship with sadness?

There is something to be said, to be acknowledged and understood, about sadness and sad people. They’re there, they’re real. I don’t know why some are mostly sadder and some are mostly happier. And like I said, I don’t know which one I am or if I’m right in the middle. Maybe that will change every year. Maybe one day it will stay one or the other. But I think the world is a better place when we acknowledge and see and accept that some people are Sad People.

I stumbled upon this little moment in a Ray Bradbury story this year, and it spoke to me, a little too directly:

“Some people turn sad awfully young. No special reason, it seems, but they seem almost to be born that way. They bruise easier, tire faster, cry quicker, remember longer and, as I say, get sadder younger than anyone else in the world. I know, for I’m one of them.”
~ Ray Bradbury, Dandelion Wine

I’d like to share a little bit of my story with sadness, because I want to tell you a few things I know about sad people.

My journey with sadness must have started very young. Maybe, like Ray Bradbury said, “no special reason.” I just remember hearing when I was growing up that I had always been a very anxious little kid. Always afraid, crying lots. Having deep, sad thoughts.

I remember as a 7-year-old having very real fears that my siblings and I must not be real Christians because we were always fighting and being mean. I tried to have a sort of one-kid intervention about it, where I made a big pronouncement of doom and despair with my 7-year-old voice, trying to be heard over all the kids-fighting-because-they’re-kids noise in the back of the station wagon, but it didn’t make me feel any better.

I sucked my thumb and slept with stuffed animals for a lot longer than was normal “for a boy” (which is a dangerous phrase). I always felt afraid and I always felt a desperate need for safety, for assurance, for comfort. I still have my tigers Jack and Dakota and Sebastian, and when I find them once in a while on my closet shelf I feel a “better” type feeling, like when I hugged them close as a kid. I hugged them a lot because I needed love and I needed safety. I had this nightmare when I was only several years old that spoke so strongly of my day-to-day fears that I can still replay the nightmare to this day: Out on a family walk in Chattanooga, I’d fall behind, my family would round a bend, and gypsies would jump out of the woods and steal me away to be their own child. (I don’t know where I learned about gypsies.)

We moved to Florida. A lot of times I couldn’t sleep. My mom found me sitting on the stairs. I explained, when she asked what was wrong, that I was just so worried about getting spinal meningitis or small pox and dying. I shared a room with a brother and two sisters, and we would stay awake planning how we could protect ourselves if a bad person broke into the house while dad and mom were away. I knew where my granddad’s Japanese WWII sword was. Swords were my thing. At first I would draw swords and then eventually I’d make swords out of old broom handles and duct tape and then one day a deacon at church said he had a jigsaw and would love to help me carve the swords so I dreamed them up and drew the outlines on old bed slats and I brought them to him and it was a good day but he also was a little rough around the edges and said some unkind words to me and it scared me and it made me sad but when I got home I had my swords. My favorite sword was a beautiful little one. Duct tape wrapped around two pencils gave the handle a handle-shape and I think I painted a red jewel on the bottom. One time I was “fooling around” with it while the family read out loud for school, so my mom told me to bring it to her, and I asked her to please, please, please not spank me with it, because I was afraid it would break, and it was my favorite sword, but she spanked me with it, and my sword broke. And I was a kind of sad-in-every-way that lasted a long, long time.

As a teenager I got sad about deeper things. Things like my imperfections. I thought it was good to beat myself up over my mistakes and my weaknesses, so I did, a lot. I felt lots of shame and stress and struggle. I worried so much about God. That wasn’t a new thing. When I was about 9 I had asked my dad how we could have gotten to the present if eternity stretched for all eternity into the past. We couldn’t have gotten to now, so it all must have started sometime, but how could God be God if he hadn’t stretched to eternity past? And who got God started? This was a deep, aching, upset-stomach kind of problem to me. But my dad explained that God is outside time, so I felt better and went back to worrying about getting kidnapped instead. In my teen years, the God fears got more complicated. How could I know that I had the right kind of faith? Not the “Lord, didn’t I know you?” only to hear God say “Depart from me, I never knew you!” kind of faith. I would lie awake night after night crying in bed, afraid of going to hell, imagining it, hoping against it, wondering, sick to my stomach. That fear never went all the way away. (“Perfect love drives out fear.” – 1 John 4:18)

If I had been my own parent and had believed in things like therapists and psychology, there was one year in particular that I would have brought kid-me to a professional. I had this awful thought where maybe God wasn’t real–and it all went downhill fast from there. For months and months and months, I could hardly eat, I could hardly sleep, I could hardly get out of bed. I couldn’t look people in the face, especially not the eyes. I truly could not smile and people commented on it. I couldn’t enjoy anything. I couldn’t be happy. I couldn’t think straight. I couldn’t see straight, sometimes. I felt like I was walking in a tunnel. I felt like I was floating away on the outside, looking in at all the peopleish people who knew how to be people, while I was dying in my heart, desperately waiting for the world to make sense again, waiting for a thing to hold onto. I was lost and scared. All of the happy and fun things were not happy and not fun anymore. At all. Every day was awful. Every single day. For the better part of a year. It was so dark. I would shut myself in my bedroom and cry for most of every day. Think, worry, and cry. That was my life for quite a while. I was a Sad Person in a big needs-help kind of way.

In my late teen years, my sadness turned mostly toward love-stuff. Cute-girl love but also family love and friendship love and world peace love and all the feel-good stuff that we celebrate on a day like Christmas, the day I find myself writing this. I felt deeply lonely and sad about not having a lot of friends, about never really learning to have friends or to be around other people who were different from me. I felt stuck in a place where I couldn’t feel much love, and every day it felt heavy and lonely and yucky and sad. As an 18-year-old I would covertly bypass our burglar alarm so that I could sneak out of my window to take walks alone in the dark. It felt like a little bit of freedom, getting to just be me. There were really rough times where I felt like I had lost so much love and support and friendship. Where I felt like I had been rejected by almost everyone, left completely alone, broken, to navigate life by myself. I needed love, but I couldn’t trust.

Eventually I claimed the freedom to go do my life the way I wanted. Unfortunately, that freedom coincided with an unrequited-love time, and juggling that and an 18-year-long scar of sadness got really, really dark.

But then, fairly randomly I think, I learned how to be happy.

I found real, huge, giddy, outrageously GOOD happiness! And honestly, I had experienced lots of happy things or happy corners-of-life in my childhood. Playing baseball in my backyard, feeling like a world traveler as I caught a plane and the MARTA to escape to my loving friends in Atlanta, and playing all the happy songs on the piano, like Linus and Lucy. But lots, I’d play the sad songs, too. Finally, as a young adult, the sad songs started slipping into memory and every day started bursting with happiness. A beautiful girl named Lyssi. Cheese and other yummy foods not as worthy of mention as cheese. Epic movies to see. Sketch pads. A fresh, cool breeze rushing by as I ran for miles and miles. My own car to adventure in. People who were there for me and the chance to be there for people. Kind words. Hugs. Purpose, excitement, confidence, and giddy, giddy, giddy happiness.

And then more weird life things happened that shook me pretty deep and brought me back to the pretty constant hum of worry and stress and fear and doubt and sadness. Several years swung back and forth pretty regularly–actually probably pretty healthily–between being generally stressed and generally happy. I wasn’t a Sad Person, but I wasn’t the Happy Person I had been, either.

Then one summer, over a year ago now, two things happened that shook a lot of Sad loose from deep inside my heart. First, I took a trip and saw some people whom it should have been wonderful to see, and saw a bunch more people who were once my tribe. And it was not good. It was not good at all. It was hard and sad and heavy and frustrating and a little bit gross. After that trip I came back to the happy-home I had found the freedom to make, but I couldn’t shake the hurt. For months after that trip I would wake up almost every night sweating, shaking, panting, having nightmares about the sad stuff I thought I had left safely behind in my childhood. Trust started becoming hard again. I started feeling sensitive and oh-so-protective. Second that summer (and I’ve written lots about this before) I bonked my head way too hard hiking in the Colorado Rockies and I knocked even more feelings loose. If you’ve ever had a concussion or known someone who has, you might know a frequent effect is intense anxiety and emotional lows. Like “I’m crying and I don’t know why” twenty times a day. This time around for me, the emotional lows were there again, but the anxiety was so present and so forceful, I could hardly make it through the day. I became weirdly mistrusting of everything and everyone, and I constantly felt that at the next moment my whole world might come crashing down. The concussion effect on my brain lasted a surprisingly long time, especially the anxiety. But by the time I felt probably-back-to-normal, so much Sad had been shaken loose that I felt like a significantly different person than I’d been before the ordeal.

Since then, I’ve dealt with a weird and tough stretch. Over a year feeling the loss of a lot of things I had, feeling the loss of a lot of things I thought I had, figuring out stuff that many people get to figure out as a kid, like how to be angry or how to be mad or how to love someone and yourself at the same time. Thank god for therapy. When my wife asked me a few days ago who had made the biggest impact on me this year, without a second thought I knew it was the therapist I’ve been seeing. I think it’s all going to be okay. Turns out, people get anxious. Some people get anxious a lot, like to the point where you could say they “have” it. And it turns out I’m some people.

And as someone who understands the anxiety and the sadness stuff a little better now than I used to, I’ve gotten to look back and read a bunch of journals and letters from when I was a teenager and a young adult. And oh my goodness, they are DARK. Just heart-breaking. I was a deeply, deeply sad and anxious person.

And then I was a super happy-go-lucky person.

And now I’ve had a pretty sad year or two.

But I’m still so happy a lot. It’s just I’m also so sad a lot. These days, probably more sad. That’s okay right now.

And honestly, knowing all this history, I still don’t really “get” exactly how my sadness works. It’s still confusing. It’s still weird. It still acts in unexpected ways. It’s still “emotional” and acts like it. And then when I think I’ve made sense of it and suddenly it doesn’t make sense again, I keep coming back to Ray Bradbury’s words: “No special reason. . . .”

As someone who’s been a Happy Person and a Sad Person, I want to share a few things, things that I hope will make you feel some mix of not-alone-in-your-sadness and inspired-to-be-a-good-friend-to-sad-people.

First, I understand why my therapist teased that I’d be thankful for my concussion that shook loose the sadness and anxiety deep in my heart. Life is actually better when I see and accept and work with those feelings.

Second, again my therapist, he told me he doesn’t wish people lives of abundant happiness, just abundance. Abundant everything. Some days that means deep happiness. Some days it means deep love. Some days it means deep excitement. And some days–some days it means deep sadness.

Third, go see a therapist. From the bits and pieces of psychology I’ve learned, I know Ray Bradbury’s not wrong: Some people are just sad without a clear cause that therapy can fix. And it’s good for your mix of emotions to include sadness. But, there is a lot of deep, constant, unnecessary sadness that a therapist might be able to help you with. You never know till you try. For me, it’s been life saving.

Fourth, you probably should not always be happy. (Not like “please stop being happy,” but just a warning from my personal experience that, I think, if you think you’re always happy, you might need to check on yourself a bit more, a bit deeper.) You should be happy and sad and mad and scared sometimes. There are good reasons to feel all of those and all of those are normal feelings. It is a lot of pressure to tell yourself (or to tell others, or to let others tell you) that you should always be happy.

Fifth, sad people aren’t bad people who are causing problems by being sad. Many sad people learn to take care of their feelings without taking them out on other people. Mr. Rogers–Fred Rogers–said in an interview that he learned to express his angry and sad feelings through his fingers on the piano.

Sixth, and closely related, if you’re the sad one, you really can learn how to be sad in a healthy way. I’ve learned that it is okay to be sad. Sometimes the things that made you sad aren’t okay, like when you’ve been abused or bullied. And some outlets you might find for your sad feelings aren’t okay, like abusing or bullying others. But you can have healthy sadness.

Seventh, please don’t judge sad people as somehow worse, defective, rain-clouds, melodramatic, silly, not-good-enough, their-own-fault, all the blamey and rejecty labels. Each person has a story you don’t know. People have such long, complex stories! If we’re being honest, we probably don’t really know our own stories all the way. When you see someone–someone who looks sad, who looks like their life is a hard one–please find some compassion. And if you’re a sad person, same goes–please don’t judge yourself for it.

Eighth, please don’t decide for people who they are. Don’t label them as officially happy or officially sad in your book. People are people and life gets weird. When you decide for someone that they’re a Sad Person, you only make it harder. Harder for them to freely express the happy moments, harder for them to ask for support, harder for them to feel appreciated and loved, and honestly harder for them to move towards more happiness. Just as importantly, please don’t decide for someone that they’re a Happy Person. When someone knows that they are, to you, dependably happy, positive, always encouraging and inspiring and energetic and enthusiastic, it becomes an unrealistic burden. Such a burden that when sad times do come, they can’t talk about it. They can’t share. Because too many people are counting on them to not be sad. So please just don’t treat people like they’re a “Sad Person” or a “Happy Person.” Don’t set those expectations. Don’t put that pressure. Don’t plant that guilt. Just let people be people and meet them where they are, every day. One of my most deeply held beliefs is that people can’t be summed up in a nutshell, pre-determined, dependably defined by a set of 4 letters, because humans can change, suddenly and drastically, and they can grow, and they will surprise you. “Every human being has the freedom to change at any instant. . . . Man is capable of changing the world for the better if possible, and of changing himself for the better if necessary.” ~ Viktor Frankl

Ninth, let people be sad. Let yourself be sad. Sad is okay.

And tenth, love sad people. Instead of trying to fix them (god knows if they can’t, you can’t), love them. Instead of pressuring or guilting them or trying to change their minds, love them. Instead of tiptoeing around them on eggshells, get in the messy feelings world with them and LOVE THEM. If anything, anything, anything will ever help a Sad Person find a little more happy, it will be love. But honestly? Don’t let changing or helping them be your goal. Just love them for them, period. And if you’re sad? Love others and get love. Ask for it. Talk about it. Accept it. Trust it. Feel it. And love yourself. You are sad, but you are beautiful.

P.S. Please remember that there are more Sad People than you think. Many people–maybe most people–have learned not to talk about their sadness. Not to cry. Not to share. Some not even to think about their sadness, when they can help it. Many have learned to smile, to be excited, to have fun, to be energetic, and still, just under the surface, there is an ache. Sometimes the biggest smiles hide the deepest aches. So remember that there are many more than you think there are. And remember that they’ve learned, a lot of them, that they’re not allowed to tell you they’re sad.

P.P.S. Also, let’s all do our part in making honesty and vulnerability okay, even when that means tears. You with me? We’re all in this together.

P.P.P.S. I love putting an inspiring quote on a picture and placing it in my blog posts. And I was thinking, what could be a good, inspiring, positive message about sad people? And then I thought, why should it be positive and inspiring? Sad people are sad people. They’re there. They exist. They’re right next to us. They are us. And sometimes that, itself, just needs to be acknowledged and understood and accepted and made peace with. It should be okay.

Ray Bradbury - some people get sad young

Merry Christmas 2019!

Merry Christmas friends!

Christmas is my favorite holiday. Hands down. The tree goes up early and comes down late. All the tunes and the cozy hot drinks and the warm-fuzzy movies and the snowy walks.

That’s not to say I’m never sad or stressed on Christmas. Christmas used to be sad and stressful for me, and now it’s just sad sometimes. Not so stressful, just kind of sad sometimes.

A lot of people are sad or stressed or both on Christmas. The holiday is supposed to mean so much, it’s supposed to be a time of cheer and warmth and love. Some people don’t have much of that love around them. And even for some who have found that love, the holiday is still a reminder of loves that they don’t have, which will never feel better on Christmas day.

A friend recently said that Christmas is a time for loving and for feeling loved. I think that’s a thing I can get behind. For some, that means having lots and lots of family, generations of it, all coming together from far away, to hug and laugh and be together. For some, that means messaging all the may-as-well-be-family friends they have to say hellos and I love yous. And for some that means looking for extra shifts to work so your heart doesn’t feel too lonely on this day, even when you have the best heart. Loving and feeling loved looks very different for everybody.

Whatever your loving Christmas looks like, merriest of days to you. I wish you lots of peace and laughs and warm fuzzies. If you’re feeling pretty alone, I’m sorry. You are worthy of love, and I wish you future Christmases full of hugs and good company.

And if you’re feeling lonely while surrounded by lots of people today–remember that you are so important and that it is totally okay to be your true self and that your tribe is out there and that maybe you should do a weird thing today and say what’s deep in your heart. Maybe someone will listen.

This Christmas, I’m especially thankful for the friends I have in my life, who have listened to me and shared with me. You hold such a special place in my heart. Thank you for sharing life with me, for being there, for listening and caring, for laughing, for encouraging, for supporting, for adventuring, and just for being present.

Whoever you are, if you need a Christmas hug, here’s one from me to you! Merry Christmas! All the cheer to you!

#nosuchthingastoomucheggnog

20191225_124128#snowmanhugs

Put the shampoo bottle down

Do you remember having to take naps as a kid? Being forced to just lay there in silence for hours! Okay, probably like 30 minutes, but it felt like eternity. Do you remember the sound that silence made after a while? Like a wave or white noise machine, that deafening, on-going whoosh type noise. Almost as if you could hear your insides–heart beating, ear drums waiting for something to happen. I don’t hear that sound very often now that I’m an adult.

How about you? Do you remember what silence sounds like? Can you try it right now? Just put your phone down or turn away from your screen and just be quiet. Try it for 60 seconds.

. . .

. . .

. . .

That was WEIRD, right? To just sit there in the quiet, nothing particular going on, not listening to something or watching something or accomplishing something, just being there in the silence.

Sometimes, when I’m in the bathroom (yeah, this is gonna get weird), when I’m just sitting there–where you might normally sit in a bathroom–I’ll suddenly realize I’ve picked up my shampoo bottle and started to read the back of it.

Literally. Reading my shampoo bottle. Here’s the thing–I have NO interest in the back of my shampoo bottle. I’m not like super jazzed to read about all its ingredients. It’s just that there was silence and there was nothing happening, and when nothing is happening it’s weird and uncomfortable! So I’ll grab anything–anything–to fill the void.

What do we call it when all of a sudden everyone stops talking and there’s just this quiet? We call it an “awkward silence,” right? We can’t stand it. We have to fill the silence.

Soooo frequently, we just automatically hate letting nothing happen. We have to find something–noise, information, food, color–anything–to fill the quiet times, the slow times, the empty moments.

What is your shampoo bottle? I bet you do something like that! I bet you find yourself cramming your quiet moments with stuff and things and information that you actually don’t care about, just because you can’t help it.

Do you pick up a magazine in a waiting room that you would absolutely never pick out in any other context, just because it would be weird to just sit there silently? Do you have to be listening to something or watching something every time you eat? Or do you have this compulsive habit of picking up your phone? Hopping on social media?

How about this: Have you ever realized that you’re mindlessly browsing Facebook, set your phone down, and then immediately picked your phone back up and mindlessly popped Facebook right back open?

 

Why do we do this? Why do we so automatically fill every spare second, every quiet moment, with NOISE? Information, media, activities, stuff. So often the things we fill every second with aren’t actually things we care about, but we do them because we’re so uncomfortable stopping.

Why do we catch ourselves reading the backs of our shampoo bottles?

Why can’t we just be quiet sometimes?

I think that it has a lot to do with fear. Sure, there’s definitely some habit, some addiction built in there. But I think even if we could stop distracting ourselves all day every day, we might choose not to, because of fear.

Each one of us have weird stuff in our lives. The stuff that sometimes keeps us up at night. Fear, uncertainty, confusion, hurt, crappy feelings. Quiet brings those feelings to the surface. When we just let quiet time be quiet, silent time be silent, suddenly we discover we have all these thoughts and feelings that we usually keep buried down inside us as we hurtle through our days. You know what feels better than facing our deep down selves? Facebook again.

When we slow down, embrace the quiet, and just be present with ourselves, as ourselves, for ourselves in this moment, we sometimes feel a lot of discomfort. Or maybe all the time. (“Every of the time.” – Kevin Malone)

Have you ever told someone, or had someone tell you, that they like to keep busy because it’s hard to just sit with their thoughts?

 

Quiet brings out the real. It brings everything to the surface. And I think that we generally expect that this is going to be disastrously painful.

 

But my own experience tells me that when you embrace the quiet, eventually it becomes so much better than expected. After a while, sitting quietly, embracing the silent, empty times can be one of the most wonderful parts of life.

After high school I spent a while volunteering in Ethiopia and in Uganda. Every day there, we had time to take naps in the afternoons. We walked slowly places, saw the sights, smelled the smells. And at each meal, we had time to just sit and visit and enjoy the moment.

It was quite the culture shock for me–not going to Africa, but coming back to America where life happens at breakneck speed. Suddenly there was hardly time for anything! Every moment was crammed full of stuff. Everyone walked quickly. Everyone drove quickly. Me, too! It took some reacclimating, but it just became life again: Hurry, hurry, hurry!

My wife and I got married and honeymooned in Italy (ugh, memories). A strange thing happens every day in many parts of Italy from about noon to 3. All the shops close up and everyone goes home to just sit quietly with their families and friends, relax, eat lunch together (probably cheese :'( oh my heart), drink wine, and just generally enjoy. This love for peaceful moments plays such an important part in the Italian way of life, they even coined a special phrase for it: Il dolce far niente. “The sweetness of doing nothing.”

I wondered if maybe I should insert some academic quote or study here about how beneficial it is for people to take more time to be quiet, to relax, to let go of doing, to just slow down, be present. But I don’t think any of us actually need to be convinced of this. I’m pretty sure this is something we all already know deep down. Right?

Are you too busy? Does the pace of your life make you feel stressed? Do you feel like there’s some really important stuff you’re missing out on because you’re always, always, always going, going, going?

 

Life has some really amazing stuff in it that you can only find and experience and appreciate when you sloooooow down, be present, and embrace the silence.

But slowing down makes us uneasy. We get addicted to filling each moment, and when we stop filling moments we start feeling unfamiliar feelings and OMG that’s weird.

So we zoom zoom zoom through life, like it’s a computer game, and even though we know we’re doing it the wrong way, we can always slow down and be present next time. Only, we don’t get extra lives. There’s no next time. If we rush through life and fill every second with distracting noise–that’s it. Life will be gone. It was your last life, and now it’s game over.

So maybe we need to go ahead and start slowing down today. Facing those silent times. Embracing those silent times.

 

Consider for a minute–what else could you find if you slowed down?

Try it now. Take this time. Look around you.

What do you see?

What do you notice?

What do you see that you don’t usually stop and appreciate?

There are probably some happy things around you.

There are probably some noises that you used to find interesting, comforting, or therapeutic.

There is probably some stuff that you like, that brings you lots of joy, but that you kind of forgot about.

Maybe there’s a human person sitting next to you with human person feelings and needs and a heart, somebody there for the connecting and the loving, and you forgot to notice that something that important was right there.

Feel your ear. Go ahead, touch it. You have an EAR! Isn’t that crazy??? Your ear is a beautiful and incredibly complex and elegant and delicate little instrument. And it is so much cooler than your iPhone! It gives you balance and spatial awareness. And it lets you hear the voices of your loved ones, and beautiful music. It’s amazing, right?

I bet you’re happy you have an ear. But I bet you forgot you have an ear today.

Did you know massaging your ear lobe is an easy and quick stress reliever and even pain reliever? And you have it free to you every day. Do you remember your ear?

Look outside of the window. What do you see? Something that’s there, there for you, right now?

How about a tree? Do you see a tree? Do you like trees? Trees are beautiful, right? Has a tree ever made you feel happy? Of course! What about today, though? Did a tree make you feel happy today? Pssh, no, why would you have looked at a tree today?! You’ve got to get to work! You have so much stuff to do!

Last weird-thing, I promise. Reach into your pocket, or your purse, or your bag. Or maybe look at your wrist or your finger or your neck. Do you have something with you that you’re wearing or that you keep on your person–something that makes you happy? Something that means a lot to you? Maybe a ring or a bracelet or a necklace. Or something significant on your key chain. Maybe when you saw it in a gift shop, it reminded you of adventure and you had to buy it. Or maybe it was a gift from someone special. What’s your thing you found? What does it mean to you? Does it make you happy, or bring you feelings of love? Let’s be honest, though–how often do you actually notice it anymore? Like when I bought my new car a few years ago, that was an incredible machine full of potential and adventures to be had. I appreciated it and wanted to show it off to everyone. I’d wake up in the morning and go oh man, my car! And then it got normal, and I forgot to notice it, and I forgot that I appreciate it, and I forgot that it makes me happy, and now it doesn’t make me happy anymore.

Until I slow down.

What doesn’t make you happy anymore because you are too busy to notice it? What is something you know you would like to get back in touch with, if only you could slow down a little bit? What do you take for granted now? What beauty and happiness in your life are you too distracted to have anymore?

I couldn’t help but ask for you to say it all again.
I tried to write it down but I could never find a pen.
I’d give anything to hear you say it one more time
That the universe was made just to be seen by my eyes
With shortness of breath, I’ll explain the infinite:
How rare and beautiful it truly is that we exist.

Saturn, by Sleeping at Last

 

So do you want to slow down? Do you need to slow down? Need more quiet times? More time to just be present? Discover beauty around you, discover yourself? Quiet time to just get in touch with yourself and what matters to you?

Me, too.

 

I hope that thinking about all this–thinking about your version of shampoo-bottles and how silly they are, looking around you and remembering what you’re missing when you’re too busy to look around you–I hope that all this inspires you a little bit to slow down, to be quiet, and to be present. To put the shampoo bottle down. It takes a lot of practice, I think. So good luck!

In case it helps, I have three little tips: Meditate; Go outside; And literally put “Downtime” on your schedule.

Meditation: Have you tried meditation? Have you tried making it a regular part of your life for a while? I think it’s amazing. Of course, there are hundreds of different kinds of meditation, and each kind works for some people and doesn’t work for others. Actually, “work” is the wrong word to use about meditation. See, I think the kind of meditation that helps us slow down and be present isn’t a meditation that “works.” It doesn’t fix our lives, get rid of our pain, make us happy. It is just a way to practice accepting exactly where we are, who we are. Accepting things. Accepting everything. Accepting life. So that when those awkward silences happen and when the alone-with-your-thoughts times come around, it’s okay for you. You’ve learned to breathe through the weird stuff. Only then can you be present for the good stuff, too. If you haven’t tried meditating, I’d really encourage you to try it. Click here to read about how meditation helps me, and click here for a couple great places to get started.

Going outside: Guys, outside is FREE! And it’s RIGHT THERE! It’s so accessible, just waiting for you to go be in it. If you don’t know where to go, ask a friend! If you live in Minnesota, ask me! And if you’re an introvert and asking people about something unfamiliar is scary, pop open Google Maps and look for the areas shaded green. Leave your phone behind and just go walk. (I know, this is the 21st century and leaving your phone behind is an absolutely terrifying prospect. See Ryan in The Office, season 8, episode 11: Trivia. Leave me a comment if you already know exactly what he says because then I want to be your friend.) Or at least leave your phone in your pocket. And just go. Go walk. Go sit or lie down under a tree. Go feel the fresh air. You know what’s not outside in nature? Your long to-do list, your crazy inbox, your busy workweek, your stressful social obligations, your house that needs cleaning. Nature is a great escape. It’s a place of beauty, a place of inspiration, and it’s a place that makes all the busy, stressful parts of life seem a whole lot smaller. So get outside! Escape! Find beauty! Find quiet!

Scheduling downtime: Okay, I’m going to bet you don’t have free space in your schedule these days, right? But let’s be honest, if you have absolutely no space to squeeze free time in to your schedule, you need it more than anyone else! We can’t afford not to. We only get this one life to be present for. We need to slow down sometimes. Like–top priority. I’m doing research for a school essay and ran across some scary statistics: You and I (the average American adult) spend well over 2 hours a day on social media type stuff on our smartphones. And we spend over 11 hours a day interacting with some kind of internet connection and media (see this eye-opening graphic from Nielsen). I really bet we do have time to slow down and be quiet and be present–if we make time. And if scheduling downtime really still seems impossible, if you really do have too much to do, then maybe just get reckless and throw your to-do list away for a day. Before you turn 85. Life goes fast! So please–commit to downtime.

I hope these help. What are your ideas for slowing down, finding quiet, and experiencing more present moments in your life? We’re all in this together!

 

Have you seen Pixar’s movie Up? Have you cried watching Up? Okay, have you cried like a baby watching Up? I thought so.

One of Pixar’s most iconic scenes, because it touches us on such a deeply human level: The old man, whose wife has passed away, is feeling guilty and regretful–they didn’t do all the big stuff they were going to do together with their lives. He pulls out an old photo album and flips through the pictures of their life together. And you know what he finds? The quiet moments. The little things! Sitting on a park bench feeding the birds. Sharing a mug of coffee at the kitchen table, smiling and laughing. Holding hands. Laying in the grass. Turns out they lived the richest, sweetest, most fulfilling life together they possibly could have lived. (Here, watch it again. You know you want to.)

See life has so much beauty to be found. So much peace to be found. So much love to be found.

But we’ll miss it if we don’t slow down.

So be slow. Be quiet. Be present.

Beauty, peace, and love to you!

Jon Kabat-Zinn, the mindfulness teacher:
“It is indeed a radical act of love just to sit down and be quiet for a time by yourself.”

~

Eckhart Tolle - Most humans are never fully present