I once had fourteen different self-care apps on my phone that all promised to help me win at calm. Nope. Fourteen new things to worry about. My favorite, the anxiety relief app that sent me a notification about an URGENT Issue with my credit card.
The books and podcasts all promised that stillness heals. I guess? Stillness just makes the fear baked into my body louder, especially on Sunday nights. My brain tells me:
Ah. Everything is so still. Time to relax.
My body then calls me an idiot and walks me over to the pantry. The second I start organizing the protein bars by color, the tension in my shoulders starts to feel less painful than the alternative. Back in action, phew.
One Sunday a while back when maximum stillness ran smack up into maximum exposure in the week ahead, I pulled out all of our spices. I promoted salt and pepper to prime position with garlic powder following as a close second. My wife Angela found me separating basil and bay leaves.
“They’ve been next to each other for years,” I explained, “but I think everyone would be better off if they had some time apart.”
She picked up the turmeric like it weighed ten pounds and gently said: “Spices? Last time it was under the sink. Before that, garage shelves. Do whatever, but I’m sprinkling this on everything just to mess with you.”
Scary big things? Maybe controlling small things will help? Ask me about the real roots of my nutrition and exercise obsession, I mean passion.
The night after the spice rack reorganizing, I made dinner with extra turmeric. Once our daughters were in bed, the kitchen was quiet for the first time all day.
Stillness. Suspect.
Stop.
My hands were open on the countertop and my shoulders weren’t clenched either. The counter was frigid and there was a subtle pattern in the veins running through it. I took a deep breath through my nose and the scent of leftover popcorn felt oddly warm in my chest. I was in the kitchen and my body tried to believe it.