The Experiment
Last week I suffered from an allergic reaction which caused my lip to swell three times its size. As a hypochondriac, you can imagine the thoughts that swirled in my mind. Not only was I physically encumbered but my mind spiraled into chaos during every waking moment.
This week I tried to challenge myself and lean into discomfort. I suffer from severe anxiety which often results in several panic attacks a day. Over years I’ve developed tools to cope but some days are better than others.
Given the hand life has dealt me, I’ve turned my existence into a continuous experiment toying with ideas and ideologies like Stoicism, Buddhism, mindfulness, and more. I know nothing will work as the silver bullet to once and for all put my anxiety to rest but the hopeful part of my brain (the same part that watches your favorite team losing 1 - 9 in the last ten minutes saying “there’s still time!”) clings onto the idea that maybe underwater meditation was what my life was missing.
This week's experiment was leaning into discomfort.
Every morning I awake to chaos. My mind swirls projecting every disaster that could and will go wrong before I brush my teeth. I try my best to tame the beast by using tools like gratitude and mindfulness but I get distracted and spiral back to start.
Being aware of this pattern and having recently read Viktor Frankl's “Man’s Search For Meaning” I decided to take in the idea “whatever happens, happens. When and if it does, I’ll deal with it.”
It was difficult to even accept let alone put into action but I tried to be patient with the process.
On Friday morning I awoke anxious knowing I had a half-baked story sitting in my word processor stuck with no idea of where I wanted to take the story. As I made my morning breakfast of blueberries, oatmeal and a banana I took my time hoping if I took long enough maybe an idea would spring forth or better yet, my computer would implode.
By the time I was done neither happened. Following my new plan, I forced myself to write. It was grueling. I put words on the page but they meant nothing. I was writing scenes without the faintest idea if anything could be used. In fact, by the time I finished writing, I was certain I had written nothing of use. Still, I told myself it’s not about writing well but simply showing up every day.
After forcing myself to write, I got up and took a long stroll in the beautiful and rare summer weather we’re lucky to see in the frozen tundra that is Canada. During my walk, I was hoping (praying even to whatever old Eldritch god would listen) to please fill me with the spirit of an idea. Help me solve this story and move on with my life.
I had glimmers of ideas that scratched the surface of concepts but nothing came forth as worthy.
When I came home I sat down laptop in front of me with the word processor blinking, screaming “TYPE SOMETHING! ANYTHING!”
I leaned into discomfort and began writing gibberish. Without my knowledge, time began to melt and I became possessed with the spirit of an idea. The idea dominoed into another idea which continued. Something much larger than me took over and the words poured onto the page. Before I knew it, I was writing the climax followed by the resolution both of which I never thought of prior to forcing myself to write. They felt natural and as I wrote the last sentence capping it off with “The end.” There was a sense of accomplishment, a feeling I’ve rarely felt. Even for a first draft, I felt there was something even if only a glimmer of value.
My experiment resulted in better results than I could have hoped. I guess if there was anything to be taken from this ramble of a post, let it be to lean into discomfort.
Neurotically Yours,
⁃ Lorne