I take my time; I don’t hurry up. If there was a word that could best describe me, it would be “casual.”
The most challenging part of my day is waking up and feeling calm. Like a runner whose twenty fourth mile has just begun and is introspectively analyzing the pain in his legs, the shaking in both arms, and the numbness in his toes, he looks for the way to feel calm despite his awareness of the challenge ahead: overcoming the pain.
If there was ever a story that can fully capture, or encapsulate, what it is to be human, that story would tell the tale of a person who does whatever they can to escape pain. Anything to escape the groaning, crunching, burning, growling, and bubbling emotions which arise from feeling any form of pain.
So I take my time because to be in a rush is to welcome the great enemy that is the pain. And he (for me, pain is male) exists when I am not calm, when I am not feeling a breeze flow through my hair, when I am not floating through calm water. This is my state of mind: I must be floating, or else.
In public, often times one seeks a tranquil space to socialize in. I say often times because it is not always the case that we find such a tranquil space; and the result is a lack of peace, in mind and in body. Anxiety can arise from the culmination of several social interactions that do not befriend our need for tranquility, comfort, and peace.
We battle anxiety the same way we do depression, rage, and profound sadness. By seeking tranquility, in some way or another. Two good friends, a couple, find tranquility in nature. A walk through a preserve on a sunny day can give one a moment of sincere peace and calmness. Others meditate, take controlled breaths, close their eyes, and tame their minds. Now, a question: “What is it that you do?” I have a very simple answer: I write and do my best to believe that what I am writing has merit in some way, that it is unique, that it has some quality to it that can described with a word such as “great,” or it’s close cousin “good,” or the greatest of the greats “excellent.”
In life we find there are numerous examples of the deluded, the delusional, the insane, the psychopathic, and the psychotic. The symptoms of these conditions are normally in tune with believing that they are a product of anxieties gone out of control. Nerves firing at every moment, a gesture of hypersensitivity to the world which surround them; and us, too. But the hypersensitive needn’t allow their anxieties off the leash and expect the world around them to conform to their needs. It is that which makes them what they are: expectations.
And then there is me: I have little, or none (expectations, I mean.) And this is how I remain calm, laid back, relaxed, casual. And this is the disconnect from everything, for I am connected and unplugged, thinking and not thinking, willing and not willing. Most would say this is not calmness, but for now, I believe it is; till death do me in, or sadness overtake me, I am what I am.