How I Stay Sane, Part V: Monkey Mind

I just finished Daniel Smith’s short book “Monkey Mind:  A Memoir of Anxiety.”   It’s a vivid and often hilarious account of how one man has dealt with the challenges of severe anxiety for most of his life.  Since I have loved ones who struggle with anxiety and I myself have had a few alarming bouts with it, the book was illuminating in that it explored the actual thought progressions fanning the flames of anxiety as well as the particular approach, cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT), that the author found most helpful after many adventures in the land of counseling and psychotherapy.

I’ve also found that CBT is the best bet for squelching that series of unfortunate thoughts that gets irrational anxiety going.  When you’re in the grips of it, though, it is a huge effort to swim toward the surface, struggling against the riptide, and break through to the air, and BREATHE. And then offer logical counter-arguments to the thoughts attacking you, finding at least momentarily that holy grail of equilibrium that every anxious person seeks.

On the Friday morning before my February vacation as I drove down the last big hill to work, I went beyond my usual smile therapy (“fake it ‘til you make it” – simply smiling makes you feel better).  I went further and applied a little laughter yoga as I coasted down the hill:  “Hee hee hee, ho ho ho and a couple of ah hah hahs; that’s how we pass the day away in the merry old Land of Oz…”  Surprisingly, it felt really good.  Laughing at that moment was what my sister calls “the next right thing.”

Taking care of yourself in small ways, taking a break when you have to go to the bathroom (everybody who delays that to get “one more thing done” at work raise their hands), making yourself a cup of tea, breathing, having a piece of dark chocolate or a glass of wine, sitting by the ocean all day long in the cool breeze and eating green grapes and writing in your journal and reading junk fiction:  all next right things.

The voice in your head shrieks, “No time!  That’s selfish.  You don’t really need to do that.  What will people think?  What have you done with your life, you miserable, boring person?”  Oh my, that voice should be argued with and laughed at and ridiculed into submission because it is truly quite absurd.  Pushing back when you hear that voice is the next right thing.

Since I have been suffering from severe writer’s block for months and I also find that often my worst anxiety is about failing at work, I was interested to read Daniel Smith’s take on writing, work, and anxiety: 

Writers like to believe their job is tougher on the nerves than other jobs.  They like to pass around cool, pithy statements to this effect, like this one, from the screenwriter Gene Fowler:  ‘Writing is easy.  All you do is sit staring at a blank sheet of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead.’    Or this suspiciously similar one, from the sportswriter Red Smith:  ‘There’s nothing to writing.  All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein.’  Or this one, from the poet Graycie Harmon:  ‘Being an author is like being in charge of your own personal insane asylum.’  I don’t subscribe to the exceptionalist school of writing, however.  It’s true that writing has psychological pitfalls—oppressive deadlines, poor pay, baring one’s soul to an indifferent world—but so do all jobs.  Even the imperative to make choice after choice without clear guidance—allegedly the most nerve-wracking part of the profession—isn’t exclusive to writing.  What is probably true is that, for reasons having to do with solitude and a high allowance for self-obsession, writing attracts a greater percentage of anxious people than other professions.  What is definitely true is that writers are better than other people at articulating their neuroses, and more dedicated to the task.

If you want to understand anxiety better, in yourself or somebody else, read “Monkey Mind,” but think carefully about recommending it to that anxious friend.    You may find that a chronically anxious person can’t bear to read it—because it just stirs up way too much (you guessed it) anxiety.  

Laughter Yoga and The End of Days

I could only chuckle to myself when I awoke this morning to the realization that I had been Left Behind; I had not been "raptured" as predicted by a certain Christian minister who was sure he knew when the big event would occur despite clear biblical references saying that only the Big Guy himself really knows the timing for these types of events. Of course, I would have been left behind anyway since I can't claim innocence from at least some minor and possibly major (depending on your flavor of religion) transgressions I've committed over the years. But I was also still safe in my bed and had not been dumped out of it by a cataclysmic earthquake either, so unless the end of days is a lot more subtle than previously suggested I think we've all dodged the bullet.

I am glad I chuckled, since I've been working lately on being less grim and serious, hoping to increase the joy in my life. Laughter is supposed to be a key component for this. I bought an app for my iPhone that randomly supplies one-liners from famous standup comedians like George Carlin and Richard Lewis. And I ventured out last Monday night to try something completely different--Laughter Yoga.

This is a group exercise in which everybody forms a circle facing each other and maintaining eye contact while a leader guides the group through various simple exercises in laughing--the deep, guttural, Kris Kringlesque haha hoho kind. This is not an opportunity to be the life of the party with jokes or standup comedy. It's more like a guided physical experience in using all the parts of the body together to produce extended mirth--lasting a good 40 to 45 minutes or longer. It takes a surprising amount of physical energy to sustain and I'm sure that's part of why it's beneficial. It doesn't matter if you aren't in the mood to laugh. You "fake it 'till you make it." And my experience was that the laughter can be infectious and can turn genuine.

A number of studies have shown that the act of laughing (even when you're forcing yourself) can be very beneficial--reducing stress, raising dopamine levels, increasing positive moods. It is also a natural way to connect on a basic way with other people.

I think I observed warmth and compassion in the eyes of some of those surrounding me, and a certain level of acceptance for whatever measure of laughter I (the only newby in the group) might achieve. Since we were supposed to be maintaining eye contact as we cavorted about the small wood-floored room with the royal blue meditation cushions stacked in the corner, I sometimes caught glimpses of more complicated emotions--grief, quiet desperation, hope. One man's laugh lines crinkled in friendly smile, a woman's wide-eyed glance sprang from the corner of her eye like a startled thoroughbred's.

I'm not sure yet what I made of it. But as I thought about the experience Tuesday morning while driving to work, I laughed out loud in a way I perhaps wouldn't have without the experience. And when I caught myself thinking sad thoughts this morning I forced a smile--and felt a little better. Good signs, no?

After all, those of us who have been Left Behind had best keep our spirits up.

Clowns

If we couldn't laugh, we'd all go insane."  - Jimmy Buffett

I still read a newspaper each morning (one that is printed on actual paper). This morning the Boulder Daily Camera had an article about how many states are in such dire straits financially that they’re looking at creative new ways to collect revenue, like collecting taxes on services rather than just merchandise. They’re considering taxes on, among other things, helicopter rides, bowling, funerals and accounting services. And of course they are also considering (I am not making this up), taxes on clowns. I know what you’re thinking. Are mimes next?

I’m sure everyone is well aware of the increasing prominence of clowns in our lives, with impacts as yet unmeasured. Clowns are showing up more and more often at everything from children’s birthday parties to circuses, from horror films to bachelorette parties, from the House to the Senate.

You could tax them extra for the red noses (especially the ones in the Senate). You could tax the people who hire the clowns also (oh, wait, that would be we the taxpayers).

The more I think about it, laughter being at a premium, it seems excessive to tax clowns. Please, God – anything but the clowns. As Emily Litella used to say, “never mind.”