Tonight's Poet Corner: Introspection
As most of you know by now, I have a problem with anxiety. Keep in mind that it doesn't always result in a panic attack or a meltdown (though, yes, that has happened occasionally, sometimes without warning). It's more of an obsessive anxiety, a kind that can only be solved by distraction, not reason.
I happen to have what one may call "unproductive anxiety." See, my theory is that if the thing you are anxious about can be fixed and/or controlled by you, as in the person having said anxiety, then it's productive anxiety. Anxious about writing a good essay? You always have the power to rewrite, edit, and critique. That's productive anxiety. Anything you worry about that cannot be controlled from where you are standing (or sitting. Or kneeling. Or whatever) is unproductive anxiety. It's the kind of anxiety that cripples your happiness, tears you away from healthy socializing, and pretty much spoils your day.
My brain is brimming with unproductive anxiety. I worry about legitimately anything that could cause me and others harm or discomfort. Climate change, the honey bee crisis, the net neutrality fiasco, the loss of helium, the fear of agricultural yields no longer feeding a surging population, any sort of nuclear/radiation issue, even cosmic events like asteroids or solar flares - those have all blipped on my anxiety radar. I have stayed up all night sometimes worrying about not being able to eat zucchini or avocado again or even have a good meal on the table (bee crisis), or succumbing to a wildfire or bad drought (climate change), or seeing technology malfunction (solar flare). Things that are big and scary and not anything I can necessarily stop on my own.
And that's the problem to begin with: I am anxious about things that I can legitimately do little to nothing about.
That's not to say I can't do anything about some of those things. For climate change, I can reduce my carbon footprint. I can walk to work instead of drive, recycle, use cold water on large loads of laundry, that sort of stuff. For the bee crisis, I can be considerate of bees and not try to hurt them, and if I ever get a yard or garden, I can plant things without pesticides that bees and butterflies can enjoy. But that's legitimately it - even if I abandoned society altogether and lived as a wild nomad, I still wouldn't make much of a difference in the long run. The thing I have to remember with this kind of unproductive anxiety is that usually I cannot be the hero and fix things, and to worry about it, therefore, is useless and more damaging than beneficial. There are three mantras I try to remind myself of whenever I begin to slip into the anxiety abyss:
1. If it is not a problem that any human being can address, then the only thing I can do is keep living and enjoying my comfort.
2. If it is a problem that some human beings can address, then I must be able to trust the fact that there are people more capable and mentally equipped than I am to create solutions for the problem.
3. If it is a problem that I and others can address in minor ways, then I must remember to do my part and spread the word to others that they should do the same. After that, I must acknowledge the limits of my influence.
I cannot stop climate change on my own. Nor can I save the bees or increase the global agricultural yield or stop the Internet from becoming censored. Nor can I ever predict asteroids or solar flares, and even if I could, there'd be nothing I could do to halt my prophecies. If I get sick, I do my best to heal or be healed. If I lose someone, I lose someone knowing that I have done my best to love them and have them be a part of my lives. If anything out of my skill set happens, I rely on others who do have the appropriate skill set to address the problem and inform others of it. That's the way life is. And I think sometimes my anxiety comes from a blatant distrust of my fellow humans, seeing that I can be very cynical and believe that everyone with some power always misuses it and leads us closer to the brink. I can't not have faith in everyone. I'd drive myself into an insane asylum, literally and figuratively.
My sister used a term earlier today, "cacophonous no man's land," as a way to describe a musical piece that our father performed in a symphonic band concert a couple of days back. That's, honestly, the best way to describe unproductive anxiety. It makes your mind a cacophonous no man's land, where not a single positive thought lives and throwing yourself too far into the chaos will most likely send more bullets into your belly. That's not to say that the way to live life is to stay in the trenches and be ignorant of the conflict above your head. But it does mean that the noise has to die down at some point, and you have to be able to walk away from the barren wasteland and keep living as long as you can without fear.
There is no true solution for unproductive anxiety. There is only a way to recognize it even if you can't always control it.
Sometimes, I remember that the hard way, repetitively, and can only push onward without hurting myself too much.
After all, that's life for you.
Writer's Quotation of the Night:
A writer must teach himself that the basest of all things is to be afraid.
I happen to have what one may call "unproductive anxiety." See, my theory is that if the thing you are anxious about can be fixed and/or controlled by you, as in the person having said anxiety, then it's productive anxiety. Anxious about writing a good essay? You always have the power to rewrite, edit, and critique. That's productive anxiety. Anything you worry about that cannot be controlled from where you are standing (or sitting. Or kneeling. Or whatever) is unproductive anxiety. It's the kind of anxiety that cripples your happiness, tears you away from healthy socializing, and pretty much spoils your day.
My brain is brimming with unproductive anxiety. I worry about legitimately anything that could cause me and others harm or discomfort. Climate change, the honey bee crisis, the net neutrality fiasco, the loss of helium, the fear of agricultural yields no longer feeding a surging population, any sort of nuclear/radiation issue, even cosmic events like asteroids or solar flares - those have all blipped on my anxiety radar. I have stayed up all night sometimes worrying about not being able to eat zucchini or avocado again or even have a good meal on the table (bee crisis), or succumbing to a wildfire or bad drought (climate change), or seeing technology malfunction (solar flare). Things that are big and scary and not anything I can necessarily stop on my own.
And that's the problem to begin with: I am anxious about things that I can legitimately do little to nothing about.
That's not to say I can't do anything about some of those things. For climate change, I can reduce my carbon footprint. I can walk to work instead of drive, recycle, use cold water on large loads of laundry, that sort of stuff. For the bee crisis, I can be considerate of bees and not try to hurt them, and if I ever get a yard or garden, I can plant things without pesticides that bees and butterflies can enjoy. But that's legitimately it - even if I abandoned society altogether and lived as a wild nomad, I still wouldn't make much of a difference in the long run. The thing I have to remember with this kind of unproductive anxiety is that usually I cannot be the hero and fix things, and to worry about it, therefore, is useless and more damaging than beneficial. There are three mantras I try to remind myself of whenever I begin to slip into the anxiety abyss:
1. If it is not a problem that any human being can address, then the only thing I can do is keep living and enjoying my comfort.
2. If it is a problem that some human beings can address, then I must be able to trust the fact that there are people more capable and mentally equipped than I am to create solutions for the problem.
3. If it is a problem that I and others can address in minor ways, then I must remember to do my part and spread the word to others that they should do the same. After that, I must acknowledge the limits of my influence.
I cannot stop climate change on my own. Nor can I save the bees or increase the global agricultural yield or stop the Internet from becoming censored. Nor can I ever predict asteroids or solar flares, and even if I could, there'd be nothing I could do to halt my prophecies. If I get sick, I do my best to heal or be healed. If I lose someone, I lose someone knowing that I have done my best to love them and have them be a part of my lives. If anything out of my skill set happens, I rely on others who do have the appropriate skill set to address the problem and inform others of it. That's the way life is. And I think sometimes my anxiety comes from a blatant distrust of my fellow humans, seeing that I can be very cynical and believe that everyone with some power always misuses it and leads us closer to the brink. I can't not have faith in everyone. I'd drive myself into an insane asylum, literally and figuratively.
My sister used a term earlier today, "cacophonous no man's land," as a way to describe a musical piece that our father performed in a symphonic band concert a couple of days back. That's, honestly, the best way to describe unproductive anxiety. It makes your mind a cacophonous no man's land, where not a single positive thought lives and throwing yourself too far into the chaos will most likely send more bullets into your belly. That's not to say that the way to live life is to stay in the trenches and be ignorant of the conflict above your head. But it does mean that the noise has to die down at some point, and you have to be able to walk away from the barren wasteland and keep living as long as you can without fear.
There is no true solution for unproductive anxiety. There is only a way to recognize it even if you can't always control it.
Sometimes, I remember that the hard way, repetitively, and can only push onward without hurting myself too much.
After all, that's life for you.
Writer's Quotation of the Night:
A writer must teach himself that the basest of all things is to be afraid.
- William Faulkner
Have a great night and a great weekend, everyone.
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