You know what I love about the human race? The many ways we can create anxiety for ourselves.
We create all kinds of stress, problems, dilemmas, Mexican stand-offs, wars, pestilence, malaise, sadism, mental problems and then when we can’t possibly deal with any of it any more we create drugs that will make all of it disappear. Then we make some of the drugs illegal which causes more problems, dilemmas, Mexican stand-offs, wars, pestilence, malaise, sadism, mental problems and occasional irregularity.
Then we have to worry about every little thing we say, too. In the above paragraph I mentioned “Mexican standoff.” Is that politically incorrect? Should I have said instead: “A confrontation between two or more parties in which neither party can proceed nor retreat without being exposed to danger. As a result, all participants need to maintain the strategic tension, which remains unresolved until some outside event makes it possible to resolve it. And incidentally, none of the participants is wearing a sombrero.” I didn’t think so. Sometimes the question of political correctness is trumped by brevity.
I used to have terrible problems with hormones when I still had them. I’d get depressed. My doctor prescribed Prozac. I handed the script to the pharmacist who looked at the prescription and said, "Sorry, we’re out of Prozac right now should be getting some more in tomorrow." I said to the pharmacist, "You know how depressed this makes me?"
But it’s not just drugs, it’s social media too. People fret if they don’t have enough “friends” (read: most people they don’t even know) on Facebook or enough hits on their YouTube videos. Am I losing popularity, they wonder? And popularity with whom? The hundreds if not thousands of virtual strangers who are also sitting at home wondering the exact same thing at 2PM in the afternoon whilst still in their jammies eating Cheetos and farting in front of the computer?
Then there’s the plastic surgery/face enhancement anxiety. How much is enough or is it never enough? Hard to tell. Do you want your face to have the tautness of a snare drum or are you okay with your mouth curling up on the sides (that’s so old school, I know) when you smile?
Ever see the reality show “Botched”? Like the name says it’s botched plastic surgery. How to describe it? It’s beyond the beyond. We’re talking the Intergalactic Bar from Star Wars only not as tame. Lumpy faces, humongous breasts, hacked off noses so please Mr. Doctor MORE surgery!
You know what right now just gave me anxiety? I had a great thought and was so eager to write this paragraph and then the thought flew right out of my head which gave me anxiety about losing my memory. Then I remembered the thought: How forgetting what you should be anxious about causes anxiety. What? Yup.
Another example. Ever be feeling perfectly fine and happy and then you’re like, Wait a minute! I know there’s something I should be worrying about. What the hell is it? Oh yeah, now I remember it’s (fill in the blank). AH. Now that I’m anxiety ridden again, I can relax.
Meditation is supposed to help anxiety, and ironically that makes me the most anxious of all. I keep saying I’m going to start meditating, and sometimes I can get to one or two minutes listening to my breathing go in and out and then thoughts, thoughts, thoughts infiltrate my brain! Shouting thoughts, thoughts wearing a top hat and dancing with a cane singing, Listen to me! Never mind that fruity meditation! And if I give in and say, Okay! What do you thoughts want? My thoughts inevitably say, Nothing. We just wanted to distract you. Ugh. Why are my Deepak Chopra thoughts such pacifists?
It ain’t easy being me. Or you.
And That’s the View from this Anxiously Calm Broad.
