Soul food and community lead into investigating my anxiety.
Is it the non-existance or physicality of mass? Digitally, is it blocking out free time on your calendar or having an empty void waiting to be filled?
Space brings inward thinking, allowing accidental bumps (or shoves) of circumstance. It praises slow, finds luxury in mindful, and embraces uncertainity. It was something I saw as weakness and unimportance. Blank spaces were a sign of “not having your shit together.” Leisure time was non-existent, games were trivial, and self-hate was masked in File > New Event.
Craving escape, I attended an event that was a celebration of mindfulness, except I was 30 minutes late. My chokehold on planning fell apart in my fingertips due to forgetting about a race downtown, choking all public transit to massive delays.
Strolling in, stress was in my spirit. My diagnosed anxiety bubbled to the surface far beyond the pills meant to keep it under control. My chest tightened, teeth clenched, and stammer amplified between words. Surely I thought I was judged as an inconsiderate asshole but guess what, nobody cared.
I chatted with a gentleman sitting next to me at the dining table and we got on the subject of anxieties and fears of external perceptions. It was then I realized, beyond his blissed out energy, that circumstances cannot be fully controlled with life being a beautiful mixture of responsibility and uncertainity. Standing in the center of that fulcrum leads toward a life that not only has direction but rides uncertainities like a wave. Embracing the space.
Sensuality seeped into my senses. I tuned into the rhythm of room’s rituals, leaning into the evening’s uncertainties. My mind began to meld into the room’s temperature, the vibrations of my phone began to melt into my thigh becoming invisible to where I was. Do Not Disturb slid on my device and brain. Sustainable greens, cornbread, and pinto beans melded with the famililar smells and textures of the soul food of my upbringing.
Breathe in, breathe out, I was present.
My stammer disappeared to a slower speaking voice. My mouth opened and my teeth separated. My chest loosened. My anxiety burrowed back in the ground where it belonged.
This originally appeared in one of my weekly newsletters called The Studio Visit. A new piece of prose, digital snippets of brain melding articles, and upcoming events. Every Monday.
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