When you find yourself discontented with the moment, with yourself or your life or your lack of productivity or absence of motivation, there are two options. The first, though not pleasant, is to collapse into the feeling, to let your shipwreck sink into sadness. Sometimes, hitting rock bottom gives our feet a place to push off of. You must be careful with this option, so that when your feet hit rock bottom they still have the desire to launch yourself back to the surface.
The other thing you can do—and this is much more delightful—is to pause and completely immerse yourself in the present moment, looking at your life the way you might look at a character in a movie. Look for something to be grateful for, no matter how small or unimportant, and give it your full focus. It might be that you're thankful just for being alive, or having fingers that move, or that the sun is shining, or that you've passed a simple but gorgeous oxeye daisy.
It could be the taste of a tangy tomato, or a buttery cool Chardonnay slipping past your tongue. Maybe it's the way the leaves look scattered across the path. You might be grateful for the sound of your neighbor practicing the drums. Or the children a few houses down squealing in delight at summer vacation antics. Maybe it's the guitar riff in your favorite song pulling you into the ups and downs of pure melody.
Have you lit a candle or incense and really smelled it? Or perhaps the scent of dish soap as you clean up from dinner really makes you pause. It could be the annihilating aroma of garlic and mushrooms sautéing on the stove.
I've grounded myself through the feel of rubbing lotion onto my thirsty skin. Or running my fingers through my partner's curls. Or sitting with my arms feeling the sturdy wooden table beneath them at a coffee shop.
You only need to start with one thing, but if you let yourself, you might find that adding up all these little things and finding yourself in the center of them all at once flattens you with gratitude, and it is all you can do to whisper thank you, thank you.
Sometimes when I feel like a boat lost at sea, I let myself sink into the present, the here and now, and I realize I am not floating away. I have a million anchors all around me. Sometimes these anchors are so heartachingly wonderful that I'm holding my breath, incredulous that I almost let them slip by without my notice.
When I find myself in a mundane day, becoming restless for want of excitement, and begin to suffer under the blanket of overwhelm at all that I am not doing properly, I catch sight of the tiny maple tree growing out the window, and hear the birds singing, and I feel my thick flannel around my shoulders. I remember there is a cuddly dog upstairs and a loving partner coming home to me. You might not have these things, as I once did not have them (and who can see the future? I might not have all these things again), but you have something, you have someone. It might not be who or what you want, but the world is at our disposal, and the hidden things tend to reveal themselves when we pause, when we fill our lungs with oxygen and start naming the anchors all around us.
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