I remember when, approximately around the ice age, every Friday night there was a horror movie on TV.
I was addicted to them.
Watched every week.
Laughed out loud when the blood was strangely orange or heads flew around. Shivered at very scary parts.
That addiction abruptly ended when I watched a particular movie that haunted me all night.
(For the connoisseurs: it was a Freddy Kruger movie where he hides in the mattress and claws its way out at night. Even though I knew this couldn’t happen in real life, I still lay wide awake all night, as if Freddy might jump out any moment and put his long, iron nails in my innocent flesh.)
Fast forward to today.
In May, I’m going to the hospital for an operation that requires general anesthesia. (Nothing serious, don’t worry.)
And the mind did what it often does:
It came up with one ‘what if …’ after the other.
All fear based.
Some sounded rational (‘what if halfway through the anesthesia wears off?!”).
After the mind went through its repertoire of what-if’s that could potentially happen, it suddenly shifted gears.
It opened the drawer of long forgotten memories of horror scenes I once laughed or shivered at.
And started throwing these around as if it was still trying to keep me safe by preparing me for things that could go wrong and I should absolutely prepare for.
(I doubt the operating team will turn out to be a clan of alien lizards using my body for weird experiments. Also, I have no idea how one could prepare for that.)
I bet you recognize this.
Perhaps not the situation of a surgery.
(And perhaps not the—temporary—addiction to horror movies. Or thoughts of lizards impersonating doctors.)
But coming up with fear-based what-ifs?
That often sound super rational?
And make you feel as if you should urgently do something to prevent this terrible thing from happening?
You’ve been there.
I’m sure of it.
Here’s how I used to handle it.
You may recognize that, too:
When the mind threw a (potential) problem in my face, I took it seriously. I figured that problems need solutions, and it was up to me to find them.
When something is wrong, you fix it.
If the problem seemed small (“I’m running out of my favorite tea!”) I didn’t feel much pressure.
But when the problem seemed big (“I’m running out of money!”) the whole system went on high alert. Sirens; flashlights; panic!
It felt urgent to come up with a solution, and I frantically worked on it.
(Or the panic paralyzed me, and I did nothing. Which felt just as bad.)
Now, I see thoughts for what they are.
Not statements of truth, but a sort of energy farts: one moment they’re here, stinking the place up.
The next they’re gone, and everything’s as fresh as it was before.
Sure, some thoughts have something smart to say.
If they do, I listen to them. But without the sense of pressure or urgency.
If something needs to be fixed, it will be.
The right action or decision will come up at the right time. (It always does.)
Or whatever seems wrong solves itself.
That happens surprisingly more often than you’d think.
When the mental noise circus comes around, I no longer join in.
Instead, I watch the circus go by.
Back when I still joined the circus, I’d have been worried for weeks about that operation. I’d have felt stressed and tense and slept like shit.
Now, the circus moves on.
And so do I.
Love,
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