Let me reassure you right away that I am not about to launch into some autoanalytical diatribe like last week's. But anxiety does have me curious.
Right now it is Thursday morning, December 13. This evening I will fly to Sacramento to visit my family. I do this every month, mostly because my parents are aging and I want to be a vital part of their last years, but also because I don't want to become an afterthought to the rest of my family, most of whom live in that area. (You would have to ask my siblings if "not being an afterthought" equates to being a pain in the ass). And this morning I am anxious. In fact, I have been low-level cranky all week. But here's the thing: I love flying. I love being with my family. I've developed a cautious affection for Auburn, where I spend most of my time. My brother and his wife, son and dogs graciously welcome me into their home. Things generally go smoothly. And so on. So...whence the anxiety?
I don't wish to equate this kind of anxiety with the crippling condition from which some unfortunate folks suffer; this is nothing like that. But my anxious feelings do seem to transform me into a different person. My resolves and disciplines (food, behavior, attitude, demeanor, meditation, kindness above all) seem to fade into the background as this ravenous desire to be comforted takes hold.
What makes me curious is not the anxiety per se; that's actually pretty mundane. What I marvel at is how malleable is this thing we call personality. How can something so routine cause me not only to feel these symptoms but to feel that I have been, no matter how temporarily and, in the end, insignificantly yet nonetheless truly transformed?
By Thursday evening, on the train on the way to the airport, a calm, warm, benign feeling overcomes me. All is well.
Throughout this trip (I'm writing this having now returned) I noted my feeling states and couldn't help but be aware that I go through a similar cascade on every trip: I seem to become annoyed at pretty close to the same time, get the feeling that everything is just as it should be right on cue, and so on. Because my monthly trips are so much the same (fly in Thursday evening, stay Friday and Saturday, home Sunday morning), and the things I do on those days are almost as predictable, it makes for an interesting Petri dish, a replicable pattern in which to see who I am, who I become at each stop. As I mentioned above, it really does feel as if this is not just a shift of mood but an entire transformation.
Which is just what the Buddha would have predicted, actually. The delusion is that we are ever some sort of constant and invariable being. We shift and change and respond to events. The risk of thinking of ourselves as permanent manifestations is that we will exacerbate suffering (ours and that of others) by trying to make it so, attempt to nail down the person we are and keep it that way. When I thought of myself this weekend as a creature in flux and that there was nothing in particular I needed to do in response, I suffered less. I also felt much less of a need to act out my discomfort with food or other actions. Just in the simple noticing of the fact of my anxiety, I also found its antidote, just as the Buddha said I would. Smart guy, that Buddha, eh?
Right now it is Thursday morning, December 13. This evening I will fly to Sacramento to visit my family. I do this every month, mostly because my parents are aging and I want to be a vital part of their last years, but also because I don't want to become an afterthought to the rest of my family, most of whom live in that area. (You would have to ask my siblings if "not being an afterthought" equates to being a pain in the ass). And this morning I am anxious. In fact, I have been low-level cranky all week. But here's the thing: I love flying. I love being with my family. I've developed a cautious affection for Auburn, where I spend most of my time. My brother and his wife, son and dogs graciously welcome me into their home. Things generally go smoothly. And so on. So...whence the anxiety?
I don't wish to equate this kind of anxiety with the crippling condition from which some unfortunate folks suffer; this is nothing like that. But my anxious feelings do seem to transform me into a different person. My resolves and disciplines (food, behavior, attitude, demeanor, meditation, kindness above all) seem to fade into the background as this ravenous desire to be comforted takes hold.
What makes me curious is not the anxiety per se; that's actually pretty mundane. What I marvel at is how malleable is this thing we call personality. How can something so routine cause me not only to feel these symptoms but to feel that I have been, no matter how temporarily and, in the end, insignificantly yet nonetheless truly transformed?
By Thursday evening, on the train on the way to the airport, a calm, warm, benign feeling overcomes me. All is well.
Throughout this trip (I'm writing this having now returned) I noted my feeling states and couldn't help but be aware that I go through a similar cascade on every trip: I seem to become annoyed at pretty close to the same time, get the feeling that everything is just as it should be right on cue, and so on. Because my monthly trips are so much the same (fly in Thursday evening, stay Friday and Saturday, home Sunday morning), and the things I do on those days are almost as predictable, it makes for an interesting Petri dish, a replicable pattern in which to see who I am, who I become at each stop. As I mentioned above, it really does feel as if this is not just a shift of mood but an entire transformation.
Which is just what the Buddha would have predicted, actually. The delusion is that we are ever some sort of constant and invariable being. We shift and change and respond to events. The risk of thinking of ourselves as permanent manifestations is that we will exacerbate suffering (ours and that of others) by trying to make it so, attempt to nail down the person we are and keep it that way. When I thought of myself this weekend as a creature in flux and that there was nothing in particular I needed to do in response, I suffered less. I also felt much less of a need to act out my discomfort with food or other actions. Just in the simple noticing of the fact of my anxiety, I also found its antidote, just as the Buddha said I would. Smart guy, that Buddha, eh?
This post was so good that I read it twice. Thank you for these insights, Reid.
ReplyDeleteI'm glad you are doing well. As they say around my office, "Happy Jollydays!"