I’m no good at mindfulness. My anxious brain wants to live anywhere but the present moment at any given time. And for years I’ve trained myself to give into that urge.
I’ve always been someone who likes planning ahead, or at least anticipating what’s going to happen next so that I can be prepared. And whenever I have a quiet moment, I’m overanalyzing everything that’s happened in a given day, week, or month in some frantic attempt to make sense of my life and figure out how to be better at stuff next time.
It doesn’t help that the world around us is so good at making us move so fast that we barely even realize the speed at which we’re going. If you slow down for say, ten minutes, it’s easy to feel like you’re wasting time or slacking off. And if you’re anything like me, you’ll find it hard to believe that taking a quiet moment for yourself is even worth it at all.
When I’m having a busy day, I don’t like to interrupt the inertia I create when I’m on a roll with my work. If I’m already working on the thing, it feels counterintuitive to stop doing the thing, because in my head that means I’m getting distracted from my goal (which is to get the thing done).
But here’s the thing — I know taking breaks and doing nothing for a few minutes is good for me. In the times I’ve been successful at this, I’ve been able to pull myself out of stressful situations before I spiral into an anxiety doom hole. And when I return to the task at hand, I feel way more refreshed, relaxed, and ready to tackle things head-on.
Lately, I’ve been trying to be more intentional about allowing myself to really, truly relax during the workday. It’s hard, and I’m still not great at it. But in the past two weeks, I’ve been mildly successful.
I think the key — at least for myself — is a change of scenery.
Two Wednesdays ago, I went to a cafe to get some work done. After I was done with my little tasks, I stepped outside to a sunny, 55 degree day. It’s not normally this pleasant outside during March in the Midwest. And when we do get nice weather, we savor it.
I had a busy day ahead of me, so I had planned to get right in my car and drive home after the cafe. But the sunshine was just so inviting. I heard a little voice in my head begging me to take a walk. Just a short one, then you can get back to work, it said. You deserve it.
So, I started walking. Promptly, another voice popped up in my head. This is such a waste of time, it said. You’re going to get distracted doing this and then completely sidetrack your day.
I started to feel guilty. Should I just turn around and go back to my car?
Many times in my life, I’ve given into the pressure of that second voice. It makes me believe that I must deprive myself of joy during the workday so that I can be productive. It thrives on the idea that my existence is only a means to an end rather than an end in itself.
But on that sunny Wednesday, I found the strength to push back against the second voice. I basically told it to get lost. What was the worst that could happen if I just took some time to wander down the street?
My jaunt took about five minutes. At the end of the road, I found myself overlooking the beach, which was pretty empty that day.
There’s a bench at that overlook so that people can stop and take in the beautiful view of Lake Michigan. I felt drawn to sit down for a while. Just ten minutes, said the nicer voice in my head. What was ten minutes in the grand scheme of my day? So, I sat on the bench and set a timer for ten minutes and vowed to do nothing.
I watched the cars roll by slowly and the people wander along the shoreline. I saw a few surfers in the water, and wondered how they could bear to go in when it was so cold. The breeze blew off the lake and into my face, and I focused on breathing deeply and taking in the scenery.
Ten minutes is a long time to sit still if you don’t do it often. I tried my best to not look at my phone during that time, but around the nine-minute mark I anxiously checked to make sure my alarm was still set (of course it was).
Then, time was up. My day hadn’t imploded, and there was still plenty of time for me to go home and get my work done. And best of all, I felt more clear-headed and relaxed.
I started to realize that making time for myself made my day better, and didn’t even require that much sacrifice. So, I tried it again the next week, during a particularly busy day.
This time, I walked to a park and sat on a bench. I set my 10-minute timer and closed my eyes. I just sat there and breathed for a while, trying to calm down my anxious and overwhelmed brain.
Then, when I felt ready, I opened my eyes. I saw the kids in the park playing baseball, and watched people in the neighborhood taking their afternoon strolls. I saw cars in the distance driving down the street. The seagulls flew overhead, and the sun shone on my face.
In that moment, I remembered the world existed outside the tiny scope of my own life. All the things I’d been working on just a few minutes ago meant nothing to anyone out here in the park. Sitting on the bench, I was part of the scenery, too — another background character in the life of someone passing by.
Feeling small like that made my my mountain of work and responsibilities seem not so big and scary anymore. Even if I didn’t get everything done that day, it wouldn’t matter. Life would go on.
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