Thoughts On Kids Starting School

If I got a nickel for every time someone stopped me in a store, surveyed my passel of man-cubs and told me to “enjoy this stage...it goes so fast”, I would be a wealthy woman.  But apparently unlike the rest of the interwebs, this phrase doesn’t bother me in the least. In fact I always thank the person while agreeing profusely and sometimes...when you know they’re of the race that knows Joseph...we see something in each other’s eyes and we nod.  It’s like a secret handshake.  We know.  

(this was just a year ago!)

What is it we know?  I have no clue.  But it’s all of those indescribable things that go into parenthood and can never be summed up no matter how many scarymommy or huffpo articles we all share.

I like to blame my parents (in a good way) for this.  As someone with siblings 16 years younger, I was a parent myself while my parents were (are) still parenting.  And while older sister status is definitely not the same as mom and dad status, it’s definitely a front row seat...on a roller coaster...in the splash zone.  And I would happily, happily add gnawing-limb-from-bear-trap to the usual getting up every night with a teething baby, a puking toddler and a nightmare ridden grade-schooler over dealing with some of the stuff my parents have.  Any day. In some ways, I’m sort of like a pre-loaded pessimist for teenagerdom and so please do stop me and tell me your best parenting advice because I love all of the thoughts and feedback from the women who have gone before me.  

But really I just wanted to say. I’m loving all of the back-to-school pictures, it’s one of my favorite seasons on social media. Your kids are all freaking adorable. And so I say this seriously and yet somewhat tongue-in-cheek… Enjoy this stage.  ;-)

 

13 Years Of Marriage, Tips And Thank You

The old adage “show don’t tell” is true about more than just writing books. In the crumbling basilicas that constitute modern marriage, it feels a bit counter intuitive to husband-brag since it’s no indication of merit or happiness...and in fact tends to be evidence towards the opposite.  

But if there is one day of the year you’re allowed to be sappy, it’s your anniversary, right?  So here’s me putting it out there: Jim is my rock, the better half and if I’m the family’s entertainment, he’s the king smiling benevolently from the head table. I know they say not to get married as young as we did (19 and 22), and perhaps our pocketbooks would be a bit more lined if we had taken the more culturally normal route, but from the comfortable perch of my 30’s I can’t help but think we really lucked out.  

(Bwahahahahaha...ahem) 

I also hope we’re less than a quarter of the way through our total number of anniversaries, but since 13 is such a nice unpropitious number… here are my unconventional top tips.  Ask me again in 13 years and I’ll probably be advocating striped socks knit from horny goat weed, and marriage counseling from a Jedi.

1. Get your husband a motorcycle.  

On a scale between Pararescue Officer in Afghanistan and Midwestern Dental Hygienist, motorcycles are just enough over on the dangerous side to be provocative.  Every time Jim is more than ten minutes late, I’m sure he’s dead on the side of the road somewhere.  It makes for some very heartfelt homecomings in what could otherwise be your standard corporate guy coming home to his stressed out wife.  Plus, it doesn’t hurt to be swept off your feet every day by a bearded man wearing black leather and big boots.

 

2. Go to bed angry

I’m pretty sure the whole “Never Go To Bed Angry” marriage advice was made up by a vindictive woman as a way of tormenting worn out men.   By all means “don’t let the sun go down on your wrath” but take that to mean, “deal with thyself” instead of dredging up every little thing wrong with your marriage at 11 pm.   Take a chill pill, realize you may in fact be perpetuating the problem and deal with it the next day if it’s still bothering you in the morning.

 

3. Don’t go on dates

...Or “date” your spouse or have weekly “date nights” or whatever the new soup du jour is (unless it’s one of those pay by the hour motels which would be far more worthwhile for the parents of small lock picking experts). Jim would probably disagree with me on this one, as he’s a big fan of dragging me out of the house for some one on one time, and maybe he’s right...but honestly the best “dates” are mindset adjustments and you can be anywhere for those.  Be fun, be attractive. Live, laugh and tease.  If however you find yourself on a date in a semi comatose state of exhaustion, I like The Book Of Questions or Battle of the Sexes as a way to resist the urge to full phone zombie.  

Do those three things and I promise you’ll have a long and fortuitous marriage….no money back guarantee.  ;-)

As I sit here though and reminisce about what we were doing 13 years ago (me chasing coyotes at 6am, Jim sleeping in and eating omelettes), I realize I made a huge mistake.  At 19 I was too young and ignorant to realize what monumental amounts of work and effort go into weddings.  For awhile I went through a stage of thinking weddings with all the foppery and accoutrements were a bunch of materialistic ridiculousness, but I’ve come full circle.  It’s not only beautiful and timeless, it’s also a testament to the sheer magnitude of biological and sociological proof of the importance of marriage.  

So thank you to the people who spent hours moving chairs, setting up tables and navigating logistics, and to the friends and sisters who stayed up into the wee hours weaving hemp necklaces and folding programs. Gratefulness to the mothers who coordinated vast amounts of family and food, and to cousins who captured visions and turned water, shears and stems into creations of beauty.   It makes me catch my breath to think how much work, love, time and sacrifice went into this day 13 years ago, and it hasn’t gone unnoticed.  Truly. Thank you.  Hopefully I’ve returned the favor or will return the favor someday. :)  Cheers!

Texas Vacation Ramblings

I don’t always mean to, but I open my my mouth and *good natured* trash talk comes out when it comes to Texas and Texans (even though I’m descended from Texans so I really should be nicer to my grandparents/great grandparents).  But after spending a week there on vacation I’m loathe to admit Texas really is legit and their pride is not too terribly misplaced.  

But pretend I didn’t just type that…

It all started with Jim...or maybe Kevin (I’m not sure, but testosterone was definitely involved since no female thinks traveling across the country or hosting a big family is “vacation”).   I had no room to talk though since my summer was a magical unicorn of ease and fun with the two older kids in Ohio and an array of friends visiting, so if the powers that be wanted to conjoin two families in 106 degree Texas August for a week of seven little boys, one princess and an imminently due pregnant lady well then… there was nothing to do but load up the car and make it happen.  

Trepidations aside, I highly recommend it (although I wasn’t on the hosting side, so maybe you shouldn’t ask me).   I think every voter should be required to drive across the country.  There is nothing that gives more perspective than potato chips, red bull and an audio book at 85 mph as you speed through an Arizona desert and imagine wagon ruts and lizard flesh roasting over a fire of oxen dung.  Seriously.  

I know fancy credit cards with their flight points for shiny cylinder things that hurtle through the sky are the in-style way of traveling in the 21st century, but really I think I prefer going in a car.  Flying is stressful with kids.   Besides the offering up your firstborn to pay for it, and trying to smuggle your skinny toddler in with a fake birth certificate as a “lap child” (I kid, I kid),  you spend a tremendous amount of time a) getting ready to get to the airport on time b) getting to the airport four hours early for fear the regular two isn’t enough when you have to account for a child possibly smuggling in a weapon or setting off an alarm c) watching your children lick every international germ off of every square inch of the airport as you wait an extra few hours for your delayed flight d) the flight itself where you’re busy bribing your seatmates with alcohol and ear plugs.  When all's said and done, you have spent at least 24 hours getting to a destination that took only a few hours of actual air time.   

Which is why I prefer to hurtle down the interstate in a traveling circus tent of cray cray.   In the same 24 hour chunk you can a) let your children be as noisy as they want and you can play audio books at a decibel usually reserved for Grateful Dead concerts.  b) throwing food and toys at your fellow seatmates is not only allowed but encouraged for feeding an entertainment purposes. c) you have ample opportunities to be the pilot which means someone else has to deal with the unruly passengers.  d) The United States really is beautiful.  

As a side note: I have perfected the “don’t-arrive-sick-at-your-destination” game.  Don’t let anyone use the restroom.  Ever.   I’ll admit this plan works better when you have only penises in the car, but I’m sure it can be modified to work with girls too.   My hypothesis is this:  Your immune system works best against local germs...the ones within a biological being’s biome.  When you leave the evolutionary safety of your environment you expose yourself to all sorts of gas station viruses your body has no defense against.  Everyone knows it is structurally impossible to keep small children from touching things which is how you arrive at your destination with a lineup of small petri dishes growing all kinds of interesting germs.   I prefer the canine way of watering rocks and bushes at deserted but strategic intervals.  No one comes into contact with foreign organisms and at least your start out your vacation in good health (all bets are off after that, but that’s ok because what’s a vacation with kids without at least a little puke, right?)  

Texas was and is its own environmental biome of bigness, beauty and toughness...dampened only slightly over the years by obesity and air conditioning (sorry, I couldn’t resist!). To the rest of the world the United States may seem like one country, but Texas is its own country within a country (despite all of the Californians moving to Dallas...again, sorry!).  But I’m a bit extra fond of the place because of the people who live there.  

Also, I think I’ve eaten more beef in the last week than I have in the last three months together.   

Why Outrageous Election Memes Are Actually Good

Science magazine recently published a fascinating article about an enormous battle in the bronze age. It caught my wandering eye of Saruman because we doubt and do the parental “mmhmmm dear” when it comes to what the ancients wrote about themselves (I’m pretty sure Ancient Egypt’s “NFL” was called “WCETB” or “Who Can Exaggerate The Best”) so finding physical evidence to validate such claims is kind of a big deal. But what does this have to do with Trump vs. Hillary? It’s that people have been fighting for a very long time.  

To parents I'm sure this is obvious. This morning I optimistically checked the tide chart and threw everyone in the car for a spontaneous tide pool hike. I error intentionally on the side of not thinking through the ramifications of such actions so that I don’t talk myself out of it, but suffice it to say I was paying the consequences (willingly) when three hours later I ended up back at home with four soggy kids and a vehicle that’s slowly turning into its own ocean eco-system of sand, seaweed and something that smells suspiciously like rotting crab. Give it a few more weeks and our Mazda will be in contention for the world's smallest pacific island. As such, it is hard for me to differentiate one super special, one-of-a-kind, one-rock-to-rule-them-all from another. In the mayhem I misguidedly shut down one of my sweet angel children multiple times thinking he was asking for ice cream when he was really asking for anti-theft protection. His brothers capitalized on my distraction, joined forces and claimed power of the one true rock to rule them all.  

...And that’s how I ended up with my own Bronze Age battle on my back porch. You can’t shut someone down consistently without frustrations building up like a pressure cooker.

There are no perfect sides. Every opinion this side of heaven is a pie graph of partly true and partly flawed. I’m not even sure it’s a bad thing that we usually see the insanity of another person’s political opinions but not our own. Human brains can’t help but try to fix things, build things, and improve on things, so disagreeing is the biological chisel in the toolbox of modern thinking.  

But if it helps... next time you feel your blood pressure rising as you research other countries to move to if either one of the political candidates becomes president… remember that this is how history sorts itself out. Don’t try to shut down, police or parent the rhetoric war going on right now because discourse (even if it’s Nazi/Doltist/Fascist/Marxist/Imbecilic etc) is better than World War II. Ideas have to go through the gauntlet and stand on their own merit.  Embrace it! It’s a good thing and join it if your conscience dictates.  

...at the very least it might give future historians something to do.

 

Comic-Con 2016: The Barmy Details

For those who aren’t familiar with Comic-Con, it has its own magic system, floating staircases (volunteers shutting down and opening pathways everywhere) and hierarchy.

-Hall H is the creme-de-la-creme where all the big stars are.  To enter requires the blood of your firstborn.  

-“The Floor” is a cross between an intergalactic riot and some sort of psychedelic renaissance faire.  Imagine the craziest fantasyland “market day” you have ever read in a book then multiply it by ten and you might have some idea what “The Floor” is like.

-Ballroom 20 is the bishop or rook on the board.  It’s also enormous and prestigious and features a lot of the big names.  Getting into Ballroom 20 comes with major victory points.  

-“The Pavilion” is like some sort of ocean whirlpool room where you get to meet and do signings with your favorite authors/actors/famous people...but you have to sail through without getting caught or yelled at by the Convention Navy who have sworn a blood oath to keep everyone moving.  They have no mercy for fan gushing or blistered feet.  

-“The Panels” are like clusters of symbiotic life forms suctioned to the sides of The Pavilion and Ballroom 20.   A series of small biospheres where you can enter their portals and learn anything from how to write a novel while standing on your head and reciting the alphabet backwards, or learning how to become a famous cartoonist with nothing but a belched piece of charcoal from a coal mine.  

And that’s comic-con from a novice’s perspective...minus the other 120 thousand people roaming around outside the golden-ticket-only convention center.  

 

Craziness abounds and nowhere does the cosplaying get more awesome than the annual Masquerade on Saturday night where a privileged few get to flourish their wares (routines) in a competition in Ballroom 20 (yes THE Ballroom 20!).   I say this of course as someone who gets to play a minor part in the aforementioned promenading, and since I’m also not well versed in the backstage world of theater and productions...I have no stake in playing it cool and chill.  Thus it is with total and utter sincerity (and the desire to let whoever is reading this in on the experience) I tell you performing at Comic-Con is totally 100% eximious.  You could even pretend for a moment, that the security guards, tech people, press photos and backstage passes let you for a second pretend you’re someone fancier than the inconsequential girl who is on stage for a grand 30 seconds.  But hey...I wouldn’t want it any other way.  As Anne would say, I somewhat prefer my castles-in-the air over reality.  

Our “group” this year was called “The Addams Extended Family” and the joke started with the creepy Addams coming out and doing their spooky thing. Then the key changed in the music and the “extended family” came out.  Patch Adams, Amy Adams, Samuel Adams, Grizzly Adams, John & Abigail Adams….etc and then Ansel Adams (the famous b&w photographer) came out and took our picture just as the song said “...it’s spelled with double D or DIE!” at which point we all did our best impression of death and I tried to join Cordelia’s injured knee club by dying on a very sharp piece of my hoopskirt.  As I lay there dead, trying to breath through my bodice stays and not groan or shift, I wasn’t sure if the audience actually got the joke because the 4,000 (Ballroom 20!) crowd was silent for what seemed like an eternity.  But they finally roared with applause and laughter, the lights went out and we all hobbled off the stage to watch the rest of our competition.  So. Much. Fun.  And we won one of the main awards!  Most Humorous...har har. 

I wished I would have gotten pictures of the empty convention as we left at midnight.  There was a rave going on in The Pavilion, but otherwise I felt like Templeton in Charlotte’s web.  Rolling my drunk on life self through a wasteland of spilled food, forgotten pieces of costumes and bits of power puff girl advertisements.

 

I don’t know how people do Comic-Con for the whole four days.  Just the one day took me all of the next day to recover. But my blisters have healed, my knee is only barely black and blue, I have a bag full of swag and free books (Thank you Ashley for being my guiding angel!), and I have the final results in for most popular costume at Comic-Con 2016 (according to me)…..

 

...Rey from StarWars!  


 

Honorable mentions include (i.e. costumes I saw more than anything else):

Deadpool

HarleyQuinn

Ghostbusters (more classic than current)

Captain America

 

Popular Themes this year (and arguably every year) were:

Game Of Thrones

Anything Marvel or DC

Star Wars

Assassins Creed

Pokemon  

And a whole lot of anime/manga stuff I didn’t recognize

...Until next year!

ComiCon Here I Come

Living in the real world is tough cannolis.  Particularly if (like me) you were raised looking longingly at the world through a filter of T.H. White and Orson Scott Card.  While everyone else was out getting first kisses and going to Audio Adrenaline concerts with the youth group, I was changing, diapers, sewing long skirts out of fabric plastered with giant cherries and getting lost in every Star Wars fan book I could get a hold of (no shame!).   

Thus, it was with enormous awe and gravity that I finally procured Willy Wonka’s golden tickets and got to go to ComicCon for the first time last  year.  It would be a fateful homecoming.   I would finally be among the fellow outcasts of society, the type of people who can answer the question “What is Bilbo Baggin’s mother's name” instantly and with a straight face.   Turns out though, ComicCon is so huge and popular that it’s more like specialists in the medical field.   I only speak maybe two, three dialects of nerd, and there are at least seventy-seven...not counting Dr. Who which has at least three separate dialects within the dialect.   Also, the sheer awesomeness is a little overwhelming.  I mean, where else can you go and see Darth Vader and Sherlock Holmes standoff?  Especially when Darth Vader really is 6’ 8” and Sherlock is Benedict Cumberbatch’s doppelganger.  Last year there were zombies everywhere...almost tied with the number of naked Cersei’s with their Septa Unellas and shame bells.  (any bets one what the popular GOT costume will be this year?)  

I go again this Saturday and I can’t wait.  In some ways it's like those 4th of July parades as a kid where they throw out free candy...instead at ComicCon they throw out free books! And comics! ...and pretty much everything in between!  Besides meeting all of my favorite authors, I’m pretty sure nothing can top last year of getting to meet Jamie Fraser and Jonathan Randall right before tap dancing as an X-man in Xavier’s school of dance...but hey, I’m willing to take whatever comes my way.  I’m just thrilled I get to go again. 

 

 

 

How To Read More Books When You Have A Million Kids

...or just four kids.  

If there is one thing I think all moms universally long for (besides babies who sleep through the night and a cyberoptic forehead readout that tells you the optimal way to raise your particular child) it’s that we all wish we had more time to read.

My mom used to find me hiding under a giant pile of laundry or stuffed between the beds feverishly trying to consume a book on the down low. After oh so gently fussing at me, she would say something along the lines of, “Just wait until you have your own kids…”.     Well... Cough Cough.  She seriously underestimated my ability to get sucked into a new book.  And since necessity is the mother of invention, consider this a trade secret swap because you can never have too many ways to sneak books into your life.  Here are a few tried and true strategies.  

 

Read in the car

Buckle everyone in and then read 5 min before you pull out of the driveway, and another 5...er...10 min in the grocery store parking lot.  

 

Make Tacos for dinner

Or something else that can be mindlessly done on auto pilot. I have found flipping tortillas is the most mutually beneficial dinner strategy.  You can easily do that and brown ground beef while also flipping pages.  

 

Get an Audible account

This one is boring, but effective.   Everyone has mental “muscles” with some working better than others.  For the sake of evenness I try to exercise the auditory ones because they don’t work as well as my visual processing ones, but it’s difficult.  Still, laundry becomes so much more interesting when you’re listening to Diana Gabaldon's reader say “Sassenach”.  

 

Lay on the floor

Debut as a human jungle gym.  Kids usually just want to be around you, they don’t always need you to follow them around describing things like an interactive preschool app “Yes, ball...roll ball….good roll ball”  (although let's be real, we all sound like therapists these days thanks to Daniel Tiger).  Sometimes the most serviceable solution to buy yourself a chapter is to lay on the floor and let your spine become a deck and your feet a rudder as you’re tossed to and fro on a sea of fishy crackers.  While the wee pirates sail on grand adventures, you can consume a few precious pages.   

 

Spontaneously declare a 15 min “Super Secret Book Club”.  

Solemnly inform your kids they need to clean their rooms, empty the trash and wash the dishes.  Then freeze, cock your head like you’re listening to some invisible messenger and say “I’m getting an incoming order from the Interplanetary Secret Reading Order and they need us to drop everything right now and read for fifteen minutes….hmmm...can we? should we?  Perhaps we have no choice but to put off chores and attend this very important super secret club meeting.”  Reluctantly set the timer for another fifteen minutes afterwards when everyone clamors they’re not quite ready to go clean yet.  

 

Of course all of that assumes you haven’t been banned from your local library and have a healthy relationship with Amazon.   Ahem.  But what say you?  What are you reading and how/where do you read it?  

 

Maybe You Really Are An Extrovert

I hate making phone calls. I know I’m not alone in this, so maybe it’s a manifestation of my generation or gender, but I usually have to pull out some really underdeveloped list making skills and write down...with a giant purple crayon... on an actual scrap of paper that may or may not be a piece of junk mail:

CALL CHARTER SCHOOL

SCHEDULE DR. APPT

CALL YOUR SISTER

And then I don’t let myself do anything fun like wash the dishes or chip mold out of the toilet bowl until it’s done.   

So yesterday, I was on hold with the kid’s charter school after being transferred to four different people, and of course...of course as soon as I heard someone say, “Hello this is Sarah, how can I help you?” my four year old shoved a can of grapefruit La Croix onto my lap and said, “Open another beer for me please!” with a nice belch just in case the meaning wasn’t super clear for the nice ambassador of government education on the other side of the phone. She laughed as I fumbled over a desperate explanation and assurance it was sparkling water my nefarious offspring was referring to, but when I got off the phone I slid down my chair in a puddle of introvertedness.  

Of course if you’ve ever met me, introvert is probably not what you were thinking which begs the question. What is introversion and extroversion?  

Most people have heard Introvert/Extrovert commonly defined by the question “Where do you get your energy from?”. Extroverts get their energy from being around people, introverts get their energy from being alone, right?   

I disagree. (otherwise this blog entry would be very short, and where is the fun in that?)

I think it would be more accurate to say extroverts feed off of people-energy. (and apparently have completely different brain patterns) 

...but good luck getting them there in the first place...getting them to stay...or trying to talk to their cranky selves once you get them home.   My husband is a Ron Swanson type introvert, and as such he often drags me kicking and screaming to social gatherings where he throws me in the deep end like it’s a proverbial swimming pool and I have to sink or start talking to people.  Of course he stands over in the corner and surveys the masses while I partake in all of that amazing energy harvesting extroverts are supposed to be receiving.  But when we get home, guess who’s the drained one?  Mr. I-don’t-give-a-**** who feels exactly the same post party as pre party, or his convivial wife who has face planted on the sofa and is replaying every awkward thing she did or said that evening?  Mmmhmmm.  

(tangential note:I know we sound like loads of fun to invite places, but I swear we’re not as weird as I’m making us sound...it’s just the introverted part of me taking over the keyboard).  

A lot of introversion vs extroversion can be explained by an understanding of functions. An INFJ can appear pretty extroverted in public because of their overarching social intuitiveness. And an ENFP (like me) can feel introverted because of their secondary introverted feeling function. But for the sake of argument, let’s hypothesize a lot of other extroverted types feel like introverts these days thanks to social media.   I mean, think about it.  For hundreds of years extroverts have been living in small communities and plowing their field just like everyone else.  So the whole “get your energy from people” thing makes more sense when you’re milking Bessy at 4 a.m. and thinking about how amazing market day is going to be.   If it’s the 21st century though, it’s literally market day twenty-four seven and you’re probably extroverted up to your eyeballs before you even walk out the door.  Extroversion is like a starfish, and if all of the little suction cup thingies are already being filled by instagram, facebook, twitter, your blog subscriptions...drudge… huffpo...cnn etc then eventually you run out of things you can hang onto. Then when you read something called “10 signs you’re a misunderstood introvert” you suddenly realize you related to all of them a little too much!  

Depending on what scientific journal you read.  Extroverts account for anywhere between 50-74% of the population.  However if internet memes, articles and blogs are any indication, the percentage is more like 97% introvert 3% extrovert these days.  Everyone and their mother thinks they’re an introvert.  But statistics don’t lie (har har), so either a lot of people think they’re introverts when they’re really not, or the internet killed off enormous numbers of extroverts.

Not that it really matters in the end.   I personally hold two contradictory positions.  1) If they think they’re an introvert then there is some nugget of truthfulness there that suggests you should listen wisely.  2) If they act like an extrovert but think they’re an introvert, then there is some nugget of truthfulness there that suggests you listen wisely.  

 

And to all of my fellow inwardly-stressed-out extroverts.  I feel ya.






 

6 Things You Can Do When The World Turns Upsidedown

Living in the year 2016 means you’re essentially a foot soldier with the intelligence network of a five star general. It’s not shocking mental illness is on the rise...it would be more shocking if it wasn’t. Since I’m the self titled queen of pet hypotheses, I actually think the skyrocketing number of introverts is more due to globalization exhaustion than true introvertedness i.e.  Modern culture would turn even Pollyanna into a bone sapped Zoloft loving introvert. (but more on that later…)  

One answer is to unplug entirely. And if you’re having problems actually coping with day to day life, then this may be what you need to do. No judgement.  

But if you’re like me and grew up in The Village, or if you just have a more nuanced view in general and don’t feel the need to do a modern incarnation of a benedictine monk, then here are some battle tested survival tips taken from so many random sources this will be scientific credibility at its finest.  


 

1. Take two magnesium and drink 16 oz of water.  

Magnesium helps your brain chemistry and at the very least, the physical act of putting something into your mouth and and guzzling fluids has a placebo effect of letting your mental state rebalance itself.  

 

2.  Take a really hot or really cold shower.  

This suggestion came from a fellow writer who read it from another writer in regards to creativity. I think it’s because it turns on the part of your brain that feels like it’s doing something (slightly) dangerous. And anytime you get a rush of brain chemicals, you have the chance to piggy back other emotions like ambition, creativity and drive onto it.  

 

3.  Eat some icecream.  

Don’t follow this advice actually...I don’t want to be responsible for diabetes. But research shows that mood patterns are closely related to food patterns. Hangry is really a thing. There’s real biological evidence for the whole binge watching TV while eating junk food, it’s a self preservation instinct...It just so happens that going out and killing a tiger and then passing out in front of the fire is a little better for your pancreas and heart.  

 

.4.  Read the book of Ecclesiastes.  

Seriously. This has been one of my go to anxiety buster since I was a teenager. There is something freeing about the relevancy of something someone wrote thousands of years ago that directly addresses humanity today. It makes you feel both big and small and releases the burden of feeling like you’re the only one who sees the world going to hell in a handbasket.  

 

5. Write poetry and then burn it.  

I’m pretty sure every great composer and painter of the Classical and Romantic era did this. Embrace your angst and pour it out through a real pen with a real piece of paper and then burn it with a real match with that real sulfur smell wafting up through your real nostrils (safely of course, and probably not around children). As a wise friend once said “we’re not gnostics.  We are physical beings with real bodies, so do real things.”  (I’m paraphrasing). The more cyberspacey we get, the more disconnected we get, and as someone whose reading list is ninety percent ebook, I should take my own medicine. There’s also something specific about poetry that engages and turns on particular parts of your brain. Please though, in your poetry burning, don’t actually burn other people’s books literally or figuratively. This isn’t the 15th century.  

 

6. Roll a cask of sour ale through your neighborhood.  

Ok, so maybe this one is a little difficult to do. But the endorphins from the muscle expenditure combined with the mild alcohol and probiotics at the end are a winning combo. In all seriousness, hard physical work and sunshine are part of the reason your grandparents were likely happier and healthier than you so if you find yourself overwhelmed with the sadness and enormity of life, then put on those suspenders and boots and go dig a ditch.  

 

What not to do…

For all of the analytical logical types out there. Don’t give yourself a concussion bashing your head against the table when you see lamenting and bleeding heart syndrome going around like food poisoning at a wedding with bad tacos. By all means use your superior higher reasoning skills to tear apart and discuss what ballistics were used, the credibility of the witnesses and the evidence of various camera angles, but don’t be surprised when you get shamed for that.  

 

For all of the big picture socially intuitive types out there.  I get it.  You can’t turn your brain off.  You see pain, suffering, hunger and injustices and you see all of the connecting threads which just makes it even more difficult to process.  You feel helpless, like the only thing you can do is use a few trending hashtag and plead with people in eloquently written status updates.  The problem is, it often makes me feel more empty and worse and it comes across like mom nagging at anyone who disagrees.  So maybe borrow angst from the other side of the emotional spectrum and try #5.  

Photo by Alesse/iStock / Getty Images

Photo by Alesse/iStock / Getty Images