I wrote the other day about my own experience of anxiety and my thoughts that we have emerged into an age of anxiety. While I tried to keep it light, it's a dark topic.
It has occurred to me since that one of the most healing behaviours for me, both during my period of acute anxiety and now as I still experience low-level but chronic anxiety is my ability to laugh. Laughing in the face of fear and dis-ease is challenging, but it has an incredibly positive effect.
I fly a lot. More often than I'd choose. But I fly when the need beckons – though seldom, even never, unless I'm issuing an invoice.
Last Monday saw me fly from Auckland to Wellington and back in a day – relievedly, an almost unprecedented phenomenon. I was with Sam and Kylie again (about whom I wrote a week or so back). It was Kylie's first time flying with me – or anyone using a wheelchair I believe – so Sam and I created a list of common occurrences for Kylie to "check off" as we went from airport to plane and plane to airport. Twice. In one day.
The list went something like this:
It occurred to me in the shower this morning that changing the number of days in a week, from seven to six or eight, would make life a whole lot easier. Seven is a prime number, meaning it is divisible by itself or one.
Therefore it's really impossible to create any efficient domestic schedule that is reinforced by days. Apart from once a week, any other consistent schedule falls on different days.
I can't change my towels every two or three days. I can't take medication every other day. I can't do anything consistently except once a week, which is mostly too seldom, or over a fortnight, which is too confusing.
Talking with a friend yesterday reminded me of a workshop I ran several years ago at Waiheke High School with my friend, colleague and Diversityworks Trust Chair Carol Waterman.
From memory a mutual friend who worked at the school asked us to run a workshop with a number of parents who were having conflict with their teens. The workshop was to give them a time to offload and support each other.
Unbeknownst to us, several parents brought their kids with them. After a moment of panic, Carol and I decided to go ahead with our first planned activity and slightly change the second.
Earlier this year I designed what I thought was a funny but thought-provoking notice that you can leave on the car windscreen or even politely hand to someone who parks in an accessible car parking space without needing to. It reads:
Recent research shows that non-disabled people who park in accessible parking spaces are five times more likely to become disabled themselves than those who don’t.
But don’t worry, apart from non-disabled people parking in accessible parking spaces, being disabled isn’t as bad as you’d think.
Is it just me or are you noticing that everyone is incredibly busy at the moment? Or am I just projecting my own busyness on everyone else?
I hate feeling too busy.
I've been canceling meetings left, right and centre –because, it seems, other people are too busy to attend them – and I still feel too busy.
So here's the thing: we've all done it. Held in that fart in the middle of a meeting, despite the discomfort of the wind staying trapped in your bloated bowel. Or desperately, hopefully, let it slip out surreptitiously, silently. But you know those are the smelly ones.
Wait 30-45 seconds for osmosis to set in.
Everyone looks around, knowingly, scathingly. You look particularly innocent, wondering if it would make you more or less likely a suspect if you say the obvious, "Ok, who dropped that?"
My interview with Pat Armistead on "Improv Radio", Planet FM, last night.
The Creator gathered all of Creation and said, “I want to hide something from the humans until they are ready for it. It is the realisation that they create their own reality.”
The eagle said, “Give it to me, I will take it to the moon.”