The Anxious Heart

I used to go to the doctor a lot because there was always something wrong. I wanted a diagnosis. I wanted to feel safe in my body. Every time something hurt: my throat, my foot, my eye, I knew death was coming, and so I went straight to the doctor to find out what was wrong.

When I was new to Kaiser, I went for a checkup, and the doctor suggested I go to one of Kaiser’s anxiety groups. “But I’m not anxious,” I said. The doctor nodded while she continued to write.

At the meeting, I learned anxiety is a result of believing that worry will keep you safe. What!!?? I was a worry ninja! I could worry 24/7 and barely break a sweat! I thought worry was something you did just in the way you keep your eyes open when you drive a car. I thought worry was a good idea. Worrying was my way of saying yes to life: Yes, I’m here. Yes, I see you. Yes, I have it all on my radar. Yes, I’m going to try to control the whole world with this brain of mine. I am the puppeteer, and I am keeping a feel of all the strings just as a cowboy feels the horse’s mouth through the reins. I’ve got you guys. I’ve got all of you, all of it: ocean, orphans, cholesterol.

I’m going to worry my way home.

Yesterday when I went to get acupuncture to try to quiet my racing heart, the doctor asked me to stick out my tongue. “Oh,” she said, “Wow. So much anxious.”

“Is it the split down the middle or the pale color or the puffiness?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said.

I closed my eyes. I thought I’d had this thing beat.

Here’s the funny thing: I’m living the life of my dreams. Nothing major is wrong.

A while ago, I met a man who had created a business that let him travel the world, chasing his passions. His eyes were bright, and he walked quickly, always on the edge of being late. He also, when I spoke, went completely still. What I learned from him is that you can be both very busy and very present at the same time. I also learned there is no ceiling. When I told him about my Write or Die classes, he asked how many people had done it. When I shrugged, he said, “A million?” I laughed. I had been counting on my fingers.

A few years ago, the big wave surfer Frosty Hesson had told me the secret to life was to glide. Mr. Bright Eyes said the secret to success was courage.

Neither one mentioned worry!

When you have a dysregulated nervous system, when you, for example, were adopted or had given up a baby or had an abusive parent or were bullied at school, the good times—feeling excited—can be just as stressful as the bad times.

It’s like my body is a piece of silk, and whenever the wind blows, both gentle and wicked, I get agitated, flapping about in a way that my brain and nervous system reads as out of control.

My brain and nervous system would rather feel in control than happy or engaged or curious.

The other night I was sitting at a bar in Graton, California, and I was listening to the three old men lined up next to me talk about their hot tubs and frogs. “It takes about ten seconds,” the man next to me said. “One minute it’s sitting there on the lip of the tub, and the next thing, it’s floating in the water, cooked.”

“Fucking frogs,” his friend said.

The men laughed.

There are choices involved before you leap in the water and cook yourself.

Mr. Bright Eyes did something that I took note of: he constructed his life in positive language. He talked about his business, his travel, his heart in words that made it all sound good. It was like he had built a house of light and didn’t allow darkness to seep in. He was willing himself to the life of his dreams, but he didn’t have that tight-faced look of I got this. He looked, even jet-lagged, even late, joyful. He looked like a man who had jumped off a cliff and was pleased as punch by the experience of sailing through the air.

Hot water. Air. So many ways to live your life. So many different ways to live, to die.

Meditate. Exercise. Cut out sugar and alcohol. Limit caffeine intake. Breathe. Sleep.

I know. I know.

I’m a flipping massage therapist. I know how to relax. I just don’t do it.

Why?

Because I don’t know how to relax. To me, relaxing, letting go, feels like dying.

But I’m learning.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Ram Dass whispering in the background, You are love. You are love. You are love.