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Me, My Parasympathetic Nervous System, and I
Some people imagine they have the devil one shoulder and an angel on the other, giving competing advice. For me, I have my sympathetic nervous system shouting in one ear and my parasympathetic nervous system whispering in the other. One is unreliable but sometimes right. The other gives very good advice that I just don’t quite want to take. The first has a megaphone and a Chicken Little complex; the other is like an elusive oracle from some ancient myth. You know it said something of earth-shattering importance that will change everything. The problem is you can’t process the information because the horrible voice screaming that the sky is falling…
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When Positive Thinking Doesn’t Work
I hate positive thinking emergencies. They creep up on me at my worst moments. I stand at cliff’s edge, vicious barbarian armies closing in on me. In front of me lies the ocean. Even if I were to survive the sharp rocks that stud the cliffside, there is a sea monster waiting below, his gaping maw revealing rows upon rows of pointy teeth. I feel panic grip my chest, my throat. My hands shake. Then out of nowhere, I feel the hand of my co-worker gently squeeze my shoulder. “Try to think positive thinking,” he says, meaningfully and with sincere sympathy. “That’s it!” I think and begin to hum The…
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Confessions of a Five Year Old Runaway
My confessions start when I was very young. It all started with the maroon polyester pantsuit. Feeling ugly and uncomfortable, I remember sitting on the sidewalk refusing to go anywhere in that garish monster of an outfit, wishing I could scrape the itchy thing off like Job’s boils. And then the persistent diet of fried eggs in the morning. Is anything worse than the viscous undercooked egg white slipping down the throat? It became clear to me that it was time to part ways. I filled the old stained Samsonite suitcase with all my belongings and somehow managed to haul it down the green shag-carpeted stairs of the tiny apartment…
Healing Through Art & Words
