How to Heal an ADHD Fog when a Consequent Anxiety Swirl Is Trying Its Best Not To Let You

Your brain won’t work, which is challenging enough. But then your mind goes berserk. Meanwhile, life doesn’t stop to accommodate your below-baseline functioning. Read on to discover the five things I do during periods when both my ADHD and Anxiety flare up to annoyingly debilitating proportions. 

I compartmentalize my cabeza into two entities: the brain (cognitive) and the mind (mental/emotional). I think of ADHD as a cognitive issue and Anxiety as a mental/emotional one. For me, BOTH go haywire on occasion at the same time, feeding off of each other’s negative impacts like ill-behaved schoolyard bullies. 

It goes likes this: When my ADHD symptoms heighten, so too does my anxiety about not having the consistency or sharpness of my cognitive faculties to do the particular life I have to do. ADHD up / Anxiety up. Except that it doesn’t end there, because the nature of anxiety is that it is selfish: it sweeps up all the scraps of energy we’ve got, cognitive and otherwise (and remember, there’s not much of the cognitive kind to start with in this ADHD fog), and sucks it into its black, scary, bottomless hole. So it’s more like this: ADHD up / Anxiety up / ADHD up higher / Anxiety up higher…

When this happens for me, I’m not going to lie: It. Is. Hell. It starts with me feeling an edge of overwhelm, then goes to me feeling completely and totally stupid, then goes to me feeling panicked and both my heart and my thoughts slamming hard and fast in my chest/head pretty much all the time. 

Allow me take you on the wild ride that is an ADHD/Anxiety flare-up:

*ADHD means I can’t be productive.  Anxiety means I can’t relax.

*ADHD won’t let me solve problems. Anxiety makes me think I have problems I don’t actually have.

*ADHD makes it hard to focus. Anxiety keeps me inside my head, making me even less available for the things I already have trouble concentrating on.

*ADHD makes planning difficult. Anxiety, a control freak, convinces me I need to plan everything down to the tiniest of detail.

*ADHD makes it so that any task requiring my brain feels hard. Anxiety, consequently, makes my heart pound and my pits sweat every time I approach a task requiring my brain. 

*ADHD makes small things I did before with ease seem big. Anxiety makes small things I did before with ease seem bigger.

*ADHD makes it difficult to keep up with life’s demands. Anxiety tells me not only that I’m falling behind on life’s demands, but that that means at any given moment everything will fall apart.

*ADHD makes me nervous I’ll screw up in situations when I can’t rely on my brain. Anxiety picks up steam and becomes a beast of its own, making me nervous without pinpoint & all the time.

*ADHD makes my filter broken so that ALL the feels, thoughts, memories, to-dos, stimuli, choices, and shades of grey of both my internal and external world are striking me at once. Anxiety tells me if I let one slip through the cracks and go unaddressed, the sky will fall. 

*ADHD makes me forgetful, confused, unable to figure out basic things, and communicate awkwardly. Anxiety makes me worried I’ll get found out any moment that I am forgetful and confused and unable to figure out basic things and unable to communicate smoothly. (You can see the flashing signs here segwaying to social anxiety)

*ADHD makes me even more frazzled when I’m rushed or under pressure. Anxiety tricks me into thinking I need to be in a state of rush and pressure. 

*ADHD makes me perform unintelligently. Anxiety makes me feel scared.

Here’s the first thing I want to say to you if you are in this place right now: You are not alone, because I am just now crawling my way out of this very place; you’ve got a soul sister in me. Here’s the second thing I want to say to you if you are in this place right now: find a moment later today when you are distraction-free and maybe wearing ear buds with relaxing, classical music piping in, and read these five tips. I promise, they won’t tax you, they’ll help you. 

1) G.O.Y.I.: Get Off Your Island

There are two ways I know to do this:

a) To [re]read ADHD resources. I bust out my copy of Sari Solden’s “ADHD in Women” and log on to ADDitude magazine’s online resource and check out blogs written by ADHD moms and dust off my stacks of articles and clippings written by ADHD specialists or just plain ole people like you and me (See? You can already feel successful because you’re doing it now!). 

There are hazards here: I have to laugh because during a particularly rough spiral I dutifully followed my own advice and got on ADDitude magazine’s online resource. Thinking it would make me feel better, I was attempting to read about new research surrounding the validity of ADHD as a health crisis. STRIKE ONE. So many stats I couldn’t follow or remember! So much data I couldn’t synthesize! (And all the pop ups! I know online marketers gotta online marketing, but SPARE US, the ones who can’t redirect worth beans). Heart beat quickening! When I finally realized that line of academic ADHD reading wasn’t helping, I switched to the articles that were from ADHD coaches/therapists with all sorts of organizational strategies and advice. STRIKE TWO. That just stressed me out! Feeding my family and bathing felt like gargantuan tasks... there was no way I could make my way to Target to buy a new basket system or install a new time management app. Heart beat quickening! (Even though my anxiety said: Girl, if you don’t act now on that organizational system, EVERYTHING will fall apart, I told her to stop having a cow and that I’d stay on my couch drinking my tea, thank you very much.). So, what I’m saying here: AVOID reading anything that makes you feel you have to do anything. Now is not the time to implement strategies, to add anything. That requires cognitive juice and you have NONE. You’re sort of in crisis and folks in crises don’t need MORE (at least not at first); they need to feel not alone.

The purpose of this reading is support. When I touch in to the ADHD world, reading about brilliant men and women who struggle with basic things and mental health sidecars in the same way I do, it makes me feel oodles better. Nothing’s changed. My ADHD is still there and my anxiety is still there. And life is still hard while I’m waiting for this distressed time to subside. But what it does is this: It stakes down a bridge leading me from my little isolated island to the vast set of experiences/struggles of others like me. And that’s worth its weight in gold. 

b) To rely on your FDP (and maybe no one else). FDP stands for Full Disclosure People. I have three: my husband, my beloved mother-in-law, and my bestest girlfriend. Mine happen to all be neurotypical, so they don’t have to be folks that “get it” first-handed. They just need to be nonjudgmental, curious, supportive, patient peeps who have your best interest in mind. I have the good fortune, probably due to the fact that my ADHD is inattentive type, of not behaving that much differently in my ADHD/anxiety spirals (risky behavior and impulsive decision-making not my Achilles tendon). If there’s anything that shows on the outside, it’s probably running around in circles getting nothing done, tightening my grip on everything in an effort to control it, losing my funniness because there’s no quick wit to be found, and socially acting awkward since my mind is so blank and I’m having such difficulty following the pace of conversation. That’s just the outside. The inside: I’m a freakin mess: panicked, filled with self-doubt, and my physical body perpetually worked up. 

My point: My husband doesn’t even know unless I tell him. So, I do. I tell him and the others where I am with my struggles, what I’m doing about it, and ask them if they have any reflections themselves. I let them know what I need from them: to be treated a tad more tenderly than usually. I tell them they might notice me backing away from commitments, even with them. I ask for them to see this as taking care of myself, not something frightening like withdrawal or isolation. I tell them that I like when they ask about “it” but that I might say I don’t want to talk about it long or at all. And I ask them to treat me otherwise normally, not holding back on telling me their stuff, both good and bad.

In doing this, I am instantly sharing the island I previously inhabited alone with my favorite three people. THAT feels a lot better, too.

There’s a reason I specify to keep the number you share with down: Not everyone is a) as nonjudgmental, curious, supportive, and as patient as your FDP nor b) equipped to handle or understand conversations around learning disabilities and mental health. 

I’ve made the mistake - in the name of authenticity and vulnerability - of sharing what I’m going through with folks who have scarcely had a wonky mental day in their lives and those who put me in “weird” box from that day on and those who it made feel so awkward and uncomfortable that I found myself wanting to give them a hug. I hate to encourage faking it. But putting on your big girl/boy undies and tromping through as best you can with your mouth button-lipped – except with your trusted FDP – is OK. You get to choose who you invite on your island, and I say: choose carefully. 

2) O.B.L.: Operate on a Basic Level

Already, when I am at steady baseline, I make sure my protective factors are high. What I mean by this is that, since life as a person with ADHD is more challenging than life as a neurotypical, I need to bubble wrap myself with loads of self-care, in fact loads and loads of self-care. As a SAHM of multiple kids with their own special needs, this means farming out many of the household tasks under my charge, saying no to lots of volunteer stuff others seem to do with ease, making sure my calendar doesn’t get too filled, and doing lots of hobbies that promote relaxation.

But when I find myself below baseline, in one of these ADHD/Anxiety swirls, I Bubble-Wrap-Myself on steroids. I O.B.L. Again, your Anxiety will have something to say. She (Anxiety) will tell you that the only way to exist in your family, in your work, in your home, in your life is to eat on china (not paper plates), guarantee all major food groups are included in dinner (not just Taco Bell), fold and put away the laundry RIGHT NOW (not leave it in the basket for family members to pluck from), obsess about the work project due next week since a month ago (not trust that your planning is on track), and keep every minute busy and filled (not sit on the couch watching Season 1 of Golden Girls) – and then She is going to tell you that if you don’t fulfill all these requirements, people are going to notice and be suspicious/judgmental of you. Ignore that Bitch. J

The only way to heal, I’ve found, is to convince myself that I need to heal… I need to practice rest and relaxation as best I can (and hush Anxiety). And that means being OK with a very, very basic level of functioning. What to do is this: Take a look at the tasks under your charge ongoingly and in the next few weeks. Then slash all the ones that can be slashed (Reality means there’s certain stuff you cannot remove, and that’s ok because you’re offloading the rest). Paper plates, carry out, slacking on all areas of home management, not writing thank you notes, saying no to invitations, buying gift cards instead of the perfectly thoughtful gift, avoiding chaotic environments like the grocery store and retail shopping, taking a hiatus from volunteer work, asking coworkers to temporarily fill in on tasks that overwhelm you, not returning unurgent phone calls, letting the kids watch more screens, and lounging or piddling with all that spare time – for the time being – is my plan. It doesn’t sound like a productive plan, but it IS going to get me back on my feet faster, reducing my ADHD and anxiety, and I call that productive. 

3) Mantra & Ear buds, Ear buds, Ear buds.... 

So, I just got finished encouraging relaxation and yet relaxation is the very thing my head and body won’t seem to let me do very well during one of these spirals; figuring out what to do with myself feels intimidating. Here’s me: “I finally found a way to clear out stress-free space for myself and deciding what to do with this time is actually making me anxious. What gives???” 

Ironically, relaxation often involves the brain. For example, I can’t read for very long when I’m in this space, even light pleasure reading. Readingconfuses my brain! As a solution, I recently came up with the idea of listening to an e-recording of a book, but logging onto the library website to reserve an e-book online fried my muddled brain (couldn’t figure it out), and I gave up. SHIT! Even journaling, something that normally is very therapeutic, can become obsessive and unhelpful (since I am confused about what to say and how to say it during these times). DOUBLE SHIT!

What I try to do is piece together as much cognitive-free self-care as possible (usually exercise, meditation, art, massage, and getting wrapped up in a binge-worthy TV series or juicy movies) and for all the other hours and minutes of free time that I’ve cleared out and even while I’m conducting normal daily tasks, I wear ear buds and practice a mantra. The ear buds help filter out extraneous internal and external stimulus, which is usually calming. The mantra brings me back to my body through my breath, which I find easily gets shallow and tight without proper attention during these seasons. My mantras are usually two sentences, one on the belly-inhale and one on the belly-exhale. My favorites are:

“Everything is OK. One thing at a time.”

“Don’t sweat the small stuff. Slow your ass down.”

“It’s all material. It’ll take you somewhere.”

“Now is not forever. Be here now.”

“When you get in a jam, there’s always another way.”

“Stop worrying over yourself. No one cares.”

“It’s the ADHD and anxiety. It’ll end.”

“Be in my body. Be in my body.”

4) F.T.C.: Force The Calm (and get sloppy) 

My mindfulness meditation practice has taught me that it’s not helpful to force anything. Striving is to be replaced with “being.” Control and force replaced with “acceptance.”

Sorry meditation, I’m straight up going rogue here. 

When my Anxiety is putting its most alarming foot forward, working up my body and mind from sun up to sun down, I employ the F.T.C. method. I Force. The. Calm. Since Anxiety is tricking me with panic, I trick it back with forced chill. This requires thespian skills, because it’s acting the way you want to feel instead of how you’re actually feeling in hopes that the two will meet in the middle. 

Here’s what I mean: I walk like 1/10 the speed my body/mind says I should, like I’ve got all the time in the world. Even though my muscles are tense as hell, I sit and stand in a leisurely posture – flopping my arms and legs around haphazardly like I don’t have a care in the world. I even force myself to be sloppy with time and belongings, loosening up despite how tightly it feels I need to hold on. I grab the first thing in my drawers to wear, instead of trying to work at matching something. I speak more purposely slowly, too – not trying too hard to communicate well or clearly – just slowly.   

What I’ve found is that if I show Anxiety that the world will stay on its axis even when I’m slow, sloppy, and yield to my ADHD disorganization instead of showing it who’s boss by over-working, then I reduce Anxiety’s power over me. And my ADHD likes the slow, sloppy pace, too… my cognitive performance generally improves when I’m not rushing it along. When I’m back in the saddle, I’ll re-employ all the strategies that keep me on time, with the right belongings, wearing matching clothes, and possessing a more erect posture. But for now I F.T.C. and get OK with sloppy.

5) S.A.E.C.: Smile At Every Chance  

I foolishly signed up to volunteer on a committee’s exec board in the role of “Nominations.” Basically, this meant that over the course of the year I was responsible for “nominating” folks to fill the twenty-some volunteer positions on the committee for the following year. In an ADHD/anxiety spiral, I bowed out of my Nominations exec board position altogether. This felt flakey and shitty, and I was doing lots of self-loathing. Then, I decided to do something different: LAUGH. Because, seriously. Can we all see the irony of me hunting down someone to fill my vacant Nominations slot when the job requires filling people in slots? 

S.A.E.C. can be about your own F-ups or it can be about looking up at the park and seeing a three-year-old accidentally nail his older brother in the groin with a kickball. Life is mostly ridiculous and absurd and funny, and the more I pay attention to its ridiculousness, absurdity, and funniness, the more I am offered a touchpoint that has nothing to do with my own problems, a break from me. 

Watch movies that make you laugh, find Youtube bloopers that make you snicker, allow your loved ones to kid and chide, and most importantly – during this time when you may be convinced to approach yourself with rigidity and legalism – decide that you won’t take yourself too seriously. It’s just so much better to crack a grin at how much moosh is swirling around in that brain of yours instead of beating yourself up about it (and no one’s noticing as much as you think they are anyhow). 

In closing, take heart and be kind to yourself while you are waiting for your ADHD and Anxiety to heal, for your cognitive sharpness and emotional peace to return. I PROMISE: it will. 

                       (and email me at runnintj@yahoo.com if you need me to convince you)

Five Things I Learned The Hard Way This Summer

1) The spread is real. 

Here's the thing: I like my spread. I have four kids aged 4 to 12, and it’s cool that way. But did you know that a four year old's idea of summer fun is different than a 12 year old's idea of summer fun? I mean: can't they just morph to a common interest level, say the average of an 8 yr old development or so? THAT, I could deal with. I could go to google and type in “Summer Shit 8 Yr olds enjoy...” And BAM. That would be what we do together every single mother loving summer day. But no. I have a 4 yr old who cares about 4 yr old stuff. A 7 yr old who cares about 7 yr old stuff. A 10 yr old who cares about 10 yr old stuff. And a 12 yr old who is - well - a tween.

I was on a walk with a friend asking her if her oldest is such a damn party pooper all the time and she says, "What does your oldest say no to?" I said, "Well, just yesterday I tried to convince him to go to the zoo and when that got shot down I tried the splash park." And she's all like, "Tricia, those aren't age appropriate activities for someone who's 12." 

And I felt equal parts enlightened and pissed. Because I had to strap on a bathing suit and pretend to have fun stomping around in a concrete area at said splash pad that's basically a glorified sprinkler with my preschooler at the ripe, wrinkly age of 40... HOW COME MY KID CANT SUCK IT UP?? That’s the pissed response. The enlightened one was more ashamed, “You dunce... you’re not aging up with your kid. Get more creative and he’ll come alive.”

But I don’t know if you know this:  creativity and exhaustion don’t live together. Maybe I’ll just give him a sedative next time before I force him to dance around in the water with us. I know I’d have appreciated one.


2) You lose all ability to socialize normally.

On July 7, I managed to only be late to a hair cut appointment by 15 minutes. Luckily, Julie was still willing to make magic happen with my haircut. Now, Julie and I do very well together and normally - I’d like to think -  I am a bubbly force in her day. But on this particular day at this particular point in the summer, I really was having a hard time forming thoughts or sentences. I was trying really hard to follow her words and then make words of my own, but not really doing a bull's eye job. There was a pause between fragmented attempts at speech and she tried with this: “How was your fourth?” I immediately felt scrambled... how do I sum it up? So I went with, “She’s a force. She’s got straight blonde hair and gets wound up like a top faster than lightning and I’m convinced she’s quite definitively smarter than me.... [pause] She’s something.” 

I’m like: HOMERUN!! Self, you just nailed a character analysis in a coherent way in less then 45 minutes! I admit, I was sorta smug about my performance. 

Until Julie said: “Cool. I was meaning... like... the Fourth of July.”

We both laughed. Because sometimes insanity is funny.

#3) Plans to organize are for people who follow through. I am not one.

It was around the time I accidentally unearthed a bag of misfit game pieces and homeless legos and ridiculous pencils erasers I hadn’t remembered putting in Sullivan’s closet and hadn’t been touched FOR FIVE YEARS that I announce: WE ARE GOING TO SPEND THE FIRST WEEK OF SUMMER DEEP-TIDYING OUR ROOMS!

Each kid had an assigned day that first week of summer with my personalized attention and I was so excited about the blanket system. In the hall outside each room on Tidy Day lie three blankets. EVERYTHING in the bedroom gets hauled out. EVERYTHING. And placed on one of the three blankets: #1) items that belong elsewhere in this house, #2) items to pass along/donate, and #3) items that return to the bedroom in a place that makes sense. Oh, and a massive trash can for CRAP. 

And I did it! I did it, people! With every kid! (Lie: I worked from oldest down and by the time I got to Campbell I was tidy-ed out. Her room might this very second have apple cores in the closet for all I know). 

But - and here’s where I fail in most projects I start - I quit early. I’m picturing here BossBaby swiping the cookie back from the tubby baby’s hands: “Cookies are for closers.” Well, I don’t deserve a cookie, because I didn’t close. I got as far as consolidating all the rooms’ “donate” and “re-home in our house” items precariously stacked onto two blankets upstairs. 

The end.

That’s where they still are. 

That’s where they’ve been since June 6. 

So now, instead of having cluttered rooms, we have a cluttered hallway that blocks the rooms. 

Perfect.


#4) I have no love in my heart for showcasing.

Now that my kids sign up for summer stuff based on their interests, we have onboarded "specialty camps." Let me help you understand this... You pay a bagillion dollars for a five-day-long experience of 2-4 hours each day for your child to expand their knowledge in ________. Fill the blank with whatever you like: horseback-riding, pottery, ice-sculpting, the Steeplechase, bedazzling... if you can think it up, somebody's making money selling this stuff.

AND THEN ON THE LAST DAY (usually Friday, when all you want is a Bloody Mary) THEY REEL YOU BACK IN TO WATCH A "SHOWCASE." This summer, I've sat through a cooking class showcase, a rocket launch showcase, and a writer's symposium showcase. 

a) Do these people not get why I sign up for summer activities? (Teaser: Cuz I don't want to be an active participant in parenting for a chunk of time - all five days of it, please.)

b) I want my money back. At least 1/5 of it.

5) Every week is distinctly different. 

When people around me say things like, "We found our summer rhythm." I suddenly feel like I am not a native English speaker, because WTF. What. Foreign. Language. Are. You. Speaking.

Here’s rhythm. The school year goes as follows: It begins with specific daily start times and end times five days a week. 9 months go by. It ends. 

Here’s summer: one week the activity you sign up for is drop off at 9:12 and pick up at 12:44. Pack a lunch. No peanuts. Bring 8 forms on first day. The next week the activity is drop off is 11:00 but we’re going on a field trip so if you’re later than 11:10 we’ll leave without you and make sure you sunscreen, bring a lunch that’s vegan, a snack that’s under 4 ozs, have your immunization records tattooed behind your child’s ear, and only your spouse, your step-grandmother or your sister’s goldfish - all with background checks - are eligible to pick up. By the way, that’s at 5:22. 

Take weeks 1 and 2, add a bunch of other original, obscure details that one must take turns shedding then memorizing anew each weekend that buffers these bite-sized schedules and that’s what weeks 4-9 of summer look like too. 

I’d take Groundhog Day over and over over this level of freshness. 

Rhythm = August 12, the first day of school. 

Bring it. 

For other hilarity surrounding Summers Past, click here.

For

Like a Palm Tree...

I recently treadmill-ran my way through the S-Town podcast, am in the middle of the book Bird by Bird, and literally just read the last page of Everything Happens For A Reason and Other Lies I’ve Loved. 

I’ll say I already knew it, because it makes me sound more astute and self-aware, but the honest to goodness truth is that I was sorely in need of this bold refresher: Life is in the business of building flexibility in us. More: by its end, requires it. While these three conduits to brilliance I've recently studied could not be more varied in content, each resource yielded it, this reminder about flexibility. 

S-Town is an investigative podcast about a place called Woodstock, Alabama, where a deeply intelligent man (John B. McLemore) suffers from the belief that both the planet and society are doomed, all while begrudging his hometown for being an ugly, corrupt, small-minded microcosm for everything else wrong in the world. Bird by Bird was written a bunch of years ago, right around when I graduated from 8^thgrade, and tells every last secret its author, Anne Lamott, has on her gift of writing (and living). And then Kate Bowler, who published Everything Happens for a Reason just in the last year, is a professor at Duke Divinity School who has committed her higher education to studying the American obsession with prosperity theology (think Joel Olstein). Oh, and she also is living with Stage Four Cancer, openly trying to parse out the prosperity in that.

The New York journalist responsible for the storytelling in S-Town, after months and months of research and countless trips back and forth to and from Alabama, about this one thing he thought he was chronicling through the eyes of John B, winds up pulling anchor, sailing for a bit, and then re-anchoring for the unfolding of a whole new story. And it works. Not because it was a premeditated plot twist. Nonfiction has no such luxury. The listeners stay on, unphased by the pivot, equally as drawn in as we were when we thought we knew what we were signing up for because that’s exactly the way it works in real life: pivots abound, anchors are always getting yanked.

And I promise I wasn’t at all giving fiction a bad rap earlier when I said it underscored reality. I mean, yes, it underscores reality - second place to what is right in front of us. But what I learned in reading Bird by Bird is that in order to make fiction work, in order to have it mimic the truth that is right in front of us in a way that is, as Simon Cowell would say, Believable!, is to allow the characters you create to tell the story (NOT you). She says, “Characters should not serve as pawns for some plot you’ve dreamed up. Any plot you impose on your characters will be onomatopoetic: PLOT. I say don’t worry about plot. Worry about characters. Let what they say or do reveal who they are, and be involved in their lives, and keep asking yourself, ‘Now what happens?’ The development of relationship creates plot.” She explains that if this practice is committed to deeply, often fiction writers end up swerving this way and that, perhaps landing quite far and by unexpected routes from how their novels were set up from the start. Turns out, you have to master flexibility even while you are the boss of your own book, even while you hold all the cards… can pull all the strings… are the lone puppeteer. Because the truth is what Anne says: the development of relationship creates plot. And relationship (with people, with ideas, with our world) – in the real world and in the believable imitation of it – is nothing if not unpredictable. 

Lastly, this Kate Bowler gal. I mean. She’s a bad luck magnet and somehow finds a way to pull off a memoir solely about herself in a hilariously not-self-centered way. She takes the reader down into the terrain of her life: a frustrating physical disability in her 20s that leaves her nearly without the function of her arms while the deadline of her dissertation bares down, then the hard reality of fertility struggles in her 30s, then a miracle baby boy, followed all-to-closely by a cancer diagnosis wrapped in a hopeless package of “30% chance of survival.” I would be friends with Kate, because in all of her accounts, she never once sounds pitiful. She cusses and gets pissy at God and even burns one of her favorite dresses the day she finds out she has cancer, because it seems way too “before cancer” to ever be worn again… and yet none of it sounds the type of pitiful that makes my heart yuck. Instead, it sounds the type of real that makes my heart cheer this remarkable woman on. The book's thesis, in the aftermath of a diagnosis, a rigorous chemo treatment, a year of getting two-month intervals of permission to keep living, I'd say is this: “No matter how hard I try, I can’t save myself.” I can think of no other thing than death staring you down that will serve as a greater teacher of flexibility. Our good health, if we have it, is a puffy little package that allows us the luxury of believing we will see through what we plan to see through. Until, like Kate, we’re robbed of that certainty -- until we recognize that we can’t save our own lives, much less our own plans, our “plots,” our scheming and dreaming – we will blindly prefer what is rigid, sure. 

I'm reminded of my most recent visit to Florida. I've vacationed there since the time I was a small child and can remember playing the road trip game with my brother on our long venture south: Who Can Spot The First Palm Tree? But it wasnt until this year's Florida trip, with my 40th year of life nearly complete, that I gave those palm trees a hard look for what they really are. Those suckers can bend, baby. In a strong wind storm, I stood out on the balcany and marveled as their long trunks endured the whipping, swaying this way and that with the fierce gusts. It made me realize something: There is a strong that is galvanaized, steely, permanent. And then there is a different type of strong: pliable.

Life is in the business of building flexibility in us. Every last one of us. To our very last day. 

I don’t know about you, but my overachieving nature – knowing this – wants to be ahead of schedule. I’d like to yield to this exercise, like a palm tree, sooner than I absolutely need to. Won’t you join me?