You’re exhausted. You have forgotten to take care of yourself. Besides brushing your teeth and taking a shower, you can’t remember what self-care actually entails. You’re irritable, grouchy. You’ve noticed your breathing is shallow and your jaw is clenched. It feels like tunnel vision and you can’t see out. You notice your anxiety bucket is overfilled and recognize your shoulders are weary of the heavy burden.
You decide to empty that bucket.
You head for the hills. It’s hot out this early July morning. At first glance, the desert vegetation reflects how you feel. Spindly gray plants, skeletons of flowers, and decimated grasses.
But you keep walking the trail.
Finally, you arrive on a ledge composed of sandstone. You notice the wavy texture of the rock. It welcomes you. Further up on the ledge, shade under a juniper canopy of leafy green invites you in. You can’t resist. You spread your backpack down in the shade and lay your heavy shoulders and head upon it. You notice the heavy anxiety bucket that arrived with you is laying at your side. But you also notice how the warmth of the rock embraces you.
You take in a few conscious breaths, getting much-needed oxygen deeper into your lungs. You expel dense air. You take in more deep breaths and become aware of stagnant sections of your lungs opening up.
Life is slowly coming back into you. You open your eyes and notice a pastel blue sky and waves of cottony gray and white clouds.
You grab the first worry out of your anxiety bucket and imagine attaching that worry to a cloud.
And you watch it float away. You take the next worry out of your bucket and attach it to another cloud and watch it float away. And the next… and the next… until, finally, your anxiety bucket is empty.
EMPTY!
You let out a sigh of relief. And you keep watching the clouds. One by one… they float by. You become light and a little drowsy.
You gently close your eyes.
You dream of rain, all things green, and berries. Lupine and clover. Sunflowers. Fir trees and mountains. Snowberry and raspberry. Lush meadows. Quaking aspen leaves.
You take a deep breath in of all that you notice. You hear song birds. You smell earth. Your pores open to the onslaught of cool, lush, life. You are hungry for this transfusion of life and readily soak it all in.
Larkspur and dew drops. Woods rose and mountain streams. Snowbanks higher up.
Each hungry pore laps up the coolness and goodness. And soon, you take note – each pore satisfied, each pore smiling. You languish in this verdant landscape for some time and when you are filled…
You open your eyes. The sky is now overcast, the desert environment – cooled down. You take in a deep breath, grateful for the aspen and berries, snowbank, larkspur, and sunflowers.
You slowly sit up. Your perspective has transformed into a lightness. You look over at your anxiety bucket and notice that it really is empty. Suddenly, you remember what prompted you to head for the hills, and you sense gratefulness for that prompt
– the overfilled bucket.
You piece together that your anxiety actually reminded you to nurture yourself…
Your anxiety reminded you of life and breath.
You now know that anxiety may actually be used as a prompt to help you to be in the present moment…
the here and now.
