My friend Michael has this theory.

It’s been at least a decade since he explained it to me so there’s pretty much no way I can do justice to its twisted brilliance/hilarity, but the basic idea is this:

Sometimes we fall out of synch with the world. Or with ourselves. Or both.

I imagine it starts with a sort of grinding sound. There you are. Out of alignment. And then everything stops working.

This morning, for instance.

Let’s see.

Within the first hour of awakeness, I managed to:

  • stub two toes (twice!)
  • bruise my shin
  • trip on the stairs
  • have a complete breakdown thanks to the ear-splitting migraine-inducing combination of shrieking toddler, screaming baby and yapping dogs from next door (and that was before the leaf-blowers started in)
  • discover I’ve lost the notebook that has all the copy for my next two programs and the notes for the class I’m teaching today
  • spill hot water everywhere

And some other things I’m not particularly cheered by or proud of.

Back to the theory.

According to Michael, the only thing to do on a day like this is to barricade yourself somewhere (at home, if at all possible) and wait it out.

Because days like this don’t get better.

And if they do, then yes that’s a pleasant surprise, but it might as well happen from the bunker.*

* It helps, in theory, if the bunker has a bed. And notebooks to write in. And books to read. And food.

And you wait for the next wave. For the moment when you can jump back into the flow of the world.

When you can be with it (and possibly yourself) in a way that’s slightly less agonizing if not necessarily harmonious.

Friction and resistance.

That’s why we’re out of synch.

But also what then makes it so impossible to do the thing (stopping) to come back.

This out-of-synch thing happens fairly often, of course.

As do these moments of recalibration.

But there is something about these particular days when the out-of-synch is so completely palpable that you can practically count the beats. You can feel how far you’re off.

The thing is, the pulling back sucks. There are these weighty things (work, jobs, having to pay the mortgage) that make pulling back impossibly challenging. Or just impossible.

The urgency monsters have pretty strong opinions (Doom! Doom! Doom!) about what will happen if you just stop.

Even when you know it’s the conscious stopping and pulling back that allows you to find the next opening.

Studies have shown…

It takes time to do enough self-investigation to be able to show them the numbers. To prove:

  • That stopping does make it easier to catch the next wave.
  • That pausing to get back on beat is a smart, strategic thing to do.

  • That consciously taking a moment — even if that moment is a day — is not the same as falling into despair.

That it’s about choice and mindfulness and sovereignty.

This takes way more practice than most of us are willing to try. To get to that point where we can say, “Our studies have shown that catching the next wave is the appropriate course of action in a situation such as this.”

The point where you know going into OFF mode (even when you don’t want to be there) is actually part of the biggification process.

I’m not even slightly there yet. Still in research mode.

Sometimes I can’t even remember that there is a next wave.

But I take solace from Svevo — my wise, kooky, totally-related-to-me uncle.

This is what he says, in his delightful way of combining being totally subversive with a beautiful sense of wonderment:

“There’s this pretty intense societal pressure to be awake and do things. I’ve never really understood that.”

This is what I am going to think about while I sequester myself in a temporary shelter — some sort of place of in-between. A canopy of peace, maybe.

I’m going to wait for the next wave. The next force field (one that fits a little better). The new skin. The next round.

Counting the beats and talking to the walls and remembering whatever it is I need to remember right now.

And comment zen for today.

We all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff. We let everyone else have their stuff. It’s a practice.

We try to give ourselves and everyone else enough time and space to catch whatever waves they need to catch.

We can wish each other good things and give comfort and support, and we don’t try to hurry anyone out of where they are. That’s it. *blows kiss*

The Fluent Self