Where You Are Now
My Dear Friend,
Last week I wrote to you about the idea of something greater than where we are right here, right now. And while that topic is arguably the single most essential piece of the puzzle in understanding who you are, I want you to forget about it for a second.
Forget eternity, spirits, God, celestial incalculability, and everything that no one stands a chance of ever fully comprehending. Just focus on you and where you are right now.
For a long time, I struggled with anxiety. I call it anxiety, but in reality, it was terror. I could be anywhere, doing anything, and all of the sudden—
Everything would stop.
I would freeze.
My heartbeat.
My breath.
My senses.
Any minuscule movements.
They would all halt without warning.
Trapping me in my own body.
That’s when suffocation would ensue.
My lungs refused to expand.
My heart failed to kickstart.
It was like watching myself die. Yet, somehow, I was perfectly alive.
Enslaved by the overpowering terror, I had no bandwidth to understand what triggered it. All I knew was that if I didn’t find a way to cope and fight myself back into reality, asphyxiation would be the final period in my story.
That’s when I would look down.
I looked at my feet. At the shoes I was wearing and the material they were constructed from.
If they were leather, I studied the imperfections of the tanned animal skin, appreciating every tiny detail of discoloration.
Of the soles on my shoes, I would focus on how they felt underneath the weight of my body. If they were soft, I would press in deeper. If they were hard, I would pick my foot off the ground to feel some relief. A small change in pressure.
And when I placed my foot back on the ground, I moved my attention to the floor. Was it tile? Was it marble? Was it wood? Was it carpet? If it was carpet, how kind might it feel between my toes if I simply removed my shoes?
Very kind, I supposed.
Studying the monotonous details of my feet on the ground, the terror flooding my consciousness would slowly begin to fade. My heartbeat would return. My lungs expanded again. And my sensation came back.
That’s how I taught myself to recenter my mind when it felt like my body was trying to kill itself.
Why am I telling you this? Because over the course of this friendship, I suspect there will be moments when you feel triggered by something I say. I anticipate there will be instances when you don’t think you have the strength to read any further, and fear will begin to cloud over you. These feelings are an inevitability of growth and finding freedom. But I don’t want that to happen before you have the proper tools to cope with it. So, I challenge you, if ever you are reading one of these letters and anxiety starts to creep in, look at your feet, and study them with deep intention. I know it sounds strange, but these feet of mine have saved my soul more than once.
Until next week, I pray your heart captures a glimmer of hope in the people around you.
Sincerely,
