The final mission of the wedding holiday, on the 2nd and last day, happened when it was just me, Alistair and Granny leaving Sally’s apartment to go back home. We needed to make our way to the Underground, then work out how to reach our separate destinations from there.
As we meandered to where we thought we needed to go, it struck me how calm it felt, like we were just on a little adventure, the final destination totally arbitrary. I’d also worked hard, just before we’d left, to not be stressed about getting to the right place at the right time. I’d already done everything right: Everything I needed was in my bag, and everything in there was in the correct pocket. And I knew my trains were regular enough that, though I did check their times before leaving, I didn’t need to fret about catching any specific one, and almost welcomed the idea of a mini break should I end up needing to wait. So I had no extra forces that could make me stressed, only internal pressures that I’d been careful to subdue and was actively monitoring.
Primarily, I kept myself calm because I didn’t want my anxiety to rub off on anyone, which was especially helpful this time because Alistair was essentially the well-deserving pack leader who needed to focus on the mission plan (which gave me and Granny a huge amount of freedom), and I know how sensitive we all our to each others stresses, and about how they can rub off on each other in a never-ending cycle.
But also, I did it for me, as part of a long-term self-adjustment to a calmer version of myself.
I’d actually used a self-instated mode of calm as we left the house the day before. Again, it was just me, Granny and Alistair, just before we got our taxi to the pub for the wedding celebrations. I made sure I was fully ready to go long before anyone else, and that any outstanding tasks of mine were non-essential, so I could abandon them immediately if I became the reason for holding everyone up. This was the first potential time for creating infectious stress, so I felt proud of myself for a couple of things here: First, for being able to say, when either Alistair or Granny asked what I needed to do, that I was fully prepped and all ready to leave when they were ready. And second, that if Alistair/Granny were stressed, I didn’t let that rub off on me, because I’d already told myself that their stress doesn’t need to inform my stress, and that it would be better if I was completely stable.
But we had forgotten to make sure we had the front-door key! When we realised this, the taxi had already arrived out front, and all the boxes and stuff were downstairs ready to go there too, including the wedding cake which Alistair had taken down the stairs, from the first-floor kitchen/lounge to the ground-floor hallway. I knew that this was my responsibility then, especially with Alistair being the cake captain, and with me being someone who always compulsively dashes up stairs, I was perhaps the most physically-prepared for this mission out of all of us.
Alistair said first that the key was on the kitchen shelf, but when I got there, I saw no shelves! Only bare counters, and the single shelf in the lounge had a key, sure, but it was a tiny one, like for locking windows, certainly not the right one. “There are no shelves in the kitchen!” I shouted down, then he said, it might be in the pocket of his shorts. So I raced up the stairs as fast as I could, to our top-floor room, allowing exactly the right type and amount of stress to trigger in me, so that it flooded my system with adrenaline and let me move faster than I can normally. I didn’t know where his shorts were, I checked the bathroom but no dice, I checked our bedroom but again no luck, then I thought to check his bag, which I was hesitant to do as it’s breach of privacy, but this was an emergency protocol! And there at last I found his shorts, I checked the front left pocket, no key, the other pocket, no key, panic sets in but I’m adamant to keep my focus pure, and I realise to check for a back pocket: BINGO.
Key found, I raced down the stairs again — which was a big deal, those stairs were very narrow in places, and mine and Alistair’s rooms being on the 3rd floor meant plenty of stairs to scale. I may even have kicked off my shoes before shooting off up them, when I went into action mode, to move faster and avoid slipping on the narrow parts. It all happened within seconds, and being able to shout down all those stairs “I have found they key!!” felt like such a momentous victory.
I also remember, I think it was right after that but I could be wrong: standing outside the house with our stuff, and Alistair mentioned that concept of our stress rubbing off on each other. I wondered if my sudden intentional stress had infected him somewhat — as it had done when we were packing together to leave the Egypt holiday — but I didn’t need to say anything: It was a good reminder of the importance of this new aspect of self-control in me; as well as, critically, a chance for Alistair to discharge the stress he might have just picked up from me, allowing him to return to the levels he needed to be at.
I also felt no need to explain that if he was remarking on my stress, that it had been intentional. That’s something else I’m working on, reducing the need to explain myself, having grown enough to know that protecting my ego or correcting “untruths” is no longer an essential component in returning to harmony. Especially in this situation, where our sole focus was to safely deliver the wedding cake to the pub. Priorities dictated stability, not self-preservation.
Earlier on the 2nd day, there was an interesting stress-related moment in Sally’s apartment, just before we all left for lunch at a restaurant. I’d decided to change my clothes, from the mismatched combo of dress shoes and jogging bottoms, to a more fitting pair of trousers and a nice shirt. I knew we were on a tight time frame, as Owen had confirmed that we’d be leaving literally as soon as everyone is ready, which should be mere minutes. There was a moment where I was already fretting about the time I’d used up trying to decide whether I had enough time to actually change, trapping myself into a loop of worrying about worrying. It was a few seconds that felt like an eternity, due to that time pressure escalating everything, displacing my presence in the world and submerging me in a void of panic.
But then I saw Granny, and she told me that there was no need to stress about it. Suddenly I realised that me potentially holding things up by just minutes isn’t going to ruin anything, but changing clothes now will make me personally feel so much better and less self conscious for the hour+ of time we had ahead of us at that restaurant. And also that, again, my stress has an effect beyond affecting just me, and that dispelling it — all of it, not just the stress inside me — no doubt takes longer than those paltry saved minutes.
In the end, I think I did hold us up briefly, after I’d got changed and sat down on Sally’s sofa and opened a book she has on Buddhist quotes. I think Owen spotted this, and cautioned me that there wasn’t time for that, probably in full knowledge that just a single quote could send me into a world of imagination, the perfect drug to a mind like mine. I protested: Just one quote! Yet I read two instead, then wanted to take a picture of the 2nd one, which did indeed cause a brief hold up as I frantically tried to get my phone camera to zoom correctly! But at least now I have a photo of that quote, something permanent that can’t fade like my memories will. The quote itself was an excellent reflection of the processes and intentions I’ve been describing here:
Right now, at this very moment, we have a mind, which is all the basic equipment we need to achieve complete happiness.
I definitely prefer being more relaxed about these things. It made travelling home so much easier, I don’t think I fretted about literally anything, whereas all the times prior, I’d been in a perpetual state of panic, checking the time every few minutes to see how much closer I am to a train stop that’s still more than an hour away.
I also liked how, when me, Alistair and Granny reached the Underground, we collaborated on working out the tube map. I liked that I was able to share the knowledge I’d gained from, funnily enough, obsessing over getting on the right tube train. But I wonder now if I could have still absorbed that tube data without being in a highly stressed state; and in fact, whether that data, and my travel times in general, felt as though they kept slipping by me precisely because I was so stressed. Being in an internal state of emergency no doubt drastically limits what you’re able to take in and hold on to. So maybe, if I don’t panic, then I’d only need to check things once, and might be able to spend the time saved on being present instead.