When I was in fourth grade our small group of “gifted and talented” outcasts were trained on methods of stress management. “This will be important,” Mrs. Siegal promised. “You will be doing a lot of things and stress is likely to affect you.”
At 10 years old, we really didn’t know what she was talking about, but we listened and laid on the floor breathing in through our noses and out through our mouths.
13 years later, I am on Prevacid for chronic stress-related heartburn, every once in a while my hair falls out, and I am a hopeless insomniac.
However, my lifestyle is a narcotic, and I am addicted however harrowing the experience is to my body. Over winter break, I began to freak out, working only 40 hours a week at my day job. I needed to do more. I needed to keep my mind occupied. I needed to go go go GO. A friend of mine asked if I was on speed.
“No,” I said. “Not at all. Let’s go do something.”
I thought I was going insane. I read eight books over winter break in a desperate attempt to keep myself occupied, to calm myself down.
I have always been nearly obsessive about whatever I am doing. From the time I was seven to about 14 I listened to The Beatles exclusively. I knew every lyric, every story behind the song. I knew that John Lennon’s favorite food was cornflakes and that Paul was wearing a carnation in his jacket the day he met John. I taught myself how to use the microfiche at the library so I could research every interview, every article.
Now I have branched out, obsessing on several different subjects at once. I am a whiz at multitasking.
I started taking yoga this semester. I finally realized after the longest winter break of my existence that I need desperately to learn how to chill out.
Yoga has been wonderful. In the very first class I was near tears at the mere thought of the ability I would soon have to think only of the present moment. To have relief from all memories and thoughts of the future. The idea of yoga is calming to me, and actually participating is fascinating.
Mrs. Siegal was right: lying on the floor and concentrating on breathing is one of the most important things in my life right now.
Others around me also have this problem with stress. My predecessor at The FREE PRESS also has gastric troubles. The chair of the Portland Events Board is going so fast all photos of him are a blur. We recently compared our stress levels and were keenly aware and empathetic towards each other’s stress-related ailments.
I have another friend whose mother recently had a heart attack because she worked too hard. She stressed herself out. She was out of the hospital a day earlier than suggested because she “had to get back to work.”
It seems more than just McDonalds that is killing Americans young.
The typical American has two weeks off from work per year. And often our vacations are just as stressful as the job from which we are released for a fortnight. In Europe, they have anywhere from a month to six weeks off. Plus, they get siestas. We work eight to 12 hours a day and often forget to eat.
Maybe it’s not just me. Maybe we are all addicted to stress. We have to get ahead, we have to make a buck. We have to send our unborn children to college, save for retirement, and make sure our children don’t have to worry about our “final expenses.”
There is kind of a rush, though, from the stress. Our adrenaline kicks in. Our pulse races. A lot of people claim that they do their best work on deadline. Do all their papers at the last possible minute. The ink from the printer dries as they walk through the door to the classroom.
Stress is a very powerful drug. We start young, in grade school, passing stuff in at the last minute. It just progresses from there until we have a candy dish filled with Tums on our desks at the office, and the only thing that could possibly get us through our 18-hour day is a pot of coffee and a case of Diet Pepsi.
However, there is hope. There is relief. For me, it seems to be yoga. For others, it could be nature walks, or vegetarianism, or cardio kick-boxing. This is critical. Even though it is very exciting to live by the seat of my pants, relief is good, and someday I may even be more focused in my maniacal stress-induced rants around the office.