Four Questions and Five Pounds

When time and a ritual help shift my perspective.

The metaphor:

This past week, while out for a run, I had a reflection that made me feel like I’m learning how to manage my thought patterns the way I’ve learned to dress for the weather. Here’s a set of questions that help me adjust my perspective the way my level of layers helps adjust my temperature.

The story:

This past Friday was the tail end of Fool’s Spring. When I took a run along Canadice Lake, sun glinted on the waves of the fully-unfrozen water, with just one little puff of cloud and a jet stream in a stunningly blue sky. It was the warmest it will get in the 10-day forecast, a final taste of freedom before I go back to wearing a base layer beneath my running shirt and warm-up jacket.

The long, narrow lake is public land, a reservoir for the city of Rochester, so there aren’t any private cottages. The road outlining the east side of the lake was still in darkness as the sun rose over the hill, bathing me and the west shore’s wide footpath in warm, soft light.

Little sparrows and red-winged blackbirds were singing, and I was feeling pretty good, too. I was scrolling through my mental task list, pleased with the progress I’d made that week and planning what I’d try to do that day. I had the sense that something wonderful was just out of reach, that maybe if I stretched, I’d get there — and then I caught myself and smiled.

I’ve learned that, unless I’m careful, good days don’t register as such until the bad days come. Bad days leave me hyper-focused on whatever’s close at hand, exhausted and anguished and gritting my teeth. When bad days recede, it’s not with a clear end point and a celebration: it’s a slow fade, easy to miss. Joy starts to sneak in, but so do other concerns. I rarely think, I did it! Life is good again! Instead I think, I’m almost there! There’s a sense of being really close to something good, something elusive and still out of reach.

One of the earliest times I remember this feeling is a summer day in eighth grade. I had walked a block to a friend’s house with my bathing suit in hand. She had a pool with a diving board and we swam for a while, then lay on our backs in the sun, sucking on Fla-Vor-Ice pops. I remember her telling me that she was pretty happy with her body; she just wanted to lose five pounds, and then she’d be content. Yeah, I remember thinking. Just five pounds, and then everything will be great!

There’s a lot of talk about practicing gratitude, and I do try to practice. When Steve and I eat dinner together, which we’re lucky to do most nights, we have a little grace-style ritual where we ask each other a few questions. The first is, What are you grateful for? Sometimes it’s something big, like being close with our siblings; sometimes it’s as small as a sunny day. It does help me slow down and take stock of what’s good, instead of always rushing towards what can be improved. But knowing how to practice gratitude is one thing; knowing when to invoke the practice is another, and for me, it’s whenever I can feel myself thinking that with just one or two more shifts, things will start getting pretty good. 25 years after eighth grade, I’ve finally learned that being just a few things from good is the same as being really good. I’m grateful for the perspective, and for the moments when I notice it’s time to apply that perspective.

The second question we ask is, what struck you today? I like to push myself to think of something that wasn’t work-related, if I can, and usually something comes to me. Tonight, Steve said he’s seen a hawk on almost every recent run. I was struck to find out that the author of my favorite Substack wrote a memoir that I’m loving reading – and then to find out in the memoir that he worked at Teach for America, too.

The third is, Who are you thinking of? I don’t pray, but it feels prayerful to pick a person and dedicate the moment to them. After we’ve talked about what’s good, what’s interesting, and who we care about, I’ve typically replaced the habitual rush of autopilot focus with a set of intentional, spacious-feeling reflections. This is how I often end up feeling expansive, or at least realigned. A sense that these are the good old days that someday, we’ll look back on fondly – and we don’t have to wait, we can feel fond about them now.

Lately, I’ve been adding a fourth question: Who do I need to trust more? This question is the most effective defense I’ve found against my anxiety. I can’t recommend it highly enough, though I don’t know if it works for anyone but me.

I made it up after hearing Brene Brown describe overfunctioning, a coping mechanism that I immediately knew I shared. In the face of stress, she said, some people kick into high gear, looking for ways to be helpful and productive that quickly devolve into domination. This is where I learned Elizabeth Gilbert’s quote, “You're afraid of surrender because you don't want to lose control. But you never had control. All you had was anxiety.”

The question helps me do a scan for anxiety, reviewing my day and finding what makes my stomach clench, my chest squeeze tight. I think about everyone involved in the situation and imagine trusting each of them more. I know I’ve found my answer when I feel relief spread through my body at the idea that I can take a difficult coworker at their word, or that I need to let go of trying to tightly manage a work meeting, because if people are asking questions, that’s what they need to discuss. It works instantly, like Vick’s Vapor Rub for stress: apply directly to the tension and feel it melt away.

I shared the question recently on a Zoom call during a small group breakout, and the other participants’ response surprised me. “Oh my gosh, that’s just what I need!” One person started, and I nodded vigorously until she said, “I think that would help me trust myself more.”

Huh, I thought. I’ve literally never found that I’m the one I need to trust more. But while I was puzzled, another participant was in total agreement. “Totally!” He said. “It’s hard for me to trust myself too.” Maybe they are underfunctioners? I considered telling them they were using the question wrong…but then remembered the point of the question. I took a deep breath and found the space to trust.

The question: What helps you regain perspective? Do any of my four questions resonate with you?

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