Trouble focusing? Reground. Refresh. Admire.
Impressionism: a literary or artistic style that seeks to capture a feeling or experience rather than to achieve accurate depiction.
I open the door, and a draft of refreshingly cold air bites at my face. I swallow, throat a little soar, hinting to the beginnings of a slight cold. I grab my warmest sweatshirt, a gray Under Armour hoodie, and take a deep breath. I whistle for my dog, calling out Raisin in the sing-song voice he always perks up to. Raisin, a peculiar, yet apt name for the 12-year-old dog, whose puppy face happened to resemble a squished raisin. I hear his nails clink against the wooden floor as he trots towards me, his ears slightly lifted, his protruding black jaw slack with his bright pink tongue flopping wildly. His piercing brown eyes dart across the room from me to the green leash in my hand, slowly absorbing the scene. Suddenly, he breaks out in a mad dash, sprinting excitedly to my feet. I hook the leash onto his collar and step into the cold. Sure, I think, there are quite a few things I have to do: study, write, read, program, work, study, study, study. My heart sinks, as creeping anxiety paralyzes me. Quite a few things. Panic grows as my mental to-do list grows, and a suffocating heat crawls up my neck, my body threatening to break a sweat. But I shiver instead. A chilling wind slips under my hoodie. The edges of my mouth turn up into an appreciative smile; this moment was too fascinating to let go. The day was somewhat bright, a little wet from the night before, and I experimented with a quick jog to test my stamina in the new weather conditions. Then, gradually, as I fall into a steady running rhythm, the leash in my hand fades from my vision. I’m in the now.
What a moment.
If only Monet were here to catch it.
For my every step, Raisin’s four light ones follow. For my every step, my heartbeat drums against my chest. For my every step, a sharp inhale follows a quick exhale. For my every step, my body relaxes into the repeated motion, until it feels as if I’m jogging on air.
My vision of other people passing dulls, but my focus narrows.
The hum of the life around me fills my brain.
Stress is my own creation. Anxiety is my own creation.
But the hum consuming my usually buzzing brain is more than “me.” Universal, but profoundly liberating for myself as an individual. Visceral, but completely connected to nature outside of my mind.
Calm.
Grounded.
A satisfied sigh escaped me, and I soon found myself back in my room, surrounded by my books and my list(s) of things to do. I clear my mind once more and focus.