The scared is scared of the things you like

Things have been making me sad lately, and by the end of today I felt like I was floating along in a life that is parallel to mine, but I know it's really mine, but it doesn't really feel like mine, but it is.  A good friend suggested I go get a drink, but I took myself to yoga instead. It has been years since I've been to what is a good yoga class for me. And still, I keep trying because when it's good, it's really really good (but when it is bad it is horrid.) I Googled the yoga classes at Third Root Community Health Center, and saw that if I would leave my office right away, I would make it to Gentle Yoga, which is usually the best yoga for me. So I left my office right away, and I did make it to Gentle Yoga, and the teacher was the best teacher I've met in NYC, and I just kept saying (silently to myself) thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you for this class. Also: wow, my muscles are tight.

When I got home, I found this video I've been meaning to look at for some time because I heard it was really creative and sweet, only to discover that it is perfect for me right now. A young filmmaker interviewed a 6-year-old about what a movie should be about, and then animated and directed actors to do what the boy said. The most amazing thing he says in this movie is, and I am transcribing now: 

If some thing feels like they're closing, you should just say, OK, I'm fine. I usually say let it go. Think of something I really like to do. Think of something else until the nervous has gone out of you. That thing disappeared out of my head. Out of my ears. Out of my mouth. When the scared feeling comes into you, the scared is scared of things you like. So, I was scared of a monster, and I thought of pizza. And juice. And some meringues. And a cookie. Chocolate chip cookie. I mean, oatmeal cookie. An then I ate it all up. And some milk. And the cookie was shaped like a piano. A keyboard, I mean.

This is one smart kid. I mean, the scared is scared of the things you like? This just happens to be the central metaphor for my entire year's practice. From the mouth of a 6-year-old. It's good to listen. It's good to listen.