An antidote to existential dread

Generalized anxiety is a natural response to an out of control world...

Photo by Dan Meyers on Unsplash

Dear readers: This is a little bonus essay outside of my normal scheduled posts; hit the ❤️ and pass it on if it speaks to you!

Existential dread is the emotional equivalent of one of those lead blankets you wear at the dentist: heavy and immobilizing, but with the scratchiness of a rough wool sweater on bare skin. In other words, impossible to ignore.

This is a little story about managing emotions. Read on if that's of value to you.

I woke enveloped in dread’s claustrophobic, depressive yet heart-racing grip.

I wandered the house, picking things up and putting them down, trying to figure out how to settle to my work. Some days, as a self-employed therapist and writer, I long for a clock to punch. Concrete tasks to complete. Things to fix, to solve, that distract and produce clear results.

I know better than to wallow in useless emotions. "Useless" because the situations causing my existential dread are beyond my control. Thus, letting such feelings derail me from working and being basically functional is unhealthy and counterproductive. Not something I’d advise a client to stay in for long.

I shuffled through my mental health toolbox for a way to deal with the dread, and decided exercise would be the best immediate solution—which it often is.

But today it was raining, the kind of arrow-sharp, windblown rain that will creep inside the best outerwear and chill flesh to the marrow. Nonetheless, I put the dog on the leash and sorted through the outerwear to gear up: nylon pants. Waterproof boots. A turtleneck, then a fleece, then a rain slicker. Neck warmer. Gloves. Hat.

Sudden homesickness for the warm beaches of Hawaii swamped me and I teared up; even rainy beach walks on my home island don't involve much more than a swimsuit; maybe a parka. I didn't like all this stuff I had to put on to go outside.

But I don’t live there anymore. There’s nothing I can do about that right now, this minute. “Gah! more useless emotions!”

So, as I donned the raingear, I counted gratitudes, another mental health tool.

• I’m healthy and able enough to walk; that knee injury I had recently is recovering.
• My house is watertight and comfortable, even in a storm.
• I live fifteen minutes by car from a beach I can walk on.
• My car is reliable and starts right up even in bad weather.
• I have enough money to buy myself a cup of tasty coffee on the way.
• I have a loving dog who’s excited to be going on a walk regardless of the weather and the state of the world; I’m not alone.

Thus fortified, I got in the car, drove to the coffee place for a latte treat, and headed for the beach.

The coast was empty of people on this day in March. No one but me and my ecstatically leaping dog dared the weather. In spite of drilling rain finding its way through the edges and seams of my raingear, being near the storm-wrecked brown sea lifted my spirits.

I walked fast, leaning into the cold slant of wet needles.

As I did, the struggle to move through heavy sand and blowing rain brought a sense of congruence: my physical situation matched the interior battle I fought.

That alone felt good.

Our area has been battered by storms and flooding. The enormous and lengthy beach my dog and I traversed was piled high with natural debris; but also, all the detritus the mighty river had scoured from its banks: a tire, complete with hubcap. An outdoor utility sink. Empty plastic bottles. Chunks of foam. A child's bright sand shovel. A bleach bottle. Disintegrating nets.

Once I was tired enough, I turned back and took the elements on my rear instead of my face and front.

I then deployed one last antidote to dread: I found something to do.

I untangled a battered plastic pail from a pile of driftwood and, as I walked, filled it with manmade debris. I prioritized removing plastics that would break down soonest, eventually becoming small enough to get into the tissues of sealife: Styrofoam. Grocery bags. Soda and water bottles. Insulating foam.

When my arms were full of plastics, I headed back to my vehicle. Once home, I put all the trash I’d picked up in the recycling bin in the driveway, and, in a serendipitous moment of reward, the recycling truck came as I stood nearby.

The big rumbling truck grabbed the blue bin with its robot arm, and dumped it into its giant belly. A lightning strike of childlike delight, the glee my granddaughters exhibit when they see any garbage truck doing its thing, hit me.

No matter what else goes on today, a pile of plastics was on its way to be processed, hopefully in some less harmful way than being ground to forever molecules by the ocean and ingested by its creatures.

A glimmer of strength animated me as I stripped out of my wet gear and hung it up. The dread and homesickness had lifted.

We always have a choice whether to wallow in our current state, or to do something, however small, to change what’s around and inside of us.

Viktor Frankl once said, "Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one's own way."

Receive this message: what you do matters.
YOU matter, just because you’re here and alive.
You were born with an everlasting and potent freedom: the freedom to choose.

I hope this micro story activates a desire to go out and do that one small thing that will demonstrate your power; and also, that you try one of the tools I illustrated and are able to feel a little better.

Existential dread, known in psychology as generalized anxiety, is real and can be a legitimate response to massive change beyond an individual’s control. But we don’t have to let it immobilize us.

Exercise, gratitudes, and small right actions can move us to a better place, emotionally and physically. Do something today, for someone else or the environment or animals or the arts—whatever cause moves your heart.

Hope with me, and pass this on if you care to. Comments are open, and don’t forget to hit the ❤️. It matters.