“On a scale from ‘confidently cool’ to ‘belongs in the booby hatch’, how ridiculous would it be if I ran down to my car in my building’s underground parking garage wearing only my PGA boxers and Batman tank top to grab something from the trunk?”
That was the question I asked Facebookland this morning as I laid in bed stressing about unfinished work to be completed today. I have found that if there is any one thing more overpowering than the worst kinds of anxiety, its laziness. I take after sloths in that I love to relax in one spot for hours at a time; writing, reading, watching movies and tv shows, painting, sketching, whatever activity that allows me to remain stationary for long periods of time.
I had left my watercolour sketch pad in my car last night, and I desperately needed it in order to finish a set of greeting cards (I am working on selling handmade greeting cards, hoping to make a living off it someday *crosses fingers*). I had no where to be for five hours and I had already planned on remaining in my pajamas for the majority of the day (I revel in days I don’t have to wear a bra or pants, they’re heavenly), so understandably I had no desire to put on real clothing for less than a minute to go fetch my pad.
My anxiety was standing by my open window, the witch’s anxious smoke blowing mostly out the window rather than overwhelm my chest. My cousin replied to my Facebook status, reassuring me that I should go for it as he often chases critters off his porch in his boxers. I smiled and got out of bed, shoving my feet in my TOMS and stuck my head out my door. There wasn’t a trace of anyone, so I scurried out of my place and down the stairs into the parking garage.
I made it halfway to my car without running into anyone. I was feeling pretty good and calm as I climbed into my car to retrieve my sketch bad, when a car suddenly turned on next to mine and I shouted, “LUCIFER!” (Don’t ask me why I shouted the dark lord’s name, I promise I don’t worship him. Though I have always wanted to get a cat and name it after Cinderella’s Evil Stepmother’s cat, though really I want to just call him ‘Lucifee!’ in the same voice as Jacques the mouse). I stayed frozen still in my car until the car backed out and left the garage, then I slowly climbed out of my car and locked up.
I was halfway up the stairs before I began laughing at the ridiculous situation. I realized that there were zero chances of my ever meeting that person, much less they thought much of the odd girl in pastel blue PGA Tour boxers and Batman tank top. The whole scenario was yet another goofy situation my laziness got me into. Even if I had run into anyone, I don’t think I would have felt anxious or panicked.
I find my desire to be comfortably stationary often makes me a lot less anxious about how I appear to people. My anxiety takes a back seat when I get sloth-like, I ultimately find I am happier when I can blame a situations, that would normally make me anxious, on my sloth moments instead. I’m not quite sure what that says about me….
I am at my happiest when I am comfortable, when I don’t have to wear specific clothing items in order for me to feel presentable in public (BTW my idea of ‘presentable’ is likely different from yours, its a broad term). When I earn my days where I get to be alone and comfortable, my social anxiety all but evaporates. My desire to remain in comfort mode is like a large fan that blows all my anxiety’s witchy smoke out of the way.
I might be on to something here you guys…. I’m not saying this is the key to all happiness, but I think the key to my happiness is comfort…. huh…. Did I just have an epiphany?