I may have a lead on the question why I (sometimes, not always) feel anxiety when I'm home alone, why I cover it up by eating and drinking (yes, I'm continuing to gain weight), even why I snack in the middle of the afternoon at work.
I think – maybe – it's because I don't really know what to do with myself.
At work, the urge to snack comes in the middle of the afternoon, if I don't have any meetings and I'm not smack in the middle of something, when I feel a weird combination of boredom and anxiety. You'd think those would be opposites: that boredom would mean having nothing to do, and anxiety would mean having too much to do. But in fact it's not quite like that. There is a third state … one where there are several large priorities but no small, urgent distractions. Because there are no small, urgent distractions, it's not obvious which thing to go do right now; because there are large priorities, I can't just spend the afternoon browsing xkcd cartoons; because there are more than one large priority, it's not even obvious which one to choose; and because the available priorities are large, it's not obvious – assuming I were to pick one – quite where to start on it. So I know I have to do something, but there's nothing obvious to start on right now. This means I have to think, to plan, to decide. And that sounds like a lot of work, which part of me just wants to run away from. But if I run away from it, the same amount of work will be there tomorrow too, and I'll have one fewer day in which to finish it.
Of course I know what the theoretical answer is. Close my door. Shut off my e-mail. Slow down and be quiet. Look at the tasks until I just see which one has to come first. Then look at that one until I just see where and how to start. Really, I know all this.
But it is amazing how strong the pull is to get up out of my chair, walk to the vending machine, get a package of Cheez-Its or Wheat Thins, check my e-mail again, and maybe do a quick Google search whether there's any place I can buy a boxed set of Cantinflas movies for Christmas … for someone, I guess, though I'm not quite sure who.
Does this same explanation apply at home? I think it does, more or less. If I'm going straight from work to (say) the movie theater, I don't feel hungry. (Why should I after all those Wheat Thins?) If I've been out doing things until late and only then come home, I'm often not all that hungry … at any rate not until I slow down and get myself something to eat and drink before bed. But then I dish out my food and drink according to habit, not hunger; I consume it rather than being truly present for the eating and drinking of it; and I fall in bed. And actually that's pretty good: I may have eaten too much, but by being busy straightaway after work I avoided the shapeless anxiety.
On the other hand, suppose I go more or less straight home from work. Or suppose it's the weekend. Then I know, in one corner of my mind, that there are a lot of things I think I should do: there are bills to pay, floors to vacuum, papers to file, posts to write for my blog. And there are other things that I could do: there are books to read, letters to write, new recipes to experiment with, events around town to attend, art galleries to visit, plays to see, great adventurous plans to make for my new life, miles to walk, hills to climb. And this means that the situation is, structurally, a lot like afternoons at the office the way I described them above. So the urge to escape from all those important choices is really strong. If it's the weekend, I pull a book off the shelves – generally one I've already read, but in any event not one that I am currently right now trying to read through systematically from start to finish – and disappear into it for hours. Then repeat with another book. If it's a week night, I get myself some food and a beer or two. After I've had plenty of food, and after a couple of drinks, I'll feel tired and ready for bed. Then I won't have to make any decisions about how to spend my time because I'll already know the answer: it's time to sleep. (As an aside, it's a damned good thing I don't have one of those jobs like President of the United States, where the whole job involves making decisions all day long and where the biggest decision of all is how to spend your time. If you ever see anyone mounting a "Hosea Tanatu for President" campaign, vote for the other guy.)
Again, I know perfectly well what the theoretical answer is. To hell with all that crap about what I should do or could do. Too many decisions are bad for you, anyway, kind of like potato chips. What I should do instead ("should" … you see?) is to come home, set down all my stuff, pull out my zafu and zabuton, light some incense, and meditate until I can get enough quiet in my mind that it's obvious to me what I really want to do. Then do that. This approach has the added benefit that I ought to be able to sell it to myself by pointing out that it is the only strategy which prioritizes my doing what I really want to do. Why don't I do it? Two reasons. The smaller reason is that I forget. The bigger reason is precisely that I know it's what I should do … and that's just a collossal turn-off.
I also fret a little that if I spend all that time meditating, then I won't have any time left to spend on what I want to do once I finally figure out what it is. Of course my alternative means not spending time on what I really want because I have no idea in hell what it is in the first place. So pretty clearly I haven't improved anything here, from a logical point of view. I hope you don't suppose that makes the slightest difference to me.
Do I have more to say on this topic?
Naaah … I've had plenty of dinner and two beers so it's time for bed.
Nighty-night, all.
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