Quieting the Waterfall

At any given moment, there are probably about 8 gajillion thoughts in my head. That might be an exaggeration, but at this specific moment, it doesn’t feel like one. There is a constant stream of thoughts, plans, ideas, logistics, observations, reactions, and so much more rushing through my brain like a waterfall. And these days, they are all hurtling and tumbling through at an alarming rate.

What are we having for dinner tonight? Do I have to stop at the grocery store for any ingredients? Did I defrost the meat? Did I remember to switch the laundry from the washer to the dryer? Do I need to stop at the store for more laundry detergent? Did I make the kids’ dentist appointments? Are they up on their immunizations? Did I fill in the registration paperwork for school for next year? What about the permission slip for their camp field trip?

And on and on and on… and on.

But it’s not just logistics.

Did I say the right thing during that meeting? Did I offer the right advice to my friend? Am I reading enough? Am I working hard enough? Am I challenging myself enough? Am I being a good enough spouse? Mother? Friend? Neighbor? Employee? Coworker? How can I better help my community? How can I be a better ally? How can I make this world a better place?

And on and on and on… and… you get the point.

And it’s not just questions. My brain is also constantly taking in a million different pieces of information from a million different stimuli and trying to connect them to each other and to the things that are familiar or comfortable for me. It’s observing the people, places, and things around me and forming even more thoughts about those.

It’s never ending.

One of the problems for me when juggling this many balls, this many questions, this many thoughts, this many observations… when my brain is operating on overdrive… I cease being able to be present at any given moment. When the waterfall of thoughts comes crashing down, I tend to lose my footing.

And I don’t know about you, but that isn’t a very comfortable place for me to exist. Crashing in the eddying pool at the bottom of the tumbling thoughts means that I can’t grasp any single idea, much less process it or hold on to it.

I may be at the dinner table, but my brain is already worrying about whether the dishes will be done, laundry will be folded, and if the kids will get to bed early enough that they’ll be well enough rested, considering that they need to wake up 10 minutes earlier tomorrow. So while I’m physically at the table eating dinner with them, I’ve just missed a story my son told me about his day, or a joke my daughter told.

I may be going for a run or dancing in class at the studio, but my brain is replaying the conversation I had with my friend last night, wondering if their change in tone is because I said the wrong thing, or if I could have or should have said that thing a little bit differently. Next thing you know, we’re at the cool down and I forgot to enjoy my favorite songs, forgot to dance with my friends in class.

I know I am not unique in this.

So in this very moment, I thought that maybe, if you can relate to this as well, maybe we could try to press pause.

Maybe it’s taking an extra breath - savoring the inhale, holding onto the oxygen, letting it settle into the places in my body that I’ve been ignoring for too long, then feeling it move through me as I exhale it out.

Maybe it’s as simple as the phrase “be where your feet are” - actually feeling where my feet are making contact with the floor, ground, or wherever I happen to be. Feeling the sensations of the world on my body. Tasting my food. Hearing the voices. Seeing the scenery for what it is, rather than what its possible implications might be. Being, not just doing.

Or maybe for today, it’s simply allowing myself to fill your screen with these words, sharing my experience, slowing down my thoughts enough to form these words.

In which case, I thank you for giving me the opportunity to remind myself that sometimes there’s a beautiful, still pool at the bottom of that waterfall. And that it’s okay where I am at this very moment.