The Old Blog in the Desert

Now, if you’ve never seen a dog get the zoomies, you’re missing out on one of life’s finest entertainments. My dog Buddy, bless his wiry little heart, gets the zoomies about once every three days like clockwork.

It usually starts with a sparkle in his eye and a twitch in his hindquarters, followed by an Olympic-level sprint around the coffee table, into the kitchen, up the hallway, then back again, all while I yell, “Settle down before you knock over something.”

He never does settle. And he always knocks something over.

Now imagine that sort of chaos, not on the outside, but packed neatly into your chest cavity like an overstuffed suitcase. That’s what anxiety feels like to me. Every part of me is calm—or at least pretending to be—but inside, I’m running full speed in a circle for no reason, barking at nothing and skidding on the tile floor of my mind.

I remember once sitting perfectly still at a coffee shop, trying to write a column on deadline. I had my favorite pen in hand, a legal pad at the ready, and nothing but black coffee in my cup.

I looked like a man in charge of his destiny. But inside, it felt like my internal organs were holding a loud meeting without me.

My brain was racing: What if you miss the deadline? What if you misspell a word? What if everyone figures out you don’t know what you’re doing, and you get kicked out of the coffee shop for impersonating a functioning adult?

Meanwhile, all I did was slowly sip my coffee and nod at a passing barista like everything was fine. That’s the trick of it.

Anxiety doesn’t always look like someone hyperventilating into a paper bag. Sometimes it’s a guy in a tee shirt with a mild caffeine tremor and a notebook full of half-started sentences.

I’ve tried a few methods to manage it. Deep breathing just made me feel like I was inflating a balloon full of worry.

Meditation’s lovely until my brain starts loudly narrating every single thing I’m trying not to think about.

“Clear your mind,” it says.

Easier said than done when your mind has a spotlight and a fog machine and insists on putting on a nightly production of Worst-Case Scenarios: The Musical.

So mostly, I live with it. I make a little space in the corner of my mind and let it zoom around when it needs to.

I’ve come to realize anxiety isn’t always trying to ruin me—it’s just trying to keep me alert, just a little too aggressively. Like an overprotective aunt who thinks you’ll die if you wear sandals in October.

Some days it wins, and I pace the floor with a belly full of bees. Other days, I manage to corral the zoomies long enough to get something done.

And on rare and wonderful days, I surprise myself by sitting still—not just outside, but inside too—and it feels like the world exhaled with me. Until Buddy gets that look in his eye and the coffee table starts shaking again.

And just like that, we’re off.