The Unorthodox Practice of Wellness

*This is an article I began almost a year ago. I am publishing it today in honour of World Mental Health Day, with a video essay linked below.      Take care, Navroop. 

 

Having something beautiful, even if simple, to hold while eating is such an undervalued thing. A kind of wonky, handmade bowl to carry your humble oats and berries. An elegantly carved wooden spoon to help you scoop up a bite. But even in the absence of these otherwise “material” things and in the presence of a cluttered, real life space (perhaps it’s that time of year when all the paperwork finds its way from out of a state of organization and onto the coffee table, bed and floor), I find it comforting to create a moment of beauty, even just for yourself. Especially, just for yourself. No fancy bowl? No problem. Take your run-of-the-mill bowl and take a second to add a dollop of creamy almond butter atop the oatmeal. Make the flakes of coconut fall like gentle snow. Add a handful of juicy blueberries, watching each one *plop!* and sink into the warm oats. And laugh at your now berry-stained fingers. Grab any old spoon. Dig. In.

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Slivers of my day, such as this, have dug a hole deep in my heart. This space inside me has no room for worry, no. Despite the shaky and irresolute manifestations of anxiety, I noticed how this space somehow expanded with every longing for an escape from the passing of the everyday. I now long for these simple moments. The following are some slices of quiet or scenes of solitude, over the course of a year, through which I delved into a state of humble joy.

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Waking up: the blinking of the eyes, the letting in of light. The inhaling of a new day. The windows are shut, all of them. It’s been a long night. Warm and comforting in the best way. Or maybe I was tossing, sweating; anxious for the morning to come. Either way, I need air. I grab the string of silver beads that makes the blinds dance in synchronization. Light fills the room and I enjoy it, no matter how grey. It is a West Coast winter, after all. A snap of the lock allows me to slide the glass keeping my lungs from a slow and heavy drink of fresh air. I finally inhale. Dreams lingering from the passing night fade so I can breathe in the day before me. My body repairs with every breath I can manage to capture. This is what I have been craving in my dark and dizzy slumber.

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Plugged into the bathroom wall, the portable speaker amplifies the sounds from my phone. The shower is running, my playlist is shuffling. A stream of water falls rapidly as I begin to sing. Here, in this moment, I am in a different place. It’s just my music and I. My choice of songs reflective of my mood for the day. My mouth shouts random words I believe to be part of the song. I am never — ever — right though, often confusing the emotion of a heartbreak tune for that of an unbreakable love. But this doesn’t bother me. It is the depth of the sentiment, not the meaning behind it, that makes me completely OK with being aloof to the lyrics. In this space, I just need something to sing along to. But the deeper the emotion, the better, as words rich in feeling are what I normally opt for. Many days in the summer do, however, see an upbeat tune. But my heart typically lies with sounds of reckless sing-ability and soul. Something deep, maybe even a little raspy. Whatever helps the errors in my own voice become disguised by the tune, I guess. And that reminds me… I soon come back to reality when my ears are made too aware of the wavering pitch in my measly attempt at Adele. Time to jump out of the shower and get dressed for the day. I giggle as I realize the small window just beneath the ceiling was open. So much for being in a different place; the neighbours surely heard me in all my screechy glory.

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Solo drive. Windows down. Long roads. Mountains and trees in sight. Or, at least the anticipation of a waterfall not yet visible on my current place on the map. To be in company with my own mind is something I cherish. But I prefer the mind of mine that is present in nature. The one where everything else fades away, and I am left to enjoy the way it restores itself with each tingling breeze passing through the blades of grass on the ground. The one that makes my eyes hop with the moving rays of sunshine, which have somehow managed to squeeze their way through the thick of the forest. The one that seeks the mist cascading from a height, carried by tons of crashing water. To be able to both disconnect, and reconnect, at the hint of rainforest green is an ability I am grateful for; it’s one I must remember to use more often.

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It’s the handmade, the raw tangibility of the senses and the being with the moment that has been so close to me this year. These are very real moments that have helped me pick myself up. Mundane? Yup. Daily rituals, I’ll call them. Life falls to pieces, but yet, it goes on. The brain always thinks. It keeps thinking. Give your mind rest. Take a second to work with your hands. Find the energy within you, pull it from inside you, and muster it as the strength that will allow a warm, homemade breakfast tomorrow. Strength is a silly word to use here, sure. But these acts of doing, I find, are what allow life to keep on. They are acts of the ordinary that have been made extraordinary simply by indulging your attention into their presence before you. Without that, the pile of papers at the office still grows, the bills keep coming in and the days go by. There are, instead, moments in our days that await us. None quite revolutionary, yet that is the beauty of it. Does making a bowl of oatmeal alter the path of your life? Perhaps not. But it is these slivers of time within the clock that soon become recurring sequences. An active practice of your overall health. The unorthodox practice of wellness, if you will. Unorthodox because they may not be the first things that come to mind. Singing in the shower wouldn’t really be a dictionary definition of health, right? Practices of wellness because they allow a progression into the enjoyment of the everyday. Incorporating your full self into the moments you live is a kind of reveling in the simplicity of it all. And what a beautiful, achievable investment into your well-being that is.