March 2024 SOLC–Day 18
A huge thank you to Two Writing Teachers for all that they do to create an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write, learn, share and grow.
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Last week, Rob Walker’s post appeared in my Inbox. It was entitled, “Attention vs. Anxiety” In it he talked a bit about the relationship between attention and anxiety, and shared a prompt that can address both, by grounding you in the moment. It’s called a 5-4-3-2-1 prompt and I realized this morning, when I woke up, already wound tight about the week of teaching and conferences ahead, that I could use something grounding.

5 things you see:

1. The cat’s eyes peer through the window. It’s still dark out, but the interior light spills out and she’s clearly visible. A ball of furred want and need. She does this all day long –begs to get out and then pleads to return. I let her in, knowing that I can’t focus with those eyes staring at me, even when I try not to make contact. Soon she’ll be clawing to get out again.
2. The overhead light in the kitchen spills interesting striped shadows through the back of the island chairs. They contort from floor, over radiator, and partway up the wall.
3. The outdoor plant I opted to make a houseplant is blooming. The petals are lilac-hued, veined with deep purple and they have a soft yellow center.The initial buds are tiny, spiraling up on a long stalk, and then the showy blossom emerges. It’s inconceivable how it was all tucked away in such a tiny space.
4. A picture of my three young children in Mexico is propped on my desk. They are all independent adults now. I take a moment to trace their long-ago features with my eyes. Drink in the sight of them. Feel pulled from the here into the then.
5. The shell on my desk is half hidden behind the action figure of John Smith of Disney Pocahontas fame. My children played for hours with the latter. I can almost hear the refrain of “Colors of the Wind” as I remember. The shell, collected long ago from some beach, was once a home. Now, my eyes often linger on its spiral, following its path over and over.
   

4 things you feel:

1. Beneath me, the hard wooden contour of the chair supports my weight. It must be a thankless job to be a chair.
2. My coffee mug, heavy in my hands, radiates warmth. I pause momentarily to feel it seep into my palms, then put it down and return to typing.
3. The air is cool on my cheeks. We didn’t stoke the fire last night, so it’s chillier than usual in the room.
4. My robe is warm and soft against my neck. It was a gift from my son and daughter-in-law. It was one of those things you didn’t even know you wanted which then becomes indispensable. The best kind of gift.

3 things you hear:

1. The burning wood, wet from some recent rains, is whistling in the wood stove. A mini steam kettle in action.
2. Our other cat passes behind me, her nails click click click on the wooden floor. There’s a sudden rollicking galloping thumping as the two cats briefly chase and tumble through the room.
3. From the kitchen I hear the steady tick tick tick of the clock. (It doesn’t make me feel grounded.)

2 things you smell:

1. There’s a whiff of sulphur in the air, from the match I struck not too long ago to light the fire.
2. The scent of coffee lingers. From the pot. From the cup beside me. I realize that coffee, brewing in the morning, fulfills all these sensory categories.

1 thing you taste:

1. Ah, yes, coffee. I take another sip of my strong coffee, splashed with some milk, and savor it. It’s mostly decaffeinated, but still I anticipate that first sip every morning. It’s taste will linger until I wash it away with a bubble and scrub of mint toothpaste. Another flavor to savor.