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Feeling About Thinking

I wonder how many thoughts I’ve had.  Numbering the thoughts I’ve had over my lifetime of 34 years would be impossible.  Could I count the number of thoughts I’ve had this year, this month, or even this week?  What about how many thoughts I’ve had today… probably not.  I’m not even certain I could go back through my “thoughts” file and count how many I have had in the last hour.  If I could count my thoughts, then could I classify them?  Good thoughts vs. bad thoughts; happy thoughts vs. sad or angry thoughts; dream thoughts vs. reality thoughts; helpful thoughts vs. hateful thoughts; etc…  When I think about counting my thoughts and then classifying them I kinda start feeling like I’m trapped in a Dr. Seuss book.  (One fish, Two fish; Red fish, Blue fish… Are You My Mother?... Oh, the Places You’ll Go…).  I could simplify the categorization process of my thoughts by following the idea of a story I’ve heard about a culture that would put a stone in a vase at the end of every day.  A white stone was placed in the vase if the day had been good, and a black stone was placed in the vase if the day had been bad.  At the end of the person’s life the vase would be broken open for everyone to see if the deceased had lived a life of mostly good days or a life of mostly bad days.  The same idea can be true of my thoughts… are they mostly white stone thoughts or mostly black stone thoughts.

Whatever the thought, however it can be classified, the thought was generated by my brain, and my brain is such a magnificent calculator and thinker (just like your brain) I don’t even completely understand the power my brain contains.  My brain is so powerful it influences the production level of chemicals in my body and distributes those hormones to the appropriate locations without me even thinking about it.  I have no idea what all my brain is doing in addition to entertaining the thoughts I have.  Sometimes I wonder if my brain rolls it’s proverbial eyes at the ridiculous thoughts I entertain.  Does my brain smile when I dwell on happy thoughts or healthful thoughts?  Does my brain fume with anger when I ponder on negative or hateful ideas?   My brain is part of me, but it isn’t ALL of me.  There is so much more, but it sure seems that my brain possesses much of the control the rest of me needs in order to function.  So… if my brain has most of the power and can do things independent from me asking it or reminding it, then why do I mistreat it?  Why do I punish my brain with poor thoughts about myself?  My brain has worked all day long to fill my lungs with oxygen, keep my heart rate regulated, maintain a comfortable body temperature even with the added challenge of Texas humidity, digest the enchiladas I had for lunch when I should have had grilled chicken and asparagus, and tell my face to laugh when my baby scrunches up his nose for his Popeye impression.  Plus, I’m sure there are a bajillion other things my brain has done just in the past 12 hours that I’m leaving out.  If my brain has done all these wonderful things, why do my emotions insist on punishing my brain? 

Sometimes I feel separated from the connection between my brain and my emotions.  My emotions feel something I cannot control, my brain tries to make the emotions sensible and compare the emotion’s existence against my circumstances to balance the necessity or likelihood for that emotion to occur.  When my brain can find no good reason for that emotion, then there’s this moment of rejection that confuses me.  I try to reason with my brain on why I feel a certain way, but my brain can find no way to balance that ledger.  Then I address the emotion and try to understand why the emotion exists.  The emotion just gets stronger because all it wants is validation for its existence.  Then my brain is even more confused because there really isn’t a good reason for the emotion to exist in the first place and now it’s getting stronger AND I am allowing it to linger.

For instance, I woke up this morning feeling emotionally fragile; anxiety was bubbling just below my throat.  I don’t really know why it was there, but I recognized the bitter taste in my mouth and the feeling of knots in my stomach.  On paper, there’s not a single good reason for me to feel anxious because the blessings in my life are innumerable: my husband and I are happy together and we love our new home, my son is healthy even if he is kinda fussy with cutting some new teeth, our potbellied pig is well-behaved and is learning the law of the land, all three of our vehicles are in working condition and comfortable, all of our bills are paid, we are both gainfully and happily employed, we have loving and supportive families who only want good things for us, our a/c and hot water heater work properly, our refrigerator is full.  This list goes on and on… So why do I feel this nasty monster inside of me.  Why do I feel anxiety?  My brain doesn’t know, and when I try to actively think about anxiety, what it means, why it exists, and figure out where the anxiety stems I just get more anxious.  Having dealt with anxiety for several years now, I have learned that it’s best to just feel the emotion all the way through; just let the emotion run its course.  If I resist the emotion, then it seems to amplify and become bigger than ever necessary or appropriate.  I did that today.  And I feel better… kinda…


Now I’m just wondering if my thoughts, which cannot be numbered and probably not even labeled, have anything to do with this dilemma?

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