Adrenaline Best Quotes

I love the adrenaline of my bike. I always have. I try my best to let it chase away the feel of Olivia at my back, but I think nothing short of a week locked up in a bedroom with her can accomplish that. And oh what a week that would be.

You can’t fully prepare. You do your best to acquire diverse skills. You try to learn from your successes and mistakes over the years. You try to assemble a team with varied talents and expertise. Mostly, you strive to stay calm enough to think clearly even under extreme pressure. You try to use the adrenaline for focus rather than panic. You stay on your toes, ready to improvise. And you hope for the best.

If you’re an adrenaline junkie, I understand why you’d find that exciting. But I’m not, and I don’t. To me, the only good reason to take a risk is that there’s a decent possibility of a reward that outweighs the hazard. Exploring the edge of the universe and pushing the boundaries of human knowledge and capability strike me as pretty significant rewards, so I accept the risks of being an astronaut, but with an abundance of caution: I want to understand them, manage them and reduce them as much as possible. It’s almost comical that astronauts are stereotyped as daredevils and cowboys. As a rule, we’re highly methodical and detail-oriented. Our passion isn’t for thrills but for the grindstone, and pressing our noses to it. We have to: we’re responsible for equipment that has cost taxpayers many millions of dollars, and the best insurance policy we have on our lives is our own dedication to training. Studying, simulating, practicing until responses become automatic—astronauts don’t do all this only to fulfill NASA’s requirements. Training is something we do to reduce the odds that we’ll die.

What made them love you now when they didn’t before? I’ll tell you why. You had the balls to do what they never did. You got inside the car and pushed yourself to be the best. You did that. No one else did. What they don’t understand is that there will always be confessions that bared no sound and lived inside my head, my heart, and were my own desire. They were my own aspirations and something they never took the time to discover. I race for me. It’s not selfish. It’s me being me. I do it because that’s what I am and what is embedded into every fiber of my being. I race for the adrenaline, the power, the rumbling in my chest when behind the wheel. The sense of belonging in a sport that’s quick to prove you’re nothing but still, I race for me. That is what defined me.

You’re afraid to count on me.” “I’m afraid of not being able to count on me.” There is a hint of emotion in his stare before his expression becomes unreadable. He drops his hand from my arm. “I understand,” he states, his voice monotone, his expression impassive. I think I’ve hurt him, and reality slaps me in the face. I’ve let myself think of him as some kind of demon, to avoid the real demons of my past. In two small steps I am in front of him, wrapping my arms around him, and pressing my cheek to his chest. “I don’t think you realize how much I care about you, or how easily and badly you could hurt me.” I lift my head and let him see the truth in my face. “So yes, I’m scared to count on you.” Tension eases from his body, his expression softening. He runs his hand over my hair and there is gentleness in his touch. “Then we’ll be scared together.” “You’re scared?” I ask, surprised by such a confession. “You’re the best adrenaline rush of my life, baby. Far better than the pain you replaced.” For the first time, I think that maybe, just maybe, I am all Chris needs.

I grabbed her by the waist and swung her around to face me. As I bent, I closed my eyes … and kissed air as she ducked out of my grasp. I opened my eyes to see her dancing backward along the path. I made a noise in my throat. “Don’t growl,” she said. “Aren’t you always complaining that you don’t get enough exercise?” I lunged. She backed away. I let out another growl and crossed my arms. “Better watch out. I might decide the prize isn’t worth the effort.” She grinned, blue eyes dancing. “Oh, you know it is. And you know it’s never as sweet as when you have to work for it.” She wheeled and ran. As I went after her, adrenaline pumped through me, like liquid fire. There was nothing quite like a chase, and one that ended with this reward was the best chase of all.

Hope is not a sedative; it is a shot of adrenaline, a blood transfusion. Like an anchor, our hope in Christ stabilizes us in the storms of life (Heb. 6:18–19), but unlike an anchor, our hope moves us forward, it does not hold us back.

No one without sociopathic or psychotic tendencies can be glad at the news of another person’s death, but there is a kind of surge of adrenaline and sense of purpose that can be very powerful. It is without doubt a dark and complicated feeling, shared with firemen and soldiers and paramedics and emergency-room workers, that comes from knowing that you can only be at your best and only really achieve any kind of fulfillment when what is at stake is literally life and death.

The me that looked my “best” was a me that smoked, was underfed, ran high with anxiety, didn’t get enough sleep, and still never felt good enough. And gradually, whatever that machine was and whatever adrenaline was fueling it began to break down, and I just couldn’t do it anymore. Sometimes when I hear someone say something about how a person “let herself go,” I wonder if she just got tired of the pressure and wanted a break, and instead of passively letting herself go, began to actively choose to leave herself alone.

Feeling challenged is an inherent performance steroid—your body releases more adrenaline than noradrenaline, which means the smooth muscle in your blood vessels dilate, as do your your lungs, and now you have more oxygenated blood going to the tissues that need it. Your body has more energy and your brain can think more clearly.

Right by the Arctic Circle, the city of Rovaniemi is a key draw for visitors, with various Santa Claus attractions (the red-suited saint officially resides here) and numerous tours and activities, ranging from reindeer-farm visits to snowmobiling safaris, dog sledding with huskies and various high-adrenaline adventures. Rovaniemi has a small ski area, but the best skiing is at Pyhä-Luosto. Elsewhere you can hike, take an ice-breaker cruise, stay in a winter snow castle and go berry picking in summer.

It seems important to cling to the concrete, to remember that illness is not a metaphor or a study but a phenomenon unfolding in (and on) real bodies in real rooms. Its qualia, the crinkly paper hospital gown and metallic adrenaline taste, the mutable and inexpressible shades of pain, demand articulation because they matter. We work so hard at telling others what it is like to be sick in whichever particular way we are sick; we are reassured to hear that our particulars fit within larger known narratives of illness. With sickness as with anything else, communicating what it is like so others can know, or understanding others in precisely the way they wish we could, is next to impossible. We try anyway.

Wait in the car." He opened the door and started to climb out. "Hold on! How long should I give you? What if you don't come back in a certain number of minutes? Should I call the cops?" "Don't do anything. Don't call anyone. I'll be fine." "But what if you're not?" "Then go home." And with that, he got out and jogged down the street, like if I heard screams or gunshots or whatever I would just drive on home like nothing happened. Well, good for you, I thought, watching him climb a short cement staircase and put a key in the door. You don't need anyone. Fine. I watched the clock. Three minutes went by, four. I thought about knocking on the door, having of course no idea what I would actually do once I got there. Maybe I'd have to break the door down, wrestle Cameron away from the bad men, and then carry him out the way you hear people when they get a huge burst of adrenaline. Except the person I pictured rescuing was little Cameron, in shorts and a striped T-shirt, his arms wrapped around my neck. Then there he was, bursting out of the apartment door and bounding down the steps, a big garbage bag in hand. He ran to the car, fast. I reached over and opened the passenger door and he jumped in. "Go." You can't exactly peel out in a '94 Escort, but I did my best. Cameron breathed hard, clutching the garbage bag to his chest. "What happened?" I drove a good fifteen miles per hour over the speed limit, convinced we were being chased by angry roommates with guns. "Nothing. You can slow down." I didn't. "Nothing? Nothing happened?" "They weren't even there." Then I did slow down. "No one was there? At all?" "Right." His breathing had returned to almost normal. "Then what's the deal with freaking me out like that?" My voice came out high and hysterical and I realized how nervous I'd been, imagining some dangerous scenario from which Cameron had barely escaped, an echo of that day at his house. "I don't know. I started to picture one of them pulling up and finding me there and...I panicked.

Lesson one: Pack light unless you want to hump the eight around the mountains all day and night. By the time we reached Snowdonia National Park on Friday night it was dark, and with one young teacher as our escort, we all headed up into the mist. And in true Welsh fashion, it soon started to rain. When we reached where we were going to camp, by the edge of a small lake halfway up, it was past midnight and raining hard. We were all tired (from dragging the ridiculously overweight packs), and we put up the tents as quickly as we could. They were the old-style A-frame pegged tents, not known for their robustness in a Welsh winter gale, and sure enough by 3:00 A.M. the inevitable happened. Pop. One of the A-frame pegs supporting the apex of my tent broke, and half the tent sagged down onto us. Hmm, I thought. But both Watty and I were just too tired to get out and repair the first break, and instead we blindly hoped it would somehow just sort itself out. Lesson two: Tents don’t repair themselves, however tired you are, however much you wish they just would. Inevitably, the next peg broke, and before we knew it we were lying in a wet puddle of canvas, drenched to the skin, shivering, and truly miserable. The final key lesson learned that night was that when it comes to camping, a stitch in time saves nine; and time spent preparing a good camp is never wasted. The next day, we reached the top of Snowdon, wet, cold but exhilarated. My best memory was of lighting a pipe that I had borrowed off my grandfather, and smoking it with Watty, in a gale, behind the summit cairn, with the teacher joining in as well. It is part of what I learned from a young age to love about the mountains: They are great levelers. For me to be able to smoke a pipe with a teacher was priceless in my book, and was a firm indicator that mountains, and the bonds you create with people in the wild, are great things to seek in life. (Even better was the fact that the tobacco was homemade by Watty, and soaked in apple juice for aroma. This same apple juice was later brewed into cider by us, and it subsequently sent Chipper, one of the guys in our house, blind for twenty-four hours. Oops.) If people ask me today what I love about climbing mountains, the real answer isn’t adrenaline or personal achievement. Mountains are all about experiencing a shared bond that is hard to find in normal life. I love the fact that mountains make everyone’s clothes and hair go messy; I love the fact that they demand that you give of yourself, that they make you fight and struggle. They also induce people to loosen up, to belly laugh at silly things, and to be able to sit and be content staring at a sunset or a log fire. That sort of camaraderie creates wonderful bonds between people, and where there are bonds I have found that there is almost always strength.

Jobs fill your pockets, adventures fill your Spirit. I found my happy place by after recent visit to Thailand. A good problem with making travel plans is that there are a lot of funny activities in Travelling. Make your presence a simple clip and easily show you how rustic it is For all adrenaline fans and movements out there, you will be amazed to find that Thailand has so much to offer! Aside from the various temples, tuk-tuk and Pad Thai weighed down the streets, Thailand is a wonderful place to travel and thriving. Enjoy a wide variety of hiking activities from mountain biking, bungee jumping, all the way to the sky. The Kingdom of Smiles explores so many containers that make it an ideal destination for all travelers. You will find bustling cities, sandy beaches, lush forests, and ruins of historic empires. Delicacies are a delicacy in the world, and nightlife is a myth. This is one of the countries with the best travel prices. Your money will go some distance here, ensuring a good feeling about bank robbery.

After the adrenaline rush of combat, there’s a powerful parasympathetic backlash, and the body craves rest so badly that you can fall into a kind of stupor. That’s why Napoleon knew the best time to counterattack was immediately after the battle, when the other side was still drugged with victory.

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Romance is the best way to begin a relationship and is a bridge to a more mature commitment. But we should not be surprised that it does not last. It is a phase that builds a bond, but it is not a mature bond in itself. Nature designed romance to bring people together to mate, to propagate the species, and to support one another. In this phase the sexual energy is high, and so is the adrenaline. However, continued high adrenaline levels lower our immune response and eventually undermine our health. Thus, in the best interests of our health, romance lasts only as long as is needed for sex and procreation to occur.

When people are in self-protection mode, the adrenaline-triggered state so commonly associated with traditional accountability, they will spend their energy defending themselves instead of discovering possibilities and rational solutions. They will fight to prove they are good enough, valued enough, and important enough. They will choose to protect their needs instead of making decisions that protect what’s best for your company and customers.

Every nerve ending in his body was on fire. Being with Dagger was the best adrenaline rush he’d ever experienced. It made him feel alive.

The problem was I knew innately I didn’t want to be controlling and I was never happy, regardless. It wasn’t until I was diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome that my behavior changed. Now, before an event, I no longer subconsciously create drama in an attempt to release emotion. I didn’t consciously decide to change this; the change happened naturally. Now, I am hyperaware of why I am upset. I recognize my emotions in detail and the triggers that lead to anxiety. It might seem that knowing myself more would make the anxiety level decrease, but actually the anxiety is more intensified because I am no longer subconsciously utilizing displacement. I am not displacing my own dread about an event onto another event. I am not using or finding a scapegoat. I am not creating drama in order to diffuse my own tension. Instead, tension keeps building and I have no way to release it. Now that I am more aware of my own behavior and emotions, and the triggers, I do much more stimming, e.g., flick my nails, flap my hands, clear my throat, click my teeth, repeatedly saying “okay,” and so forth. I also have anxiety dreams related to upcoming events. In addition, on the day of a happening I have extreme fluctuations of emotions and physical symptoms, such as hives and/or stomachaches. I am now taking in the full experience and my body is responding. I don’t know if this is better or worse than the displacement. What is also happening is instead of “freaking out” before an event, I am often “freaking out” after the event. (Sir Brain and LV running around in circles in full panic after climbing out of the swimming hole, exhausted, to discover they are naked!) I feel very much like a child who holds herself together at school for the better part of the day, only to return home and have a meltdown. I have found, to date, the best way to handle my anxiety is to not turn it into the enemy, or something to be eradicated and ejected, but instead something to be accepted. The more I fight the anxiety, the worse I feel, for there isn’t any feasible avenue of solution that leads to rescue. I have to go through the discomfort in order to feel relief. The process is similar to a minor panic attack or adrenaline rush, but it passes. And the more accepting I am of the process, the quicker it passes.

Violet suddenly felt something in her as her anger and adrenaline pulsed through her body like a raving lunatic. She felt the rage from before, trying to rise above her control. Her hands began to elongate and her nails grew to razor sharp knives. She tried to hold back the intense metamorphosis, but the more she let go, the better she felt. Millions of coarse hairs sprouted from her skin and covered her in a dense, white fur. Her eyes dilated and contracted with the effort of balancing light. Her face grew into a furry white snout and her limbs grew to immense sizes, filled with muscle. She looked down at herself. She was a beautiful werewolf. A white werewolf! She tried to laugh, but it came out as small barks. She was expecting black fur instead.

Wilderness leaders need to understand that there are varying normal responses to a crisis. Until there is time to regroup, behaviors may seem unusual when, in truth, they should be expected. Some behaviors that may emerge in the face of a crisis include: 1. Regression. Many grown people revert to an earlier stage of development. The theory is that, since their parents used to care for them as children, someone else may care for them now if they behave in a childlike manner. In particular, tantrums used to be very effective. Tantrum-like or very dependent behavior is not unusual. 2. Depression. Closing into one’s inner world is another common response to crisis. This is where some people find the sources of strength to cope with an emergency. This is characterized as a shutdown effect: fetal positioning, slumped shoulders, downcast eyes, arms crossed over the chest, and unwillingness or difficulty in communicating. 3. Aggression. Some people lash out, physically or emotionally, at threats, including the vague threat of an emergency. High adrenaline levels may intensify the response, and so may the feelings of frustration, anger, and fear that commonly surround unexpected circumstances. This response is characterized by explosive body language, including swinging fists and jumping up and down. What one should do about the various behaviors that surface during a crisis depends somewhat on the individual circumstances. As a general rule, open communication, acknowledgement of the emotional impact of the event, and a healthy dose of patience and tolerance can go far during resolution of the situation. Some basic procedures to consider in crisis management might include the following: 1. Engage the patient in a calm, rational discussion. You can start the patient down the trail that leads through the crisis. 2. Identify the specific concerns about which the patient is stressed. You both need to be talking about the same problems. 3. Provide realistic and optimistic feedback. You can help the patient return to objective thinking. 4. Involve the patient in solving the problem. You can help the patient and/or the patient can help you choose and implement a plan of action. Someone who completely loses control needs time to settle down to become an asset to the situation. Breaking through to someone who has lost control can be a challenge. Try repetitive persistence, a technique developed for telephone interrogation by emergency services dispatchers. Remain calm, but firm. Choose a positive statement that includes the person’s name, such as, “Todd, we can help once you calm down.” (An example of a negative statement would be, “Todd, we can’t help unless you settle down.”) Persistently repeat the statement with the same words in the same tone of voice. The irresistible force (you) will eventually overwhelm the immovable object (the out-of-control person). Surprisingly few repetitions are usually needed to get through to the patient, as long as the tone of voice remains calm. Letting frustration or other emotions creep into the tone of voice, or changing the message, can ruin the entire effort. Over time, the overwhelming responses that generated the reaction may occasionally resurface. This is normal. Without being judgmental or impatient, regain control through repetitive persistence. A crisis may bring out a humorous side (sometimes appropriately, sometimes not) among the group. When you wish to release the intensity surrounding a situation or crisis, appropriate laughter is one of the best methods. It should also be noted that many people cope just fine with emergency situations and unexpected circumstances. They are a source of strength and an example of model behavior for the others.

I was going to ask if you wanted to dance.” “Y-you want to dance?” she stammered as the saxophone played a sultry note that seemed to raise the temperature by about two hundred degrees. “Yes. It’s the strange custom that cultures all over the world take part in.” He tried to keep his voice light to mask the adrenaline pumping through his veins.

I look down and see that Colter has returned and has gone on lock-solid, drop-dead point about twenty feet in front of us, head and shoulders hunched and crouched, bony ass stuck way up in the air, body half-twisted, frozen, as if cautioning us of some hidden, deadly betrayal: and green eyes afire, stub tail motionless. We ease forward, adrenaline-drunk. Nothing happens. And then it does. The cock-bird climbs towering above and then flares and accelerates away; Tim fires twice, I fire twice, Colter runs shrieking after the untouched bird, and from across that spartan landscape we hear the cattlewomen snort small laughs of disbelief, and one of them says, “Oops, they missed again.”   We

You say doctors will make the best poets. They will search your emotions by the skin; cutting open to reveal and revel with surgical precison. They will play with heavy drugs and blades-- nothing shall hide beneath the armors of bone and muscle. They know the anatomy of the heart too well. They will find the things you have hidden in your chest. I say doctors will never be poets. They are too mechanical, too fast with their edges and ridges. They cannot see the pain as pain but merely as an anomaly. That sadness is black bile not melancholia. They cannot sing to you but only clammer in medical jargon. Poets will use their imperfect words, and perfect rhymes to find the secrets of your rib cage with ease. They will find every flaw of your broken body and make it the best story you've never heard. Doctors, they will put love to define as a momentary rush of adrenaline, an arrythmia for another human caused due to an imbalance of the heart rhythm. Poets will tell you that love is the first jolt of life for them. They will say love is a state of euphoria that takes those irregular rhythms to perfect symphonies. Doctors say that veins carry blood devout of oxygen. I say that they carry your broken emotions to their feelings factory to mend it within its beautiful catacombs. All those doctors will find and fix you with perfect solutions. And these poets will do their best to be your perfect solution. For Aarshia. I am to be a doctor with a poet's heart.

I watched him work. He retied several knots in quick succession. Once he was satisfied that it was safe, he could take into consideration the film crew and me. He explained to me what we were going to do. The object would be to get the crocodile out of the trap. We needed it completely unencumbered to be able to move it to a new location. The mesh trap was tangled in the croc’s teeth and claws. We needed to carefully untangle it. As we approached the croc, my adrenaline surged. I could feel my fingertips tingling, and my mouth went dry. Steve positioned the camera crew so they could have the best vantage point without risk of getting nailed. Then he turned to me. “Right,” he said. “You jump on its head and I’ll get the net off.” Um…what? I thought surely I’d misunderstood. “Right,” Steve shouted. “Now!” So I jumped on the crocodile’s head.

They took us into the editing room and showed us some footage of our D-day drop. Planes all over the sky, paratroopers coming down in the dark. My first combat jump. I'll never forget it. Adrenaline pumping, going into the unknown. That scene made me want to relive that jump in the worst way. Those dirty sons of beetles.

I understand. I’ll call my brother and he’ll come get me.” Gracie’s hand flew up and her eyes went wide. “Wait, what?” “I don’t want to hurt anyone.” After thirteen years, she was used to giving up her desires to do the right thing; she only wished it wasn’t so hard. “You’re right, it’s best if I go home.” “No!” Gracie shouted. She straightened and stepped closer to Maddie. “No! That’s not what I meant. I was only trying to say, ‘be careful.’” The men chose that moment to burst in the door like a bunch of rambunctious puppies, filling the room with chaos and testosterone. Gracie placed her hand over her forehead. “Oh, shit, he’s going to kill me.” Mitch stopped on a dime, his attention going first to Maddie and then to Gracie. A muscle in his jaw jumped. “What did you do?” All three men turned to Gracie. They advanced on her, gleaming with sweat. Alarm stirred. Maddie didn’t need to see their faces. The aggression was clear in their stance. The sheriff crossed his arms over his broad chest, and the muscles in his back rippled with the movement. Like Mitch, he also had a tribal-looking tattoo, although it was on his left shoulder instead of wrapping around his bicep. “You couldn’t keep your mouth shut, huh?” Gracie seemed to regain some of her composure, and her chin tilted. “I was only . . .” She cleared her throat. “Being friendly. And helpful.” Sam pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Didn’t I tell you to leave it alone?” “Yes, but . . .” Gracie glanced at Maddie. “I was worried, and—” Mitch sliced a hand through the air. “What happened?” The men reminded Maddie so much of her brothers and their tactics lit her temper. “That’s enough!” They all swung around. The men’s eyes were sharp, hard with leftover adrenaline. It gave her a moment of pause, before she brushed their daunting presence aside and vaulted off her position by the sink. They tracked her as she stomped around them to stand in front of Gracie. “Stop intimidating her.” Charlie laughed, a wry, amused sound. “Honey, we couldn’t intimidate her if we tried.” His gaze slid over Gracie in a familiar, intimate way. “Although I do think she’s angling for a spanking.” “Ha! You wish.” Gracie placed a hand on Maddie’s shoulder. “Thanks for trying to rescue me. You’re a doll.” She sniffed. “It’s nice to have another female here. I never have anyone on my side.” Sam shook his head. “What did I tell you?” Maddie planted her hands on her hips. “She didn’t do anything, so stop it.” Mitch’s eyes narrowed. “What did she say, Maddie?” “I was just—” Gracie said. “Nothing.” Maddie cut her off as a sudden loyalty toward the woman behind her swelled in her chest. “It has nothing to do with any of you. Now back off.” Charlie’s lips curled into a smile. “Aren’t you a feisty little thing?” “I might be little,” Maddie said, in a righteous tone. “But I’m used to dealing with my brothers, who are all bigger and scarier than you.” Charlie laughed and elbowed Mitch in the ribs. “That sounds like a challenge.” Maddie risked a glance at Mitch to find his expression still hard, not amused at all. He crossed his arms. “I want to talk to Maddie. Alone.” Sam jutted his chin toward the door. “Let’s go.” Gracie squeezed Maddie’s shoulders. “Thanks for sticking up for me. And remember, I’m right next door if you need anything.” “She won’t,” Mitch said, his tone matching the dark expression he wore. Strangely,

Whether we remember a particular event at all, and how accurate our memories of it are, largely depends on how personally meaningful it was and how emotional we felt about it at the time. The key factor is our level of arousal. We all have memories associated with particular people, songs, smells, and places that stay with us for a long time. Most of us still have precise memories of where we were and what we saw on Tuesday, September 11, 2001, but only a fraction of us recall anything in particular about September 10. Most day-to-day experience passes immediately into oblivion. On ordinary days we don’t have much to report when we come home in the evening. The mind works according to schemes or maps, and incidents that fall outside the established pattern are most likely to capture our attention. If we get a raise or a friend tells us some exciting news, we will retain the details of the moment, at least for a while. We remember insults and injuries best: The adrenaline that we secrete to defend against potential threats helps to engrave those incidents into our minds. Even if the content of the remark fades, our dislike for the person who made it usually persists.

In my experience, triggers are the prime reason that men and women end up retreating to gender silos, narrowing their experience and depriving themselves of useful connections. That’s what happened when Jen enlisted Chantal to commiserate with her after the meeting in which Mark received credit for her idea. Sharing her resentment with a female colleague may have temporarily relieved the emotional distress Jen felt at being disregarded. But venting her feelings only reinforced the story she was telling herself to explain what had happened: “Men just can’t listen to women!” This increased the likelihood of her remaining stuck in a negative groove. It’s the stories we tell ourselves when we feel triggered that keep us dug in and limit our ability to frame an effective response. Here’s how the process works: First, the trigger kicks off an emotional reaction that blindsides us. We feel a rush of adrenaline, a sinking in the pit of our stomach, a recoil, a blinding rage, or a snide “of course.” Or we may simply feel confusion. Our immediate impulse may be to lash out. But if we’re in a work situation, we fear what this could cost us, so we try to suppress our feelings and move on. When this doesn’t succeed, we may grab the first opportunity to complain to a sympathetic colleague, which is why so much time at work gets consumed in gripe sessions and unproductive gossip. In this way, our response to triggers plays a role in shaping toxic cultures that set us against one another, justify sniping, and waste everybody’s time. But whether we suffer in silence or indulge the urge to vent, the one thing we almost always do when triggered is try to put what happened in some kind of context. This is where storytelling enters the picture. We craft a narrative based on past experience or perceptions in a way that assigns blame, exonerates us, and magnifies impact. Because these stories make us feel better, we may not stop to question whether they are either accurate or useful. Yet the truth is that our go-to stories rarely serve us well. They are especially damaging when they operate across divides: gender, of course (“Men can’t, women just refuse”), but also race, ethnicity, sexual orientation, and age (“They always, they seem incapable of…”). Because these default stories rely on generalizations and stereotypes, they reinforce any biases we may have. This makes it difficult for us to see others in their particularity; instead, they appear to us as members of a group. In addition, because our go-to stories usually emphasize our own innocence (“I had no idea!” “I never guessed he would…”), they often reinforce our feelings of being aggrieved or victimized—an increasing hazard for men as well as women. Since we can’t control other people, our best path is to acknowledge the emotional and mental impact a trigger has on us. This necessary first step can then enable us to choose a response that enhances our dignity and serves our interests.

In Vietnam, lying became so much part of the system that sometimes not lying seemed immoral...The teenage adrenaline-drained patrol leader has to call in the score so analysts, newspaper reporters, and politicians back in Washington have something to do. Never mind that Smithers and his squad may have stopped a developing attack planned to hit the company that night, saving scores of lives and maintaining control over a piece of ground. All they'll be judged on, and all their superiors have to be judged on, is the kill ratio. Smithers's best friend has just been killed. Two other friends are missing pieces of their bodies and are going into shock. No one in the squad knows if the enemy is 15 meters away waiting to open up again or running. Smithers is tired and has a lot of other things on his mind. With scorekeepers often 25 kilometers away, no one is going to check on the score. In short, Smithers has a great incentive to lie. He also has a great need to lie. His best friend is dead. "Why?" he asks himself. This is where the lying in Vietnam all began. It had to fill the long silence following Smithers's anguished "Why?" So it starts. "Nelson, how many did you get?" Smithers asks. PFC Nelson looks up from crying over the body of his friend Katz and says, "How the fuck do I know?" His friend Smithers says, "Well, did you get that bastard that came around the dogleg after Katz threw the Mike-26?" Nelson looks down at Katz's face, hardening and turning yellow like tallow. "You're goddamn right I got him," he almost whispers. It's all he can offer his dead friend. "There's no body." "They drug the fucker away. I tell you I got him!" Nelson is no longer whispering. … The patrol leader doesn't have a body, but what are the odds that he's going to call his friend a liar or, even more difficult, make Katz's death meaningless, given that the only meaning now lies in this one statistic? No one is congratulating him for exposing the enemy, keeping them screened from the main body, which is the purpose of security patrols. He calls in one confirmed kill. ... Just then PFC Schroeder comes crawling over with Kool-Aid stains all around his mouth and says, "I think I got one, right by the dogleg of the trail after Katz threw the grenade." "Yeah, we called that one in." "No, it ain't the one Nelson got. I tell you I got another one." Smithers thinks it was the same one but he's not about to have PFC Schroeder feeling bad, particularly after they've all seen their squad mate die. … the last thing on Smithers's mind is the integrity of meaningless numbers. The message gets relayed to the battalion commander. He's just taken two wounded and one dead. All he has to report is one confirmed, one probable. This won't look good. Bad ratio. He knows all sorts of bullets were flying all over the place. It was a point-to-point contact, so no ambush, so the stinkin' thinking' goes round and round, so the probable had to be a kill. But really if we got two confirmed kills, there was probably a probable. I mean, what's the definition of probable if it isn't probable to get one? What the hell, two kills, two probables. Our side is now ahead. Victory is just around the corner. … [then the artillery has to claim their own additional kills…] By the time all this shit piles up at the briefing in Saigon, we've won the war.

YOU LOVE YOUR JOB, ON THE BEST DAYS YOUR WORKPLACE can seem beautiful, no matter how it might look to the rest of the world. An oilman looks at a flat, dusty plain and sees the potential for untapped fuel. A firefighter sees a burning building and runs into it, adrenaline surging, eager to be of use. A trucker’s love affair is with the open road,

Arline Geronimus, a professor at the University of Michigan School of Public Health, provides the best current explanation of how lived experiences can become biology. Her concept of weathering explains that high-effort coping from fighting against racism leads to chronic stress that can trigger premature aging and poor health outcomes. It works this way: stress, the body’s response to a perceived threat, prompts the brain to release hormones, including adrenaline and cortisol. This, in turn, causes blood pressure to increase and the heart rate to speed up. Short, infrequent bursts of this fight-or-flight response are normal, but when it happens again and again, it can turn deadly, eroding health and accelerating aging. Also, as the stressors pile up and feed on each other, they can lead to unhealthy coping mechanisms—drinking, smoking, poor food choices, and drug use. Those who are economically disadvantaged have added stressors in their day-to-day fight for survival, but even educated, well-off African Americans struggle with

I need to get the *&%! out of here.” Look around. Are you surrounded by a real threat? If yes, please do get out of there quickly. If not—and this is obviously the most probable outcome—stay. Let it come. Decide to no longer let your life be dictated by the panic attacks. From now on, you no longer run from them. The anxiety and panic attacks don’t get to decide when you leave, what experiences you miss, how low or high the quality of your life is. You do! If the panic attack comes, you take it with you. You’ll smother it with so much acceptance and love, it will eventually grow tired of accompanying you! Besides the “whatever happens it’s OK,” it’s also beneficial to say, “Bring it on. I’m going to stay, and I want to see what happens. Let’s find out if it really is as bad as my negative voice wants me to believe.” This is powerful, and I’ve discussed it in detail before. What you’re feeling during a panic attack is already the pinnacle of what anxiety has in store. It cannot get worse; you’re already there. Furthermore, a full-blown panic attack can only last a couple of minutes. The adrenaline you’re feeling will be taken back up by organs like your liver; it will pass! Even if you stay. Do you know what the benefit of leaving is? Why does your anxiety often calm down when you do leave? Once you reach your safe place, you’ll probably think it’s over. You’re saved. As a result, your anxiety will drop. Can you see why? It’s because you told yourself so! You calmed yourself down by telling yourself you’re safe. The physical danger, in that safe place, is as small as it was in the place you were previously in. So why not stay there and calm your mind and body down there, on the spot? It works just as well. And the added benefit is that you won’t have to keep avoiding that location in the future. At first, it will take you five to twenty minutes to calm down, which is a bit more than if you sought out the exit and left. But the long-term consequences are so much better since you communicate to your mind and body that you no longer fear the fear. And that’s always the best choice to make.

I want other people to have what I have. To be inspired instead of depleted. To be dangerous instead of afraid. By dangerous, I don’t mean that you should do stupid things such as crashing your car or burning down your house. I mean that you can take bold risks, pursue dreams, and be unpredictable because you feel free to act like yourself. It sounds like a paradox, but it’s actually an extremely important truth: Being dangerous makes you safe and calm. Being dangerous blows away the sense of impending doom. Being dangerous also requires a lot of energy and resilience, which is the reason why so many people imagine that a weak “normal” is the best they can hope for. Fortunately, there is another truthful paradox that can help you out. It is technically known as slope-of-the-curve biology, but I prefer to call it what it really is: the laziness principle. It is the central idea of this book, and it can transform your life. It boils down to one simple but revolutionary idea: Laziness can make you strong. I know, that sounds hard to believe. The reason it’s hard to believe is that your body has a secret, one that it doesn’t want you to know. Your body is faster than you are. It senses, reacts, and responds to stimuli about a third of a second before your brain even knows what it’s up to. Before your rational human brain can apply courage or willpower and hard work, your body has already sabotaged you. It pumps you full of adrenaline that makes small fears feel like big ones. It transmits pain signals to convince you that little tasks are actually going to require a lot of work, which then gives you lots of reasons not to do them. Why would your body sabotage you like that? Why would Mother Nature create such an unkind system? Because that is the only way things can be in the natural world. Your body is designed to maximize the likelihood that you will survive, have babies, and perpetuate the species. As a result, there are really only two things your body cares about. The first is not dying. The second is being fantastically lazy,

The animals are confident in their sensory awareness and their ability to respond to all provocations accordingly. This awareness allows them to avoid danger, and avoiding danger conserves energy. It is in their best interests to have as early a warning of trouble as possible, not only, obviously, to escape death and live to breed another day, but also to avoid the trauma of the fight-or-flight response, which triggers several biological reactions, all of them energy-intensive. Heart rate increases, adrenaline surges, stored energy is consumed, the body’s overall resistance suffers, and susceptibility to starvation and disease increases. And then either the fight or the flight is hard work. (I’ve chopped a lot of wood in my day. It’s hard work, but nothing compared with the drain of taking a final exam or meeting a production deadline. The mental energy these tasks require, and the anxiety they produce—the adrenaline and other hormonal surges—are even more debilitating for the body than sheer physical exercise.)

The jagged V of a heartbeat launched the room back into action, and I breathed again. I was backed out into the hallway by the throng of people working on him. They started a central line. They started X-rays. Neurology was called. And then a curtain yanked closed and it was done. There was nothing else we could do for him. That was it. It was out of our hands. I stood there panting, in shock, the adrenaline crashing into me now that I’d stopped moving. I looked down at myself, my hands trembling. I was covered in his blood. Coveredin my best friend’s blood. Luke spoke from behind me. “She was drunk.” My hands balled into fists, and Shawn started to wheeze. Sloan. I needed Kristen to get Sloan. I walked outside, praying to God that Kristen answered my call, that she hadn’t decided to ice me out again in the short time since I’d seen her. If she didn’t answer and I had to text her, I wouldn’t be able to do it. My hands shook so violently now that it was all I could do to unlock my phone and pull up her number. It had been twenty minutes since I’d seen her. Twenty minutes that felt like a lifetime. I pressed the phone to my ear, my hand shaking. I wouldn’t be able to stay with him. My station had mandated staffing. I couldn’t leave until someone relieved me. I had to go back. “Hey.” Her voice gave me the first full breath I’d taken in almost half an hour. Just knowing she was on the other end of the line grounded me. Everything that had happened between us felt years away and unimportant.

Retirement had seemed like the best way not to die, but the adrenaline had gone the day I threw in the towel and it never returned. You have your books and your movies, your daydreams and your moments in the sun, but none of those can save you any more than irony can.

Shanti laughed, a carefree sound filled with adrenaline and excitement. She was about to do what she did best. “Fair enough.

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