Calm But Alert Quotes

Annabeth and I were relaxing on the Great Lawn in Central Park when she ambushed me with a question. “You forgot, didn’t you?” I went into red-alert mode. It’s easy to panic when you’re a new boyfriend. Sure, I’d fought monsters with Annabeth for years. Together we’d faced the wrath of the gods. We’d battled Titans and calmly faced death a dozen times. But now that we were dating, one frown from her and I freaked. What had I done wrong? I mentally reviewed the picnic list: Comfy blanket? Check. Annabeth’s favorite pizza with extra olives? Check. Chocolate toffee from La Maison du Chocolat? Check. Chilled sparkling water with twist of lemon? Check. Weapons in case of sudden Greek mythological apocalypse? Check. So what had I forgotten? I was tempted (briefly) to bluff my way through. Two things stopped me. First, I didn’t want to lie to Annabeth. Second, she was too smart. She’d see right through me. So I did what I do best. I stared at her blankly and acted dumb.

What's important is being attentive. Staying calm, being alert to things around you.

A Blessing; May the light of your soul guide you; May the light of your soul bless the work you do with the secret love and warmth of your heart; May you see in what you do the beauty of your own soul; May the sacredness of your work bring healing, light and renewal to those who work with you and to those who see and receive your work; May your work never weary you; May it release within you wellsprings of refreshment, inspiration and excitement; May you be present in what you do. May you never become lost in the bland absences; May the day never burden; May dawn find you awake and alert, approaching your new day with dreams, possibilities and promises; May evening find you gracious and fulfilled; May you go into the night blessed, sheltered and protected; May your soul calm, console and renew you.

There is a man who travels around the world trying to find places where you can stand still and hear no human sound. It is impossible to feel calm in cities, he believes, because we so rarely hear birdsong there. Our ears evolved to be our warning systems. We are on high alert in places where no birds sing. To live in a city is to be forever flinching.

Spoiler alert: The good life is a complicated life. For everybody. The good life is joyful… and challenging. Full of love, but also pain. And it never strictly happens; instead, the good life unfolds, through time. It is a process. It includes turmoil, calm, lightness, burdens, struggles, achievements, setbacks, leaps forward, and terrible falls. And of course, the good life always ends in death.

May the light of your soul guide you; May the light of your soul bless the work you do with the secret love and warmth of your heart; May you see in what you do the beauty of your own soul; May the sacredness of your work bring healing, light and renewal to those who work with you and to those who see and receive your work; May your work never weary you; May it release within you wellsprings of refreshment, inspiration and excitement; May you be present in what you do. May you never become lost in the bland absences; May the day never burden; May dawn find you awake and alert, approaching your new day with dreams, possibilities and promises; May evening find you gracious and fulfilled; May you go into the night blessed, sheltered and protected; May your soul calm, console and renew you.

Well, best to remain vigilant. It’s when everything is calm that you need to be most alert.

I thought how little we know about the feelings of old people. Children we understand, their fears and hopes and make-believe. I was a child yesterday. I had not forgotten. But Maxim’s grandmother, sitting there in her shawl with her poor blind eyes, what did she feel, what was she thinking? Did she know that Beatrice was yawning and glancing at her watch? Did she guess that we had come to visit her because we felt it right, it was a duty, so that when she got home afterwards Beatrice would be able to say, “Well, that clears my conscience for three months”? Did she ever think about Manderley? Did she remember sitting at the dining room table, where I sat? Did she too have tea under the chestnut tree? Or was it all forgotten and laid aside, and was there nothing left behind that calm, pale face of hers but little aches and little strange discomforts, a blurred thankfulness when the sun shone, a tremor when the wind blew cold? I wished that I could lay my hands upon her face and take the years away. I wished I could see her young, as she was once, with color in her cheeks and chestnut hair, alert and active as Beatrice by her side, talking as she did about hunting, hounds, and horses. Not sitting there with her eyes closed while the nurse thumped the pillows behind her head. “We’ve got a treat today, you know,” said the nurse, “watercress sandwiches for tea. We love watercress, don’t we?

Just as, all too often, some huge crowd is seized by a vast uprising, the rabble runs amok, all slaves to passion, rocks, firebrands flying. Rage finds them arms but then, if they chance to see a man among them, one whose devotion and public service lend him weight, they stand there, stock-still with their ears alert as he rules their furor with words and calms their passion.

To feel safe is to stop living in my head and sink down into my heart and feel liked and accepted … not having to hide anymore and distract myself with books, television, movies, ice cream, shallow conversation … staying in the present moment and not escaping into the past or projecting into the future, alert and attentive to the now …feeling relaxed and not nervous or jittery … no need to impress or dazzle others or draw attention to myself. … Unself-conscious, a new way of being with myself, a new way of being in the world … calm, unafraid, no anxiety about what’s going to happen next …loved and valued… just being together as an end in itself.

Readiness is a perfect blend of preparedness and openness-- thought through enough yet not stuck in ideas of what it should be, practiced enough yet not measured by rote repetition, alert and energized enough yet calm and relaxed enough to build enough confidence to trust in oneself to meet the moment, take it in fully and respond to it in kind.

Those who have little interest in spirituality shouldn’t think that human inner values don’t apply to you. The inner peace of an alert and calm mind are the source of real happiness and good health. Our human intelligence tells us which of our emotions are positive and helpful and which are damaging and to be restrained or avoided. - 12/7/2012 on his Facebook page

People tend to think astronauts have the courage of a superhero—or maybe the emotional range of a robot. But in order to stay calm in a high-stress, high-stakes situation, all you really need is knowledge. Sure, you might still feel a little nervous or stressed or hyper-alert. But what you won’t feel is terrified.

The human brain is incredible in its capacity to heal and rewire itself. The human brain can be shaped and trained to be more resilient, calm, compassionate and alert—we can condition ourselves to be successful. Through mindfulness meditation, we can literally re-wire our brains through new experiences, which modify our neural network and our neural chemistry. Mindfulness also enhances gamma synchrony and improves the function of the human brain.

It is impossible to feel calm in cities, he believes, because we so rarely hear birdsong there. Our ears evolved to be our warning systems. We are on high alert in places where no birds sing. To live in a city is to be forever flinching.

Realizing that meditation is about defocusing, I saw that the next step was to simply choose to defocus the mind from the outset. Focusing takes willpower, but defocusing is about relaxation. The secret is to simply relax into the big picture, which creates the effect of calm alertness — the perfect combination for a martial artist. With this insight, I was free of my need for stargazing, because I could relax into the big picture anytime or anywhere — a giant step forward.

Their blissfully soft texture calmed me but alerted me at the same time. I couldn't explain the gentle spark of light that dripped off the edges. And of course, the aqua trim felt way too familiar.

Novelty. Security. Novelty wouldn't be a bad title. It had the grandness of abstraction, alerting the reader that large and thoughtful things were to be bodied forth. As yet he had no inkling of any incidents or characters that might occupy his theme; perhaps he never would. He could see though the book itself, he could feel its closed heft and see it opened, white pages comfortably large and shadowed gray by print; dense, numbered, full of meat. He sensed a narrative voice, speaking calmly and precisely, with immense assurance building, building; a voice too far off for him to hear, but speaking. ("Novelty")

They’re all dear to me, but I admire the dandelion the most. It is hardy and determined, adaptable and practical. The flower looks like a small chrysanthemum, but it’s much more resourceful and far less delicate. Poets may compose odes about the chrysanthemum, but the dandelion’s leaves and flowers can fill your belly, its sap cure your warts, its roots calm your fevers. Dandelion tea makes you alert, while chewing its root can steady a nervous hand. The milk of the dandelion can even be used to make invisible ink that reveals itself when mixed with the juice of the stone’s ear mushroom. It is a versatile and useful plant people can rely on. “And

We can never properly be secure, because so long as we are alive, we will be alert to danger and in some way at risk. The only people with full security are the dead; the only people who can be truly at peace are under the ground; cemeteries are the only definitively calm places around.

But knowing the difficulties didn't make Tuesday's lack of focus easier for me. When Tuesday was distracted, I felt unsure. In the years ahead, I learned to read his reactions. I knew when his mind was wandering, when he was merely interested in something (Squirrel! Urine-smelling tree!), and when he was alert to possible danger. Knowing Tuesday's mood calmed my mind, because I could trust his vigilance. Today, I can walk down the street distracted and carefree because I have faith Tuesday will alert me to danger. In those early months, before I'd learn to trust his instincts, Tuesday's greatest contribution was his presence. He was my point man, walking slightly ahead of me, symbolically leading the way. He was a buffer against the world, but also a diversion. If they were going to look at me, most people looked at Tuesday first, and that was a relief.

The blue pieces are rare,” he says, examining it and then pressing it into my hand. “This is a good piece. Some people call them mermaid’s tears. Do you want to hear the story?” I nod as I inspect the smooth glass in my palm—it looks like a gem, a tear of frosted sapphire. “The story goes that a mermaid watched as a storm threatened to wreck the ship of the man she loved,” Ted says. His voice is hypnotic, I love listening to him. I sink my head back onto his shoulder as he speaks and he runs a hand across my hair, my whole body alert to his touch. “She was forbidden by Neptune from intervening in the weather, but she calmed the sea and tamed the waves to save her love from certain death. For her disobedience, she was banished to the ocean floor, never to surface again. Her tears wash up on the shore as glass, a reminder of true love.

Fifteen. Be as careful as crossing frozen water, alert as a Warrior on enemy ground. Be as courteous as a Guest, as fluid as a Stream. Be as shapeable as a block of wood, as receptive as a glass. Don’t seek and don’t expect. Be patient and wait until your mud settles and your water is clear. Be patient and wait. Your mud will settle. Your water will be clear. Sixty-three. Act without doing, work without effort, think of the large as small and the many as few. Confront the difficult while it is easy, accomplish the great one step at a time. Don’t reach and you will find, if you run into trouble throw yourself toward it. Don’t cling to comfort and everything will be comfortable. Seventy-nine. Failure is an opportunity. If you blame others, there is no end to blame. Fulfill your obligations, correct your mistakes. Do what you need to do and step away. Demand nothing and give all. Demand nothing and give all. Twenty-four. Stand on your toes and you won’t stand firm. Rush ahead and you won’t go far. Try to shine and you’ll extinguish your light. Try to define yourself, you won’t know who you are. Don’t try to control others. Let go and let them be. As I read this book it calms me without effort, fills in the blanks of my strategy for survival. Control by letting go of control, fix your problems by forgetting they’re problems. Deal with them and the World and yourself with patience and simplicity and compassion. Let things be, let yourself be, let everything be and accept it as it is. Nothing more. Nothing less. Nothing more.

My mind is curiously alert; it's as though my skull had a thousand mirrors inside it. My nerves are taut, vibrant! the notes are like glass balls dancing on a million jets of water. I've never been to a concert before on such an empty belly. Nothing escapes me, not even the tiniest pin falling. It's as though I had no clothes on and every pore of my body was a window and all the windows open and the light flooding my gizzards. I can feel the light curving under the vault of my ribs and my ribs hang there over a hollow nave trembling with reverberations. How long this lasts I have no idea; I have lost all sense of time and place. After what seems like an eternity there follows an interval of semiconsciousness balanced by such a calm that I feel a great lake inside me, a lake of iridescent sheen, cool as jelly; and over this lake, rising in great swooping spirals, there emerge flocks of birds of passage with long slim legs and brilliant plumage. Flock after flock surge up from the cool, still surface of the lake and, passing under my clavicles, lose themselves in the white sea of space. And then slowly, very slowly, as if an old woman in a white cap were going the rounds of my body, slowly the windows are closed and my organs drop back into place.

[author quoting from his journal entry] "To feel safe is to stop living in my head and sink down into my heart and feel liked and accepted...not having to hide anymore and distract myself with books, television, movies, ice cream, shallow conversation...staying in the present moment and not escaping into the past or projecting into the future, alert and attentive to the now...feeling relaxed and not nervous or jittery...no need to impress or dazzle others or draw attention to myself...Unselfconscious, a new way of being with myself, a new way of being in the world...calm, unafraid, no anxiety about what's going to happen next...loved and valued...just being together as an end in itself." (p. 31)

Let the center be your home: To be centered is considered desirable; when they feel distracted or scattered, people often say, “I lost my center.” But if there is no person inside your head, if the ego’s sense of I, me, mine is illusory, where’s the center? Paradoxically, the center is everywhere. It is the open space that has no boundaries. Instead of thinking of your center as a defined spot—the way people point to their hearts as the seat of the soul—be at the center of experience. Experience isn’t a place; it’s a focus of attention. You can live there, at the still point around which everything revolves. To be off center is to lose focus, to look away from experience or block it out. To be centered is like saying “I want to find my home in creation.” You relax into the rhythm of your own life, which sets the stage for meeting yourself at a deeper level. You can’t summon the silent witness, but you can place yourself close to it by refusing to get lost in your own creation. When I find myself being overshadowed by anything, I can fall back on a few simple steps: • I say to myself, “This situation may be shaking me, but I am more than any situation.” • I take a deep breath and focus my attention on whatever my body is feeling. • I step back and see myself as another person would see me (preferably the person whom I am resisting or reacting to). • I realize that my emotions are not reliable guides to what is permanent and real. They are momentary reactions, and most likely they are born of habit. • If I am about to burst out with uncontrollable reactions, I walk away. As you can see, I don’t try to feel better, to be more positive, to come from love, or to change the state I’m in. We are all framed by personalities and driven by egos. Ego personalities are trained by habit and by the past; they run along like self-propelled engines. If you can observe the mechanism at work without getting wrapped up in it, you will find that you possess a second perspective, one that is always calm, alert, detached, tuned in but not overshadowed. That second place is your center. It isn’t a place at all but a close encounter with the silent witness.

And the endurance is undeniable too. Six hours more or less on the defensive; six hours of alert immobility while the boat drove slowly or floated arrested, according to the caprice of the wind; while the sea, calmed, slept at last; while the clouds passed above his head; while the sky from an immensity lustreless and black, diminished to a sombre and lustrous vault, scintillated with a greater brilliance, faded to the east, paled at the zenith; while the dark shapes blotting the low stars astern got outlines, relief became shoulders, heads, faces, features, — confronted him with dreary stares, had dishevelled hair, torn clothes, blinked red eyelids at the white dawn. “They looked as though they had been knocking about drunk in gutters for a week,” he described graphically; and then he muttered something about the sunrise being of a kind that foretells a calm day. You know that sailor habit of referring to the weather in every connection. And on my side his few mumbled words were enough to make me see the lower limb of the sun clearing the line of the horizon, the tremble of a vast ripple running over all the visible expanse of the sea, as if the waters had shuddered, giving birth to the globe of light, while the last puff of the breeze would stir the air in a sigh of relief.

It was the same as I remembered it,” she whispered, sounding defeated and puzzled and shattered. It was better than he remembered. Stronger, wilder…And the only reason she didn’t know it was because he hadn’t succumbed to temptation yet and kissed her once more. He had just rejected that idea as complete insanity when a male voice suddenly erupted behind them: “Good God! What’s going on here!” Elizabeth jerked free in mindless panic, her gaze flying to a middle-aged elderly man wearing a clerical collar who was dashing across the yard. Ian put a steadying hand on her waist, and she stood there rigid with shock. “I heart shooting-“ The gray-haired man gasped, sagging against a nearby tree, his hand over his heart, his chest heaving. “I heard it all the way up the valley, and I thought0” He broke off, his alert gaze moving from Elizabeth’s flushed face and tousled hair to Ian’s hand at her waist. “You thought what?” Ian asked in a voice that struck Elizabeth as being amazingly calm, considering they’d just been caught in a lustful embrace by nothing less daunting than a Scottish vicar. The thought had scarcely crossed her battered mind when the man’s expression hardened with understanding. “I thought,” he said ironically, straightening from the tree and coming forward, brushing pieces of bark from his black sleeve, “that you were trying to kill each other. Which,” he continued more mildly as he stopped in front of Elizabeth, “Miss Throckmorton-Jones seemed to think was a distinct possibility when she dispatched me here.” “Lucinda?” Elizabeth gasped, feeling as if the world was turning upside down. “Lucinda sent you here?” “Indeed,” said the vicar, bending a reproachful glance on Ian’s hand, which was resting on Elizabeth’s waist. Mortified to the very depths of her being by the realization she’d remained standing in this near-embrace, Elizabeth hastily shoved Ian’s hand away and stepped sideways. She braced herself for a richly deserved, thundering tirade on the sinfulness of their behavior, but the vicar continued to regard Ian with his bushy gray eyebrows lifted, waiting. Feeling as if she were going to break from the strain of the silence, Elizabeth cast a pleading look at Ian and found him regarding the vicar not with shame or apology, but with irritated amusement. “Well?” demanded the vicar at last, looking at Ian. “What do you have to say to me?” “Good afternoon?” Ian suggested drolly. And then he added, “I didn’t expect to see you until tomorrow, Uncle.” “Obviously,” retorted the vicar with unconcealed irony. “Uncle!” blurted Elizabeth, gaping incredulously at Ian Thornton, who’d been flagrantly defying rules of morality with his passionate kisses and seeking hands from the first night she met him. As if the vicar read her thoughts, he looked at her, his brown eyes amused. “Amazing, is it not, my dear? It quite convinces me that God has a sense of humor.

They found Tharion on the couch with Ithan, the tv blasting the latest sports stats. Tharion munched on a piece of pizza, long legs sprawled out in front of him, bare feet on the coffee table. Ruhn might have stepped inside to grab a piece of that pizza had Bryce not gone still. A Fae sort of stillness, sizing up a threat. His instinct went to high alert, bellowing at him to defend, to attack, to slaughter any threat to his family. Ruhn suppressed it, held back by the shadows begging to be unleashed, to hide Bryce from sight. Ithan called over to them, “Pizza’s on the counter if you want some.” Bryce remained silent as fear washed over her scent. Ruhn’s fingers grazed the cool metal of the gun strapped to his thigh. “Your cat’s a sweetheart, by the way,” Ithan went on, not taking his focus from the TV as he stroked the white cat curled on his lap. Bryce slowly shut the door behind her. “He scared the shit out of me when he leapt onto the counter a few minutes ago, the bastard.” The wolf ran his fingers through the luxurious coat, earning a deep purr in response. The cat had stunning blue eyes. They seemed keenly aware as they fixed on Bryce. Ruhn’s shadows gathered at his shoulders, snakes waiting to strike. He subtly drew his gun. Behind her, a familiar ripple of ether-laced power kissed over her skin. A small reassurance as Bryce croaked, “That’s not a cat.” Hunt arrived at the apartment just in time to hear Bryce’s words through the shut front door. He was inside in a moment, lightning gathered at his fingers. “Oh, calm yourself,” the Prince of the Chasm said, leaping into the coffee table.

On her second screen, there were the number of messages sent by other staffers that day, 1,192, and the number of those messages that she’d read, 239, and the number to which she’d responded, 88. There was the number of recent invitations to Circle company events, 41, and the number she’d responded to, 28. There was the number of overall visitors to the Circle’s sites that day, 3.2 billion, and the number of pageviews, 88.7 billion. There was the number of friends in Mae’s OuterCircle, 762, and outstanding requests by those wanting to be her friend, 27. There were the number of zingers she was following, 10,343, and the number following her, 18,198. There was the number of unread zings, 887. There was the number of zingers suggested to her, 12,862. There was the number of songs in her digital library, 6,877, number of artists represented, 921, and based on her tastes, the number of artists recommended to her: 3,408. There was the number of images in her library, 33,002, and number of images recommended to her, 100,038. There was the temperature inside the building, 70, and the temperature outside, 71. There was the number of staffers on campus that day, 10,981, and number of visitors to campus that day, 248. Mae had news alerts set for 45 names and subjects, and each time any one of them was mentioned by any of the news feeds she favored, she received a notice. That day there were 187. She could see how many people had viewed her profile that day, 210, and how much time on average they spent: 1.3 minutes. If she wanted, of course, she could go deeper, and see precisely what each person had viewed. Her health stats added a few dozen more numbers, each of them giving her a sense of great calm and control. She knew her heart rate and knew it was right. She knew her step count, almost 8,200 that day, and knew that she could get to 10,000 with ease.

Maxim’s grandmother suffered her in patience. She closed her eyes as though she too were tired. She looked more like Maxim than ever. I knew how she must have looked when she was young, tall, and handsome, going round to the stables at Manderley with sugar in her pockets, holding her trailing skirt out of the mud. I pictured the nipped-in waist, the high collar, I heard her ordering the carriage for two o’clock. That was all finished now for her, all gone. Her husband had been dead for forty years, her son for fifteen. She had to live in this bright, red-gabled house with the nurse until it was time for her to die. I thought how little we know about the feelings of old people. Children we understand, their fears and hopes and make-believe. I was a child yesterday. I had not forgotten. But Maxim’s grandmother, sitting there in her shawl with her poor blind eyes, what did she feel, what was she thinking? Did she know that Beatrice was yawning and glancing at her watch? Did she guess that we had come to visit her because we felt it right, it was a duty, so that when she got home afterwards Beatrice would be able to say, “Well, that clears my conscience for three months”? Did she ever think about Manderley? Did she remember sitting at the dining room table, where I sat? Did she too have tea under the chestnut tree? Or was it all forgotten and laid aside, and was there nothing left behind that calm, pale face of hers but little aches and little strange discomforts, a blurred thankfulness when the sun shone, a tremor when the wind blew cold? I wished that I could lay my hands upon her face and take the years away. I wished I could see her young, as she was once, with color in her cheeks and chestnut hair, alert and active as Beatrice by her side, talking as she did about hunting, hounds, and horses. Not sitting there with her eyes closed while the nurse thumped the pillows behind her head.

What possibilities are there for preventing actions with negative consequences, actions that we may later regret? One possibility is dhyāna, which in this context means “reflection.”3 Reflection can take many forms. For example, when faced with an important decision, you could imagine what would happen if you did the exact opposite of what your instincts suggest.4 Try to make the consequence of your decision as real as possible in your imagination. No matter what it is or what you feel, before you make an important decision and take action you should give yourself the opportunity to consider the matter with an open mind and a certain degree of objectivity. Dhyāna in this respect is a quiet, alert consideration, a meditation. The aim is to free yourself of preconceptions and avoid actions that you may later regret and that may create new troubles (duḥkha) for you. Dhyāna strengthens self-sufficiency. Yoga makes us independent. We all want to be free, although many of us are dependent on psychologists, gurus, teachers, drugs, or whatever. Even if advice and guidance are helpful, in the end we ourselves are the best judge of our own actions. No one is more interested in me than me. With the help of dhyāna we find our own methods and systems for making decisions and better understand our behavior. There are other ways of distancing ourselves from our actions than reflecting on how it would be if we were to act differently from what we intend. We might go to a concert or go for a walk or do something else that calms the thoughts. All the while the mind goes on working unconsciously, without any external pressure. In the pursuit of other activities we gain a certain distance. However short it may be, time becomes available to cast the mind over everything surrounding the decision that has to be made. Perhaps with ease and distance we will make a better decision. Stepping out of a situation in order to get a better look at it from another standpoint is called pratipakṣa. The same word describes the process of considering other possible courses of action.5 The time spent in dhyāna is extremely important. Through self-reflection our actions gain in quality.

When the routines and circumstances of your life are set up so that your lifestyle is a good fit for your natural preferences, it can give you a feeling of being in equilibrium. This will help prevent you from getting overwhelmed by anxiety on a regular basis. And by arranging your life to suit your temperament, you’ll have the time to process and calm down from life events that make you feel anxious. Some areas in which you can set up your life to fit your temperament are: --Have the right level of busyness in your life. For example, have enough after-work or weekend activities to keep you feeling calmly stimulated but not overstimulated and scattered. Note that being understimulated (for example, having too few enjoyable activities to look forward to) can be as much of a problem as being overstimulated. --Pick the physical activity level that’s right for you. Fine-tuning your physical activity level could be as simple as getting up from your desk and taking a walk periodically to keep yourself feeling calm and alert. Lifting things (such as carrying shopping bags up stairs) can also increase feelings of alertness and energy. Having pleasurable activities to look forward to and enough physical activity will help protect you against depression. --Have the right level of social contact in your life, and have routines that put this on autopilot. For example, a routine of having drinks after work on a Friday with friends, or attending a weekly class with your sister. Achieving the right level of social contact might also include putting mechanisms in place to avoid too much social interruption, like having office hours rather than an open-door policy. --Keep a balance of change and routine in your life. For example, alternate going somewhere new for your vacation vs. returning to somewhere you know you like. What the right balance of change and routine is for you will depend on your natural temperament and how much change vs. stability feels good to you. --Allow yourself the right amount of mental space to work up to doing something—enough time that you can do some mulling over the prospect of getting started but not so much time that it starts to feel like avoidance of getting started. --If coping with change sucks up a lot of energy for you, be patient with yourself, especially if you’re feeling stirred up by change or a disruption to your routines or plans. As mentioned in Chapter 2, keep some habits and relationships consistent when you’re exploring change in other areas. --Have self-knowledge of what types of stress you find most difficult to process. Don’t voluntarily expose yourself to those types without considering alternatives. For example, if you want a new house and you know you get stressed out by making lots of decisions, then you might choose to buy a house that’s already built, rather than building your own home. If you know making home-improvement decisions is anxiety provoking for you, you might choose to move to a house that’s new or recently renovated, rather than doing any major work on your current home or buying a fixer-upper. There’s always a balance with avoidance coping, where some avoidance of the types of stress that you find most taxing can be very helpful.

He loves you,’ I said, and smoothed the tumbled hair off her flushed face. ‘He won’t stop.’ I got up, brushing yellow leaves from my skirt. ‘We’ll have a bit of time, then, but none to waste. Jamie can send word downriver, to keep an eye out for Roger. Speaking of Roger …’ I hesitated, picking a bit of dried fern from my sleeve. ‘I don’t suppose he knows about this, does he?’ Brianna took a deep breath, and her fist closed tight on the leaf in her hand, crushing it. ‘Well, see, there’s a problem about that,’ she said. She looked up at me, and suddenly she was my little girl again. ‘It isn’t Roger’s.’ ‘What?’ I said stupidly. ‘It. Isn’t. Roger’s. Baby,’ she said, between clenched teeth. I sank down beside her once more. Her worry over Roger suddenly took on new dimensions. ‘Who?’ I said. ‘Here, or there?’ Even as I spoke, I was calculating – it had to be someone here, in the past. If it had been a man in her own time, she’d be farther along than two months. Not only in the past, then, but here, in the Colonies. I wasn’t planning to have sex, she’d said. No, of course not. She hadn’t told Roger, for fear he would follow her – he was her anchor, her key to the future. But in that case – ‘Here,’ she said, confirming my calculations. She dug in the pocket of her skirt, and came out with something. She reached toward me, and I held out my hand automatically. ‘Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ.’ The worn gold wedding band sparked in the sun, and my hand closed reflexively over it. It was warm from being carried next to her skin, but I felt a deep coldness seep into my fingers. ‘Bonnet?’ I said. ‘Stephen Bonnet?’ Her throat moved convulsively, and she swallowed, head jerking in a brief nod. ‘I wasn’t going to tell you – I couldn’t; not after Ian told me about what happened on the river. At first I didn’t know what Da would do; I was afraid he’d blame me. And then when I knew him a little better – I knew he’d try to find Bonnet – that’s what Daddy would have done. I couldn’t let him do that. You met that man, you know what he’s like.’ She was sitting in the sun, but a shudder passed over her, and she rubbed her arms as though she was cold. ‘I do,’ I said. My lips were stiff. Her words were ringing in my ears. I wasn’t planning to have sex. I couldn’t tell … I was afraid he’d blame me. ‘What did he do to you?’ I asked, and was surprised that my voice sounded calm. ‘Did he hurt you, baby?’ She grimaced, and pulled her knees up to her chest, hugging them against herself. ‘Don’t call me that, okay? Not right now.’ I reached to touch her, but she huddled closer into herself, and I dropped my hand. ‘Do you want to tell me?’ I didn’t want to know; I wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened, too. She looked up at me, lips tightened to a straight white line. ‘No,’ she said. ‘No, I don’t want to. But I think I’d better.’ She had stepped aboard the Gloriana in broad daylight, cautious, but feeling safe by reason of the number of people around; loaders, seamen, merchants, servants – the docks bustled with life. She had told a seaman on the deck what she wanted; he had vanished into the recesses of the ship, and a moment later, Stephen Bonnet had appeared. He had on the same clothes as the night before; in the daylight, she could see that they were of fine quality, but stained and badly crumpled. Greasy candle wax had dripped on the silk cuff of his coat, and his jabot had crumbs in it. Bonnet himself showed fewer marks of wear than did his clothes; he was fresh-shaven, and his green eyes were pale and alert. They passed over her quickly, lighting with interest. ‘I did think ye comely last night by candlelight,’ he said, taking her hand and raising it to his lips. ‘But a-many seem so when the drink is flowin’. It’s a good deal more rare to find a woman fairer in the sun than she is by the moon.

The level of activity in this reticular formation reflects an individual’s general state of arousal. Artificial over-stimulation of the entire area does not result in limb-flailing or the exaggeration of particular gestures; instead, it causes a stiffened tetany in all the muscles of the body simultaneously. Everything locks rigidly into place and cannot be moved until stimulation recedes. Conversely, blocking stimulation from reaching the whole area results in a general loss of muscle tone throughout the body, as in our anaesthetized patient. That is, activity in this area as a whole does not command our muscles to produce any particular gesture or assume any particular posture. Rather, general activity here provides the conditions of general muscle tone, sensory awareness, and mental alertness which will support and color whatever postures and gestures are made. The reticular formation cannot issue the command “raise right arm,” but it does help to establish the trembling tension, the calm readiness, or the sluggishness which will characterize how I raise my arm in response to a situation. To direct these general levels of arousal into particular movements requires the next level of the “old” brain, the basal ganglia—the highest level of sensory and motor organization of the gamma motor system.

My brother and I never suffered for anything other than calm. We were nervous all the time. In fact, our nerves remained on alert for the first eighteen years of our lives until each of us left for college. We simply never knew when our father would explode.

When the mind becomes highly relaxed and alert at the same time, three wonderful qualities of mind naturally emerge: calmness, clarity, and happiness. Here

My shoulders are dropped back, my face is tensed, my eyes narrowed. It is difficult to keep from overdoing it at first, hard to recall how I had managed all those years ago, but I soon find the right register. The trick is to present an outward attitude of alertness, while keeping a calm and observant mood within. And there also has to be the will to be violent, a will that has to be available when it is called for.

There is no reason why mindfulness should be different from focusing all one’s attention on one’s work, to be alert and to be using one’s best judgment. During the moment one is consulting, resolving, and dealing with whatever arises, a calm heart and self-control are necessary if one is to obtain good results. Anyone can see that. If we are not in control of ourselves but instead let our impatience or anger interfere, then our work is no longer of any value.

Zazen-gi cautions us to come out of samadhi calmly and to move the body naturally. It further teaches us how to get to our feet with dignity and what to do after doing so. It writes, “Even after getting out of samadhi, you should always be on the alert to act responsively and protect your power of concentration as you protect a baby. Then, it will be easy for you to cultivate your power of concentration until it comes to maturity.

Along with calm and happy, when we’re anchored in our ventral state, we can be excited, joy filled, aware, engaged, passionate, curious, compassionate, alert, ready, and focused.

And there on the door-step beside the red-headed boy, alert but calm and unmoved, sat the contrast of it all, a creature whose attitude and being flooded Mrs. Abington’s mind with visions of brown fields and gorgeous autumn woods, of men in khaki with guns, of the sudden, startling whir of quail and grouse, of the wide ranging of tireless dogs with a scent more keen than eyesight. He appeared to her as the incarnation of the out-of-doors, the genius of wood and field, the spirit of wide spaces, held prisoner within these walls of brick.

Spoiler alert: The good life is a complicated life. For everybody. The good life is joyful… and challenging. Full of love, but also pain. And it never strictly happens; instead, the good life unfolds, through time. It is a process. It includes turmoil, calm, lightness, burdens, struggles, achievements,

When the psoas muscle is chronically tense, it constantly sends the message: “We are in danger; we are under persistent threat” to the mind. The mind attempts to determine the source of this threat but can’t locate it. It sends a signal to the body that the environment is calm and that the muscle can relax. However, the energy that got “stuck” in the psoas muscle in the moment of shock is too strong and simply can’t just go away and allow the muscle to relax. The muscle becomes “jammed” in tension and continues to send the signal: “We are in danger; we need to stay alert” to the mind. The mind has to listen to this message again and again, which forces it to keep monitoring the environment for danger. As a result, the person develops groundless anxiety; it seems to them that something is threatening them, but they can’t identify what that threat is.

Few skills are more essential than the ability to settle your body. If you can settle your body, you are more likely to be calm, alert, and fully present, no matter what is going on around you.

Because my internal baseline is already so calm, when I take something that’s supposed to just relax me, I doze off. Dr. Perry: Right. You probably have friends who take the same amount that puts you to sleep. Oprah: In some cases, they’re taking twice as much. And I’m thinking, How is everybody not just asleep? But if your baseline stress response is already elevated, you need more anxiety medication to get below your base. So even though people may not appear to be in a state of high alert or anxiety, they are biologically revved up.

I have traveled endlessly around the world for the last three years, been tested countless times, felt unwell many times, but never tested positive, and yet this is the one time I test positive?!? This trip, to visit my aging parents so I can spend some quality time with them in the winter of their years! Really!?! Felicity calmed me down as usual. We called my parents and alerted them. Two days later we got a call that my father was in the hospital with Covid and pneumonia in one lung. They put him on intravenous antibiotics. By the next day he was a bit better, but then they removed the IV and he was told that the pneumonia was Covid induced and that the antibiotics would not work. That was confusing. But they gave him remdesivir to treat the virus. I am very nervous about his condition, especially since I am undoubtedly the one who gave him the virus.

At that moment, One Eight abruptly broke off his comment. I looked ahead to see the top of a dead tree looming in front of the ship. Jones jerked the cyclic stick back into his gut and hauled up the collective nearly out of the floor. The agile little OH-6 literally jumped over the top of the tree. We heard branches brush against the Plexiglas bubble and underside of the fuselage as we blew by. “Holy Shit!” I gasped. Jones calmly went on talking. “You’ve just got to be alert to anything that jumps out at you, including the tops of old, dead trees.

Becoming aware of her presence in the doorway, the men looked up. Westcliff rose from his half-seated position on the desk. “My lord,” Daisy said, “if I might have a word with you?” Although she spoke calmly, something in her expression must have alerted him. He didn’t waste a second in coming to her. “Yes, Daisy?” “It’s about my sister,” she whispered. “It seems her labor has started.” She had never seen the earl look so utterly taken aback. “It’s too early,” he said. “Apparently the baby doesn’t think so.” “But…this is off-schedule.” The earl seemed genuinely baffled that his child would have failed to consult the calendar before arriving. “Not necessarily,” Daisy replied reasonably. “It’s possible the doctor misjudged the date of the baby’s birth. Ultimately it’s only a matter of guesswork.” Westcliff scowled. “I expected far more accuracy than this! It’s nearly a month before the projected…” A new thought occurred to him, and he turned skull-white. “Is the baby premature?” Although Daisy had entertained a few private concerns about that, she shook her head immediately. “Some women show more than others, some less. And my sister is very slender. I’m sure the baby is fine.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “Lillian has had pains for the past four or five hours, and now they’re coming every ten minutes or so, which Annabelle says—” “She’s been in labor for hours and no one told me?” Westcliff demanded in outrage. “Well, it’s not technically labor unless the intervals between the pains are regular, and she said she didn’t want to bother you until—” Westcliff let out a curse that startled Daisy. He turned to point a commanding but unsteady finger at Simon Hunt. “Doctor,” he barked, and took off at a dead run. Simon Hunt appeared unsurprised by Westcliff’s primitive behavior. “Poor fellow,” he said with a slight smile, reaching over the desk to slide a pen back into its holder.

Whoa,” I murmured, trying to calm the animal enough to set it loose, not wanting it to come to harm. I gripped the reins, but the horse, its eyes wild with fear, snapped its head back, catching my hand in the leather strap, and I inhaled sharply from the sting. How long had the poor thing been out here? My senses on full alert, I glanced behind me at the busy street, weighing my options. Seeing no one, I hoisted up my skirt, and unsheathed the dagger I had kept. The instant I cut the reins, the horse bolted past me, almost knocking me over. Its owner would not be happy, but at least the animal would live to see another day. It wasn’t until someone clamped an arm around my waist, seizing the knife, that I realized I was no longer alone. So much for having reliable senses. “Well, aren’t you just incorrigible?” Imprisonment or execution was the punishment for bearing weapons in this new Hytanica. The dagger itself was a small loss, but I had to get away. I brought my elbow back, my mother’s reluctance to let me leave the house flashing like lightning in my brain. If I were arrested, killed, she would never forgive herself, even though she would bear no fault. “Empress, the bruises you’ve given me are too many to count!” I whirled around, dismayed that I had not succeeded in getting the Cokyrian to release me, at the same time recognizing the voice and the curse. Saadi pushed me against the side of the shop, leaning in so close to me that I could feel his breath upon my cheek, and his pale blue eyes stared me into submission. “I can’t call you a horse thief for what you just did,” he told me, glancing after the gelding. “At least, not a very good horse thief. But I can, and I must, bring you in for this little utensil of yours. Some niece of the captain you are.” “Are you going to take me to your sister?” I spat, and he grimaced, contemplating me for an instant before disregarding the barb. Gripping me by the upper arm, he hauled me toward the thoroughfare. “Come on. To the Bastion.” Though my question about Rava appeared to have had its intended effect, I was numb with fear. What if he did take me to her? Rava had been the one to order me lashed for my failed prank, she’d been the one to inflict punishment upon Steldor. It seemed no one could exert control over her, a thought that made me ill. The nearer we came to our destination, the more rapidly my heart beat, and by the time we reached the palace gates, I was again fighting Saadi. “Let…me…go!” I howled, unexpectedly pulling out of his grasp, but one of the Cokyrian sentries caught me, laughing at my plight. “Need some help, Saadi?” the burly man offered, shoving me back at my captor, who was rather slight in comparison to his comrade. “No,” Saadi grumbled and the sentry moved ahead to open the gates for us. As we passed through, the large man called, “Rava is at the city headquarters, minding the peacekeeping force. If you were looking for her, that is.” “I wasn’t.” Even though my circumstances were inarguably bleak, a wave of relief washed over me. She, at least, would not be the one to show me the error of my ways.

Outside, the city glowed, the violence and bustle made calm and beautiful by even such a small distance. The wail of the sirens and angry blat of the security alerts became a kind of music there, transformed by the mystical act of passing above waves.

Finally, on Wednesday, they began to lower the sedation again, and immediately he reached for the ventilator tube and tried to pull it out. “Don’t fight it,” I told him again and again, trying to explain what was happening. I held his hand. The nurse came in and told me they were going to try to take the ventilator out. “Do you want me to stay, or leave you?” I asked him. His eyes were closed, but he put his hand out and rubbed my back. Just for a moment. He’s there! I wanted to shout. Everything’s going to be okay. The antibiotics must be working! I wanted to sing and shout and dance. After the ventilator was out, he began opening his eyes just a crack when someone came in to say hello. And things got even better--he was calm although he was still tied down, and when a friend and Willie came in to say hello, Jep said, “What’s up?” I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Those were the first words I’d heard him say since he’d gone deer hunting. I questioned him a little, wanting to know what he remembered, but he couldn’t talk much and still seemed very sleepy, dozing off every few minutes. Thursday morning was one of the best days of my life because Jep woke up bright-eyed. “Why am I in here? What happened?” he asked. He didn’t remember anything. He looked awake and alert and rested. But I was exhausted, having gotten very little sleep or food and not knowing if Jep would live or die, while he’d been taking the longest nap of his life. We held hands, and though I was exhausted, I was happy. Thursday afternoon he talked a little more and ate a cracker. He was back. Slowly but surely, he was coming back. He knew who I was, so I believed he would know who the kids were. And he started talking more and more. Thank you, Lord, for bringing Jep back to me.

Liss squinted, searching frantically for Angie and Beth and Bradley. She couldn't spot them anywhere. Her chest rose and fell in time with her agitated breathing. What if they were still inside? What if they were trapped? Struggling for calm, Liss told herself that they must have escaped. Angie was scrupulous about changing her smoke-alarm batteries. She and her kids would have had plenty of time to get out. Heck, Angie was probably the one who'd alerted the fire department. But where was she? Where were Beth and Bradley?

But what kind of animal would be this big in these parts of the country? She couldn’t think. A deer? And it was then that she heard a noise behind her, and she was surprised at the noise, because it wasn’t just a howl or a hoot. It was a respiratory noise. A noise of someone, of something breathing in... and then slowly breathing out. Someone big. She turned around. Twenty meters away from her at the edge of the clearing stood a large, dark brown bear on his four legs. His head was tilted to her, his small eyes were unblinking, intensely alert. Tatiana froze. She had never seen a bear. She didn’t know bears lived in these woods. She couldn’t remember if they were carnivores, if they were peaceful, if you needed to make overtures or stand at attention, if you needed to offer them a piece of something, which they would come and eat out of your hand. She didn’t know. She thought any animal that was that wide, that hairy, that four-legged, and that watchful, could not be coming to eat out of her hand. Could a bear outrun her? A bear was not a tiger; could a bear even run? He looked so clumsy and immobile. And he was immobile. He was just standing flat-footed on all fours, his small head raised, his small eyes unblinking. Tatiana smiled. She breathed though her open terrified mouth. Her heart was thundering. The bear breathed too, she could hear him. She didn’t want to do anything to scare him, do anything that might be perceived as threatening. She didn’t want to raise her hands, she didn’t want to step back—or step forward, certainly. She did the only thing she could think of, the only thing she ever did when she didn’t know how to make things better but when she wanted to calm, to comfort, to bring impossible things down to possible. She stood motionlessly and very slowly opened her hands, palms out, as if to say, it’s all right. Why such a fuss? Shh. Please. Bear-baiting.

onto one of the whirly-chairs, zooming around with his arms out, pretending to be an airplane. Zack watched as the rolling chair suddenly tipped backward, and NotGreg bashed his chin against the control board before landing on the floor with a thud. Another loud buzzer sounded, and a woman’s calm, digitized voice came over the air force base’s alert system. “Three minutes until automatic lockdown. Repeat. Three minutes…” “You moron!” Ozzie cussed, tapping frantically at the keyboard. NotGreg’s head tilted to the side. His eyes shut and he conked out on the floor. Zack knelt down, trying to shake him awake. “Ozzie,” Zack said. “Do that thing you did to me with the smelly salts.

The limbic system is, in turn, connected to the pituitary gland and the hypothalamus, which controls the release of hormones that affect one’s nervous system, appetite, body temperature, concentration, and stress levels. Essential oils interact with the limbic system by providing input that activates the hypothalamus, instructing it to release neurochemicals to calm, relax, or stimulate the body. This is why aromatherapy can play such an important part in stress reduction, appetite control, increasing alertness, and much more. Whether essential oils are deeply inhaled or applied to the skin, the odor molecules travel straight to the appropriate limbic destination, where neurochemicals instruct the body to respond as desired.

So life seemed to be slipping back into the ordinary rhythm of Dexter’s Dull Days, hour plodding calmly into boring hour with no threat of any kind, no variation in routine, no sign of change at all, at work or at home. Nothing but more of the same. I knew it was coming, but every day that it did not come seemed to make it less likely that it would come at all. Very stupid, I know, but it was—dare I say it?—entirely human of me. No one can stay on high alert around the clock, endlessly, day after day. Not even the Ever-vigilant Dark Scout, Dexter. Not when ordinary synthetic reality was so seductive. And

True meditation is a state of profound and deep peace that comes when the mind is calm and silent, yet totally alert. True meditation takes you to a higher state of awareness and enables you to fulfill who you were meant to be.

There is a man who travels around the world trying to find places where you can stand still and hear no human sound. It is impossible to feel calm in cities, he believes, because we so rarely hear birdsong there. Our ears evolved to be our warning systems. We are on high alert in places where no birds sing. To live in a city is to be forever flinching.

A coyote wailed, the sound sending a shiver up Loretta’s spine. She cocked an ear, listening. “I hope that’s what it sounds like and not an Injun,” Mrs. Cortwell whispered. “It’s likely a coyote,” Mrs. Spangler replied. “Look at that there moon, would ya? Of course, it’s a good moon for killin’, too. A Comanche moon, my man calls it.” The fire popped, and Mrs. Shaney leaped. “Lawzy, my nerves is frayed.” The coyote yipped again, his cry trailing skyward, mournful and lonely. Loretta stood up, her heartbeat quickening. “What is it?” Mrs. Spangler cried. Mrs. Cortwell pressed a hand to her throat. “Oh, Lord. It is Injuns!” She jumped to her feet. “Matthew! Matthew Cortwell, where’d you git off to? There’s Injuns out there!” “They won’t hurt you,” Loretta said softly. “Just stay calm, Mrs. Cortwell.” “It’s fine for you to say, you Comanche slut!” Loretta spun on her heel and left the fire. Alerted by Mrs. Cortwell’s cries, Uncle Henry came out from the buckboard and intercepted her. “Don’t even think it, Loretta Jane.” “That’s Hunter out there, Uncle Henry.” “You don’t know that. You wanna part with you hair, girl?” He seized her arm. “Not only that, but you gotta think about us and how it looks.” Several other men gathered around. Loretta glanced at their taut faces, feeling trapped. She heard the coyote again. Hunter. “I’m going. He’s out there calling me, and I’m going.

few deep breaths returned a slight calm to his frayed nerves. Aware any noise he made would alert the monster to his position, he proceeded cautiously. The blood seeping from his wounds caused him to wonder if the monster would be able to smell it above the overpowering stink of rotting vegetation. A terrifying screech diverted his attention. It had sounded close by. The Hunter was coming. A whimper halted his reaction to flee in the opposite direction. It

GODMAN QUOTES 20 ***Remarkable*** Idle words speak no man who is busy with his duty. There is no dessert (food) in arid land. Anger of a hungry man rests in a meal that calms his soul from famine. What bequeaths a corpse is a canker that feeds on the flesh. In latter days of trouble there is a piece to mind in a peace of mind. Broken hearts takes amends from words of great consolation. In words of consolation you find solace in trying times. Shattered dreams speak from sleep. Best seats are upright when the notion is to sit with alertness. To bring reality to focus you must amend the past that brings your focus to reality.

Afterward, I looked over the printout of my bodily responses with a profound sense of wonder. I could see that the paper was covered with jagged lines that traced my spiking heartbeat and panting breath as the red alert of risk swept through my body. But the reflective areas of my brain never had a clue that I was on edge. So far as I “knew,” I was doing nothing more than calmly trying to make a few bucks by picking cards.

STRATEGY: MINDFUL MOVEMENT Use the simple act of mindful walking to ground yourself into the here and now and to let go of or decrease the intensity of obsessive thinking. You can do this anywhere and at any time—walking to your car, walking around the grocery store, walking around your neighborhood, or walking to work. While walking, focus less on your thinking self and more on your physical experience. For example, what does your foot feel like as you lift it and lower it to the ground? How do your arms feel as you move? Try to feel the earth from within your body. What is that sensation like? Does the sole of your foot on the ground feel heavy? Can you make it soft? Explore each of your senses. Notice what you feel on your skin; is the air hot or cool? Do you smell anything as you inhale and exhale? Simply observe any sounds you hear. Notice what you see. You are here in this moment; feel your presence and your alert state of mind. With each step, mindfully breathe in, and breathe out. Count your steps as you inhale and as you exhale. How many steps does it take as you inhale? How many as you exhale? Keep your attention on the steps and your breathing. Each time you become aware of your mind drifting, gently bring your attention back to observing what it feels like in your body to walk. There is no rush; all that matters in this moment is to be aware of your body as it glides through space.

Just as thoughts of love and endearment float like fireflies beneath the surface of my skin, they drop from my being entirely when I see a black figure pass the window adjacent to him. Before I can even alert him to the sight, I see his head turn ever so slightly, somehow hearing the footsteps outside the window. He turns to face me, shirtless, wearing only his black jeans as his direct eye contact demands mine. He stares with a wild, protective nature while holding a single finger to his lips, silencing me. My pulse pounds in my neck, a cyclone of terror hitting me in the gut, and yet he looks entirely too calm. The rest of his fingers raise as he holds out a palm, telling me to stay put. I curse beneath my breath, closing my eyes tightly as the door to the bedroom bursts open. Aero rests in the shadows behind the door while I stand near the wall of the bathroom, holding my breath as my eyes slowly open to the mirror, seeing the reflection of the intruder in our private space. As if knowing to clear the room, the masked man grips the edge of the door, about to peer behind it where Aero’s standing. I throw my wooden brush against the glass of the mirror, causing it to shatter entirely, stealing his attention, if only for a second. The man turns, seeing my form standing in the bathroom’s light. Taking quick strides towards me, I squint my eyes, expecting to be knocked off my ass by the approaching man. Aero emerges from the shadows without a sound. With a belt he grabbed from somewhere, he wraps it around the intruder’s neck, jetting the man back against his solid bare chest. The man’s eyes bulge beneath the cutout of the mask, his fingers clawing at the flesh of Aero’s flexed forearms as his grip tightens. Legs splay and kick out as the man slowly sinks to the ground, the seconds ticking away like minutes as I watch the life drain from him.

As in the tribal republics, there was no autocratic rule, but decisions were made in common. King Pasenedi of Koshala was greatly impressed by the “smiling and courteous” demeanor of the monks, “alert, calm and unflustered, living on alms, their minds remaining as gentle as wild deer.

Most often the ability to combine the correct tone, inflection, and volume (TIV) with your words is natural and easy in everyday life. But when we’re in an uncomfortable situation, our emotions can get the best of us and cause the combination to be off-balance. Although the words we choose are important, the way we say them can be more important. Our body language also plays a big part in the message we convey. A great example of how all of these pieces (voice [TIV], words, body language) play a role in our demeanor is to observe how a child responds to a situation. It’s so easy to tell when children are mad, sad, or happy. They absolutely wear their emotions on their sleeves. Your collective demeanor (body language, eye contact, facial expression, voice [TIV]) should match the message you want to convey in all situations. 1. Body Language: Posture should be relaxed, but alert and confident. Stand with your feet slightly staggered (one foot slightly ahead of the other) about shoulder-width apart, with your weight evenly distributed over both feet. Keep your back straight, your head up, and your hands up in front of you in some fashion. Avoid folding your arms or having your hands in your pockets. Also avoid shifting your weight from side to side or pacing because this conveys you’re nervous. 2. Eye Contact: Maintain eye contact—not a hard gaze, which can be threatening, but look people in the eye. Avoid averting your gaze, which can be interpreted as an expression of fear, lack of interest, disregard, or rejection. 3. Facial Expression: Keep a relaxed face and a composed expression. A calm, attentive expression reduces hostility. Conversely, looking bored or disapproving could increase hostility. 4. Voice: Correct use of tone, inflection, and volume is essential to convey the right message of confidence or assertiveness as needed.

Honus took out his healing kit, and set a pot of water to boil. “When the water’s ready,” he said, “I’ll tend your wound.”   Yim touched the cut on her chin. “Is it bad?”   Honus peered at it in the firelight. “No, but you’ll have a scar.”   Yim smiled wryly. “I’m catching up with your collection.”   “I’m keeping apace with you,” replied Honus.   For the first time, Yim noticed that Honus’s shirtsleeve was torn and blood-soaked. She gasped. “Honus! Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?”   “I didn’t wish to trouble you. Besides, it’s not deep.” He rolled up his right sleeve to reveal a bloody gash on his forearm.   When the water boiled, Honus poured some into a wooden bowl and added powder from a vial in his healing kit. After cleaning the blood from Yim’s face, he wetted a cloth with the solution in the bowl. “This will sting,” he said.   “I remember,” replied Yim. She winced as the solution foamed inside her cut. Glimpsing the concern in Honus’s eyes, she tried to hide her pain. She took a deep breath and said, “I’m glad that’s over.”   Honus cleaned the gash on his arm with the same solution, then asked, “Would you stitch my wound closed? I’d rather not do it left-handed.”   “I’ll try,” said Yim, “but I’ve never done the like before.”   “It’s not hard, and I’m certain your dainty fingers will do finer work than Theodus’s thick ones ever managed.”   “Before you malign his stitching, you should compare it to mine,” said Yim. “As a girl, I was more adept with goats than needlework.”   “Then pretend I’m a goat.”   Honus took out a curved needle and a strand of gut from his kit and dipped them in the cleansin g solution. He declined Yim’s suggestion to prepare a brew for his pain, stating he wanted to stay alert. When Yim nervously sewed his wound, he was absolutely stoic. He guided her stitching calmly, tensing only slightly each time the needle pierced his flesh. The only evidence of his pain was the deep breath he took when Yim was done. Honus gazed at his stitches and smiled. “You underestimate your skill.”   “I’m glad you’re so easily pleased,” Yim replied. “The woman who raised me would’ve made me tear out the seam and restitch it.”   Honus winced. “Let’s talk of food, instead,” he said quickly. “Perhaps this would be a good night to have that cheese we were saving.”   “To celebrate our new scars?’   “To celebrate we’re both alive.

The moment you know your thoughts are getting beyond control, alert your mind immediately. Say STOP yourself and calm down. Then take 7-11 deep breaths, and when you take your breaths, don't just think about it. Experts recommend a minimum of 90 seconds of deep breathing. Deep breaths help to divert the mind for a moment from uncontrolled thinking and extend a breather so that with a clearer mind you can re-think. The whole process will allow you to block the unwanted thoughts and only allow what you "should" believe.

Sad but sometimes clever" Difficult to describe my sadness; It broadens the vibe of madness; Yet not all proscribe of alertness; Running the bribe awkwardness; I knew people ascribe bitterness; Not good, step imbibe blindness; My mouth diatribe I do calmness; Hush feels jibe in our cleverness;

One must deal with every kind of hardship, every moment keeping one’s attention focused on the work, alert, ready to handle the situation ably and intelligently. You might well ask: Then how are we to practice mindfulness? My answer is: keep your attention focused on the work, be alert and ready to handle any situation which may arise—this is mindfulness. There is no reason why mindfulness should be different from focusing all one’s attention on one’s work, to be alert and to be using one’s best judgement. During the moment one is consulting, resolving, and dealing with whatever arises, a calm heart and self-control and necessary if one is to obtain good results. Anyone can see that. If we are not in control of ourselves but instead let our impatience or anger interfere, then our work is no longer of any value.

I gave you everything," Hal shouted. "No, you took everything!" she yelled back. "You took my name away!" Hal looked as bewildered as if she'd slapped him. Then his jolly, reasonable look was back, the mask once again in place. "Daisy," he said, his voice calm. "That's not my name!" she shrieked. He reached out to put his hands on her shoulders, as he'd done so many times before, to hold her still, to instruct her, and in her head she ducked and saw Hal stumbling forward, grabbing for the wobbly post, the one that had never been repaired. She saw his feet skid on the slick surface of the deck, saw his arms pinwheeling, hands groping, reaching for her, for help that wouldn't come. She saw him fall, thudding down one, two, three, four, five, six flights of stairs, to lie, broken and motionless, on the sand, limbs twisted, eyes open to the rain. She saw herself look down at him, seeing nothing but a male body around a man-shaped void. Not a man at all, but a creature with cold, flat eyes, a monster with instincts for self-preservation and a species of low cunning, but not a man, not a person who had loved her, or anyone.

There are people approaching the camp,” he said in his flat voice, green eyes calm but alert. “One of them is big. And purple.

when your spirit is guiding the way, your body feels relaxed and open, even expansive, like you have a little more internal room to breathe. You also tend to feel somewhat playful and spontaneous. Your mind is generally quiet, and you feel at ease and fully present. You are not focused on the future or the past. You can easily see the humor in things and laughing comes easily. Because your heart is open, you also tend to be more forgiving, tolerant, and compassionate toward others, and don’t easily take offense. You quickly tune in to solutions to problems or at least have confidence that solutions will show up. Even when your spirit warns you of a need to change course or alerts you to danger, you tend to be calm and centered instead of feeling agitated, confused, or ambivalent.

Alison Wood Brooks, an associate professor at Harvard Business School, had a different notion of how to handle nervousness. In a series of three studies, she subjected groups of people to experiences that most everyone would find nerve-racking: completing “a very difficult IQ test” administered “under time pressure”; delivering, on the spot, “a persuasive public speech about ‘why you are a good work partner’ ”; and most excruciating of all, belting out an 80s pop song (“Don’t Stop Believin’,” by Journey). Before beginning the activity, participants were to direct themselves to stay calm, or to tell themselves that they were excited. Reappraising nervousness as excitement yielded a noticeable difference in performance. The IQ test takers scored significantly higher. The speech givers came across as more persuasive, competent, and confident. Even the singers performed more passably (as judged by the Nintendo Wii Karaoke Revolution program they used). All reported genuinely feeling the pleasurable emotion of excitement—a remarkable shift away from the unpleasant discomfort such activities might be expected to engender. In a similar fashion, we can choose to reappraise debilitating “stress” as productive “coping.” A 2010 study carried out with Boston-area undergraduates looked at what happens when people facing a stressful experience are informed about the positive effects of stress on our thinking—that is, the way it can make us more alert and more motivated. Before taking the GRE, the admissions exam for graduate school, one group of students was given the following message to read: “People think that feeling anxious while taking a standardized test will make them do poorly on the test. However, recent research suggests that arousal doesn’t hurt performance on these tests and can even help performance. People who feel anxious during a test might actually do better. This means that you shouldn’t feel concerned if you do feel anxious while taking today’s GRE test. If you find yourself feeling anxious, simply remind yourself that your arousal could be helping you do well.” A second group received no such message before taking the exam. Three months later, when the students’ GRE scores were released, the students who had been encouraged to reappraise their feelings of stress scored an average of 65 points higher.

Startled once for all out of the early calm, the serene untroubled youthful life which lies behind her in the past, Menie feels the change very hard and sore as she realises it; — from doing nought for her own comfort — from the loving sweet dependence upon others, to which her child’s heart has been accustomed — suddenly, without pause or preparation, to learn that all must depend upon herself, — to have the ghost of strife and discord, where such full harmony was wont to be, — to feel the two great loves of her nature — the loves which heretofore, in her own innocent and unsuspicious apprehension, have but strengthened and deepened each the other — set forth in antagonism, love against love, and her own heart the battle-ground. Shrinking and failing one moment, longing vainly to flee away — away anywhere into the utmost desolation, if only it were out of this conflict, — the next resolving, with such strong throbs and beatings of her heart, to take up her burden cordially, to be ever awake and alert, to subdue this giant difficulty with the force of her own strong love and ceaseless tenderness

From chapter 3, Attention Starts with the Breath (page 19): Your breath can tell you a lot of things. It can tell you whether you are tense, calm, or restless; whether you are holding your breath or letting it flow freely. As soon as you start observing the movement of your breath, you become more aware of your inner world, more alert to the here and now. It is also a first step toward developing concentration.

je ne sais quoi (literally “I don't know what”) some people have that animation activated active ingredients in their character that oozes charm and sophistication and this comes naturally as the sun rises, it is within themselves that is alert, dynamic, elated and energized, like a rainbow appearing across the sky from nowhere, that je ne sais quoi that is enthusiastic, excited, happy and passionate, with a quick charm and elegance that controls the moment with joy calmness and beauty, the quality of being audacious without arrogance, being courageous without belittling others, it is a quality that no money can buy, no school can teach and no one can take away from you" Kenan Hudaverdi, 02.08.2018

The traumatised child learns that only it can protect itself. It must assume control, stay on high alert, scan the room, survive. These factory settings are not like the brightness of a picture or the volume of a television. These children are wired for danger and a few years in a loving home will not reset them. They need parenting in a different way, so that they can learn they are good and lovable, so that the shame of their early years is eased, so that they can experience calm and start to learn from new experiences.

Set your timer for 3 minutes. Close your eyes and begin to count your breaths. When the timer alerts you that 3 minutes have passed, make a mental note of the number of breaths you took. Continue to sit for another minute or so and take notice of how you feel. Be careful not to impose ideas about how you think you should feel. Be honest. This is important.

Andrew in his head has an image of a mouth larger than Andrew’s head and the mouth is laughing. Sometimes reading or watching TV Andrew recognizes that a thing is meant to be funny and hears this laughter, in his head, then feels that his face is very calm and neutral, like a hamster’s. At night sometimes Andrew’s heart beats fast and his thoughts are illogical and wild. In bed he looks at the ceiling and feels excited and alert, and can’t understand why he, or anything, exists.

As we discussed in chapter 4, on a day-to-day basis it’s considered normal to take drugs to change our brain chemistry – we drink coffee to make us more alert, alcohol to calm us down and take painkillers when we hurt ourselves. Using drugs on prescription for longer-term problems is safer than self-medicating with “recreational” drugs because the former have been through extensive trials to establish safe dosage, and because your doctor can monitor your drug use.

Table 1.1: Canine Body Language Body Part Position What It Can Mean Eyes Unwavering, fixed stare Challenge, threat, confident Casual gaze Calm Averted gaze Deference Pupils dilated (big, wide) Fear Wide-eyed (whites of the eyes are visible) Fear Quick, darting eyes Fear Ears Relaxed, neutral position Calm Forward, pricked Alert, attentive, or aggressive Ears pinned back Fear, defensive Mouth Panting Hot, anxious, or excited Lip licking, tongue flicking Anxious Yawn Tired or anxious Snarl (lip curled, showing teeth) Aggressive Growl Aggressive, or playful Bark Reactive, excited, playful, aggressive, or anxious Tail Up, still Alert Up with fast wag Excited Neutral, relaxed position Calm Down, tucked Fear, anxious, or submissive Stiff-wagging or still and high Agitated, excited, and perhaps unfriendly Body carriage Soft, relaxed Calm Tense, stiff Alert or aggressive Hackles up Alert or aggressive Rolling over Submissive

Then she let Bear stride her into the stream, feeling the cold, rushing pressure of the water, and the slither of wet, weed-covered stones under her feet. At first, the cold was pleasant, but after a while it started to bite. Her mind fidgeted as well, thinking of time lost and pursuers behind them. Bear, on the other hand, was patient as a mountain. After a while Makepeace was infected with his alert calm. The pain of the cold water became simply something that was, like the blue of the sky. Her mind-fidgets eased.

Here we not only use static security but also dynamic security,” he tells me. Static security is the traditional methodology of correctional facilities, made up of physical measures (high walls, alarm systems, bars) and also monitoring practices (cameras, observation, supervised visitation, cell and body searches, prisoner counts). Dynamic security, in contrast, is based in the interpersonal relationships and interactions between prisoners and prison employees. Høidal points to a prison officer and an inmate working together on a piece of furniture, the officer holding the base of a chair while the prisoner fits a leg onto it. “The relationship between staff and inmates is the most important part. “The prison officers and the prisoners are together all day,” Høidal explains. “Officers are in the workshops and in the living units, but everyone also eats meals together. They take leisure together. They do activities together.” In addition, 50 percent of the prison officers at Halden are female. And not one of them—male or female—is armed. “Knowing the inmates is the best security,” he continues. That way officers can be on alert if a man is behaving oddly—if he appears to be agitated or is becoming angry, they notice it, because they know that man. Know what it looks like when he is calm and know what it looks like when he begins to rev up.

• I have strong power of concentration. • I am focused. • I easily focus on any task or activity I choose. • My mind is alert and attentive. • My mind stays on tasks and activities without wandering. • I pay attention. It is easy for me to pay attention. I enjoy paying attention. • I calmly focus my full attention on tasks at hand. • My thoughts are controlled and organized. • I am free from mental clutter and distractions. • I naturally ignore distractions. • I can concentrate on any chore, assignment, errand, goal, or project with ease. • My mind is aware and observant at all times. It pays attention to what it reads, hears, and sees. • I hear everything that is said in conversations with others. • I register every sentence of any material I read. • I pick up everything that I hear or see. When

There are books for when you’re bored. Plenty of them. There are books for when you’re calm. The best kind, in my opinion. There are also books for when you’re sad. And there are books for when you’re happy. There are books for when you’re thirsty for knowledge. And there are books for when you’re desperate. The latter are the kind of books Ulises Lima and Belano wanted to write. A serious mistake, as we’ll soon see. Let’s take, for example, an average reader, a cool-headed, mature, educated man leading a more or less healthy life. A man who buys books and literary magazines. So there you have him. This man can read things that are written for when you’re calm, but he can also read any other kind of book with a critical eye, dispassionately, without absurd or regrettable complicity. That’s how I see it. I hope I’m not offending anyone. Now let’s take the desperate reader, who is presumably the audience for the literature of desperation. What do we see? First: the reader is an adolescent or an immature adult, insecure, all nerves. He’s the kind of fucking idiot (pardon my language) who committed suicide after reading Werther. Second: he’s a limited reader. Why limited? That’s easy: because he can only read the literature of desperation, or books for the desperate, which amounts to the same thing, the kind of person or freak who’s unable to read all the way through In Search of Lost Time, for example, or The Magic Mountain (a paradigm of calm, serene, complete literature, in my humble opinion), or for that matter, Les Misérables or War and Peace. Am I making myself clear? Good. So I talked to them, told them, warned them, alerted them to the dangers they were facing. It was like talking to a wall. Furthermore: desperate readers are like the California gold mines. Sooner or later they’re exhausted! Why? It’s obvious! One can’t live one’s whole life in desperation. In the end the body rebels, the pain becomes unbearable, lucidity gushes out in great cold spurts. The desperate reader (and especially the desperate poetry reader, who is insufferable, believe me) ends up by turning away from books. Inevitably he ends up becoming just plain desperate. Or he’s cured! And then, as part of the regenerative process, he returns slowly—as if wrapped in swaddling clothes, as if under a rain of dissolved sedatives—he returns, as I was saying, to a literature written for cool, serene readers, with their heads set firmly on their shoulders. This is what’s called (by me, if nobody else) the passage from adolescence to adulthood.

The Minnesota State Weather observer at Pine River Dam recorded a minimum temperature of 46 below on December 29; observers at Pokegama Falls and Leech Lake Dam were unable to take temperature readings that day because the mercury inside their government-issued thermometers froze solid. It's hard to find vocabulary for weather this cold. The senses first become sharp and then dulled. Objects etch themselves with hyperclarity on the dense air, but it's hard to keep your eyes open to look at them steadily. When you first step outside from a heated space, the blast from 46-below-zero air clears the mind like a ringing slap. After a breath or two, ice builds up on the hairs of your nasal passages and the clear film bathing your eyeballs thickens. If the wind is calm and your body, head, and hands are covered, you feel preternaturally alert and focused. At first. A dozen paces from the door, your throat begins to feel raw, your lips dry and crack, tears sting the corners of your eyes. The cold becomes at once a knife and, paradoxically, a flame, cutting and scorching exposed skin.

Leo Tolstoy was fond of an old eastern fable that describes the mysterious way that even tragedy lures us back to life. His story is about a traveler on the steppes who was surprised by a rampaging tiger. The traveler ran for his life, but the beast was gaining on him, so he leapt into a dried-up well, which roused a dragon that had been sleeping on the bottom. As the traveler fell, he was alert enough to grab on to a single, slim branch growing between the cracks of the bricks in the well. There he clung for his life—above him the tiger roaring, below him the dragon snapping its jaws. The traveler's arms grew tired, and he knew it was only a matter of time before the tiger swiped at him from above or he fell to his death. Stubbornly, he held on. The moment he began to hope for a way out, he noticed two mice, one black, one white, gnawing away at either side of the tender branch he clung to. His time was almost up. Surely, he would die soon. Then a glint of sunlight fell on the wall of the well. The traveler's eyes widened. There on the leaves of the bush were drops of honey. He felt a rush of happiness and with the few moments he had left, he calmly stretched out his tongue and tasted the precious honey. Imagine the time you have spent working your way through the labyrinth of your travels. What was chasing you? What stares up at you from below? Are there no drops of honey on the leaves right before your eyes?

We can never properly be secure, because so long as we are alive, we will be alert to danger and, in some way, at risk. The only people with full security are the dead; the only people who can be truly at peace are under the ground. Cemeteries are the only definitively calm places around.

A Community in Conversation Last week I went to the Chill Out and Proud festival to sell my books of poetry. It was not my first gay pride festival, but it was Somerset’s. There are a few observations that I had this particular day. My observations have very little to do with morality and more to do with wanting to live in a community that can communicate. My first observation was that my family and I were on high alert and felt a sense of fear for the first time in my life in the town of Somerset. It was not the people attending the festival that left us feeling uneasy, but rather the protestors. My second observation is that there were two groups of what would seem to be opposites, Christians and Neo Nazi white supremacists, standing side by side holding signs and yelling into an otherwise quiet and peaceful group of citizens. I understand everyone’s right to protest and be heard but the method of communicating our differences should be a checkpoint of self reflection. I had a calm conversation with one of the protesters who approached me. I asked him to consider that yelling at people might result in them putting their guards up, increasing the tension, and in turn, people yelling back. It’s a cyclical deterioration where no one hears or understands one another. Anger and fear are the brothers that are born of this kind of relationship. I would say the same to those who yell back at the protesters. We are going to be a community of diverse people who do not think the same or live the same lifestyle, but if we are going to live together peaceably, we need to find a better way to disagree. My last observation is that the protestor also asked me why I was there, did I have a family member who is gay? He stated, “You don’t just come to these things for no reason”. I replied, “Honestly, I did start going and taking my family to gay pride festivals just to be amongst other cultures. It’s good to get to know people who are different from yourself.” The world’s a big place and you may find that you have more in common with people than you think or, in this case, that you know more gay people than you think. I would like to say the same to you. Somerset is a lot more diverse than you think and we have a lot more in common than you think. The only way we will love our neighbor as ourselves is by getting to know our neighbors, even in the midst of our differences. Protesting often times takes a stance of offense; a form of violence that may not always be physical but is a form of violence all the same. Everyone has the right to be heard, but only if they are willing to really listen to others in an attempt to understand. As an atheist, I have never stood outside a church and disrupted their gathering, although I am willing to have a conversation about how my journey brought me here and how you have come to this point. For me to enter a gathering and protest is an offensive move that would cause the people involved to put up walls. It would not be welcomed and I would not do it. It would be a hindrance to us actually knowing and understanding each other. The only way to truly know someone is by being with them, by conversation. We will not agree. There are too many of us and if we agreed on every point of life then that would be another checkpoint for self reflection. I am just asking us to practice a certain amount of hospitality no matter your beliefs about each other, whether gay or straight; whether Christian, Agnostic, or Atheist; whether Democrat, Republican, or Democratic Socialist; whether you’re the protestor or the protested against; in person or on Facebook, let us contemplate mindful listening, empathy, patience, kindness, and the well-being of people who are different than yourself. Eric Overby Eric_o_84@hotmail.com

How we are likely to feel when our needs are being met absorbed adventurous affectionate alert alive amazed amused animated appreciative ardent aroused astonished blissful breathless buoyant calm carefree cheerful comfortable complacent composed concerned confident contented cool curious dazzled delighted eager ebullient ecstatic effervescent elated enchanted encouraged energetic engrossed enlivened enthusiastic excited exhilarated expansive expectant exultant fascinated free friendly fulfilled glad gleeful glorious glowing good-humored grateful gratified happy helpful hopeful inquisitive inspired intense interested intrigued invigorated involved joyous, joyful jubilant keyed-up loving mellow merry mirthful moved optimistic overjoyed overwhelmed peaceful perky pleasant pleased proud quiet radiant rapturous refreshed relaxed relieved satisfied secure sensitive serene spellbound splendid stimulated surprised tender thankful thrilled touched tranquil trusting upbeat warm wide-awake wonderful zestful How we are likely to feel when our needs are not being met afraid aggravated agitated alarmed aloof angry anguished annoyed anxious apathetic apprehensive aroused ashamed beat bewildered bitter blah blue bored brokenhearted chagrined cold concerned confused cool cross dejected depressed despairing despondent detached disaffected disappointed discouraged disenchanted disgruntled disgusted disheartened dismayed displeased disquieted distressed disturbed downcast downhearted dull edgy embarrassed embittered exasperated exhausted fatigued fearful fidgety forlorn frightened frustrated furious gloomy guilty harried heavy helpless hesitant horrible horrified hostile hot humdrum hurt impatient indifferent intense irate irked irritated jealous jittery keyed-up lazy leery lethargic listless lonely mad mean miserable mopey morose mournful nervous nettled numb overwhelmed panicky passive perplexed pessimistic puzzled rancorous reluctant repelled resentful restless sad scared sensitive shaky shocked skeptical sleepy sorrowful sorry spiritless startled surprised suspicious tepid terrified tired troubled uncomfortable unconcerned uneasy unglued unhappy unnerved unsteady upset uptight vexed weary wistful withdrawn woeful worried wretched Summary

Jim seems so rational, systematic - it must be the scientist in him - but there's an artist's passion about him too. He's also calm, reassuring company, until something slips and he's on edge like a wild animal: furtive, alert

So I get to spend my first night with you, huh?” A blush heated her cheeks. Though she doubted Agent Hennessey felt any real discomfort just now, she could not believe he had the audacity to flirt with her. “In a manner of speaking,” she said calmly. The man could very well be feeling a bit loose-tongued. He might not mean to flirt. He made a sound in his chest, a laugh perhaps. “I’ve been dying to get you all to myself ever since that night,” he mumbled. Taken aback, Elizabeth reminded herself that he probably wouldn’t even remember anything he said. Ignoring the remark was likely the best course. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean to let that slip out.” She’d suspected as much. Swiping her hands on her thighs, she sat back, relaxed her shoulders against the empty shelves behind her. “That’s all right, Agent Hennessey,” she allowed, “most patients say more than they mean to when on heavy-duty painkillers.” He licked his lips and groaned. The doctor in her went on immediate alert. “Are you feeling pain now, Agent Hennessey?” Surely not. He’d been dosed half an hour prior to their departure. He inhaled a big breath. “No way, Doc. I’m flying over here.” He blinked a few times then turned his head slowly to look at her. “God, you’re gorgeous, did you know that?” Elizabeth sat a little straighter, tugged at the collar of her blouse to occupy her hands. “You might want to get some more sleep, Hennessey, before you say something you’ll regret.” “Too late, right?” He made another of those rumbling sounds that were likely an attempt at chuckling. “No big deal.” He waved a hand dismissively. “You already know how gorgeous you are.

Anxiety is our friend, not our enemy. Even when anxiety is severe and out of control, it’s still our friend because it’s telling us something seriously needs addressing in order for us to survive and thrive, even if that severe anxiety is a sign that our alerting system is unnecessarily working overtime or even ‘malfunctioning’ of sorts.