Earn Your Chill
And I'll Earn Mine
I’m two days late, oops. Here’s something a little unserious to take the edge off.
Rane has a saying that we use when talking about settling in. We call it “earning our chill.” Anyone who has gotten a little too high knows what this means. On psychedelics this is surviving the nauseating “maybe I have to poop, maybe I have to vomit, maybe I am going to have an anxious meltdown” feeling that arrives in waves during the come-up. When smoking weed this may be a moment where you start to overthink simple conversations and suddenly you are a socially awkward turtle craving the safety of your shell.
If you don’t have an anxious bone in your body or have never had a difficult come-up, bless your sweet golden retriever heart. Please read on as this still pertains to you. For all those “My Body is a Temple” people out there who could never imagine putting your body or mind through the abuses I have subjected my own to over the past 31 years, fear not. While this saying was created because of the use of drugs, it applies to life in all sorts of non-drug-related situations.
Us humans are designed to fear, or (at the very least) resist change. When met with change we are forced to transition into our new reality. This transition period is neither here nor there. The hardest part of getting in the ocean is the actual getting in part. Once you adjust to the cold, it isn’t nearly so bad.
The hard part is often the transition. I say often because I hesitate to ever write in absolutes. The hardest part of swimming in a freezing cold river could arguably be when your limbs stop working from hypothermia and you get swept away never to be seen again. And while I’m on the subject, anyone telling you anything in absolutes, especially the stuffy overthinking writer-types like myself, should be ignored or at least not taken seriously. That especially applies on this platform.
I digress.
The hardest part is often the transition. Or as my hip Gen-Z child bride fiancé likes to say, the part “where you earn your chill.”
Here is something I will admit right here and now, to all of you dedicated readers. I am god-awful at transitions. I thrash around in the cold water like a cat in a bath all claws and pointy elbows and teeth and panic. It takes me an absurd amount of time to chill the fuck out.
This is a problem as most of one’s life is constant change, and my life in particular is still dominated by fluctuating seasonal work. I’ll work weeks at a time, traveling to this place and that, working long hours without a single day’s rest and then everything will abruptly stop and I will suddenly have all the time in the world to do nothing but think about my place in the universe. Hence the existential crisis that came in the fall.
Then, just when I get used to a life where work is but a whimsical idea floating around like a butterfly, boom. I am back to work as a moth, surrounded by blinding lights.
Of course, I have done this to myself. I have chosen this lifestyle and continue to choose this lifestyle. If I wanted a regular job with a routine I could have this thing. Regardless, you would think if I have been maintaining this lifestyle for over a decade I would be better at transitions. But no. Through every transition I am as frightened and confused as a chicken on a semi-truck blaring down the highway.
This trip to Morocco has been no different. I spent the last two weeks roaming around rural Morocco biting my nails and holding onto the stresses of my home life because that was my body’s only tether to familiarity. That, and the stress had become routine. Habituated.
Just like any transition, though, it is hard to have clarity when you are in it.
If I may continue to use this same water metaphor, beating it like a wet horse, then there are a few approaches to getting in. You can dip your toes, slowly adjusting as you go. Then, having tested the water, you can decide to proceed at your desired rate. Perhaps continuing slow and cautious, or maybe you just want to get it over with and dunk your head.
Or, of course, you could fling yourself from the highest point and hope for the best. I’m sure, by now, you could imagine what type I am.
The flinging type. I’m the flinging type.
During this transitional phase you can’t really think about anything else except the cold water. You know it will be over soon, or that you’ll get used to it, but your mind fixates on the sucky part. The “I don’t like this” part.
Eventually, though, the transition period ends and you think, “oh that really wasn’t so bad.” Then, because we are human, we look to our friends who are currently dipping their toes in and shout, “It’s not so bad once you’re in!” Knowing full well that they, just like you, have to come to that conclusion on their own.
If you want to give me a quiet nod of approval you can click or tap that little heart down there to like this post. If you are feeling extra sweet share it with a friend or restack a quote that resonated. My favorite way to say thanks is to say hello in the comments below. Connection is what all us writers are after anyway.
And if you are feeling extra sweet, you can fund my sweets addiction currently fueled by the pastry shop on the corner.
Hello
Or you could be held by your wrists and slowly lowered into the water...