Microdosing Peace

Why can't I get no satisfaction?

Put on pajamas. Pile clothes on the floor (too tired to put them away). Brush teeth (too tired to floss). Wash face in cold water (too tired to wait for it to get hot, and most days, for soap). Snap in retainer. Grunt goodnight to my spouse (too tired for meaningful conversation). Ooze into bed, flip off the light (too tired to journal, or read). Put in an earbud, wait to be woken before dawn.

That is my nightly routine of late. Every time it happens, I am flooded with discontent. At a surface level, lack of sleep is clearly to blame: I finish the day feeling like I made nothing of it and knowing that in nowhere-near-enough hours, I will wake to fail to do it all again. But even in a well-rested world, discontent is often my default state. I wear it as a badge of honor. I wrote on my Substack About page that I am “made of longing”. I crave the constant bettering of myself and every facet of the world around me. In many ways, I am proud of my hunger, because it keeps me seeking, spying, and moving toward beauty, justice, and love.

But emotional hunger, like its cousin, physical hunger (side note: please help feed victims in Palestine), can slowly kill you. When it goes unsatisfied for too long, it becomes like a loud buzzing in your ear, or a cataract clouding your vision. You’ll do anything to distract from it—endless media, exercise, chores, thrills, substances. And if you don’t feed it directly, it comes out sideways. Usually for me, it’s tears. But also lashing out at my family, perpetual grumpiness, and—though they have other causes too—frequent migraines. My longing makes me behave out of character. My desire for betterment only ends up making things worse.

This cycle sounds remarkably similar to one of addiction, so I should not have been surprised when I consulted a friend about my disease of discontent and she referred me to a quote from the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous:

“My serenity is inversely proportional to my expectations.”

Mmm that word, serenity. The word itself is a balm of peace. And it all made sense. I expect so much, too much, every day from myself, my loved ones, this broken society of ours. It sets up an impossible standard. But isn’t there a kernel of value to my expectations, too? Expectations for a more perfect career, health, relationships, country? How can I increase my serenity without sacrificing my—well, dreams?

I am experimenting with an answer (and no, it’s not shrooms, but color me curious). I don’t have proof that it’s working yet (too new, and too tired for data collection). But I know it has worked in the past, and it has worked for others. The trick is to Get Small. Zoom In. Look for mini-serenity and micro-contentment. Think regular snacks instead of one giant meal. Think Ross Gay’s Book of Delights. These are short, everyday moments in which the hunger is gone—in which what you have, and what you are, is enough.

Here is an incomplete list of mini-serenity moments from my last week: Opening the back door in the morning to bird song (a sign of spring!). Having a friend spontaneously crash with us for a couple of nights to escape the squirrels (rats?) infesting her apartment. Having six inches of new powder and the big sledding hill to ourselves. Calling my partner in the middle of the work day to vent, and being wholly heard. Seeing my three year-old wear bootcut jeans for the first time. Having a new student sing out song lyrics during a yoga class. Having a different yoga class devolve into laughter when we entered a super pretzel-y pose just as R.E.M.’s “Everybody Hurts” started playing. Having a yoga student say, “Maybe the weather isn’t the reason the class is full. Maybe it’s your teaching.” Finally buying those plane tickets I’ve been agonizing over for weeks. Helping the friend who unofficially doula-ed at my daughter’s birth by doula-ing the birth of her first poetry collection. Watching my daughter stand up in the audience of a live show, cut loose dancing, and cry, “I wish I were on stage!”

And every. single. time. one of you subscribed to this newsletter.

My daughter playing at the science museum in her baby bootcut jeans

Perhaps this is just your garden-variety gratitude practice, repackaged. And I don’t expect it to erase those big, deep hungers. I just hope the moment-to-moment satiation is enough to keep me going, putting one foot in front of another, dreaming—but from a less broken place.

My cursory education in somatics also tells me that it’s not enough to notice these moments, or even to write them down. If we really want them to change us, we need to pay attention to how they feel in our bodies. Pause. Soak it in. And then, at the end of the day, try a new routine:

Wash face in cold water. Snap in retainer. Grunt goodnight to my spouse after sharing one micro-contentment from the day. Ooze into bed. Write down a few more, and as I do so, feel into them. Relive them in my body.¹ Lay down the neural pathways of serenity, one tiny, tired moment at a time.

Oil and Water

Where I see
a too-big truck
leaking its toxins
onto my path,
my child sees
the arresting shimmer
of a rainbow river

Again and again
when it all feels too
apocalyptic, hope
swirls in making
death iridescent and
I am asked, bluntly
to hold it all true

1. Find a comfortable seat or lie down. Breathe in and out your nose. If you can, and it feels safe to do so, close your eyes. Count the length of your inhales. Then, when you are ready, begin to make your exhales twice that length (e.g. inhale for 3, exhale for 6). After 8-10 rounds, note how you feel.

2. Try the bedtime routine from the last paragraph of the essay above (though special props if you can wash your face with soap and manage to floss, too). Let’s see, together, if feeling micro moments of serenity in our bones changes us over time.

Upcoming Events…join me or tell a friend!

"Little girl pushing a stroller and doll" by simpleinsomnia

Peering Under the (Mother)Hood

• Who - M/others and future m/others of children 0-5 years old

• What - A two-hour workshop that will introduce new and future m/others to the concept of matrescence, the holistic array of changes that affect our bodies, relationships, work lives, and values as new parents. Through embodied practices in supportive community, we will address questions like, What if this is not what I signed up for?, What happened to the Village?, and What if I don't recognize myself anymore? The workshop will combine gentle and restorative yoga, breathwork, visualization, journaling, and conversation. No matter where in the motherhood journey you are, you will leave with greater clarity about how your personal experience fits into the wider social context and will hopefully feel a sense of rest, connection, and community.

• When - Saturday, March 30th 1-3pm EDT

• Where - Blossom Wellness in Montpelier, VT and streaming online

• Cost - $40

Held: Navigating the Journey into Motherhood

• Who - M/others of children 0-5 years old

• What - Through a mix of gentle yoga, somatic exercises, journaling, and conversation, this series uses the Four Elements of Radical Transformation² to help those in the midst of this tender transition to unpack the meaning of motherhood and restore, reclaim, orient, and integrate in a supportive community. In the words of one former participant, “Held was the space I needed to blossom”.

• When - Sundays 4-5:30pm EDT, April 14-May 12 (5 week series)

• Where - Blossom Wellness in Montpelier, VT and online via livestream and replay

• Cost - Sliding scale $80-100

Tend: A Movement Circle for Mothers

• Who - M/others at any age and stage

• What - A monthly series designed to help m/others at any age and stage of parenting to examine common motherhood challenges and unleash the unique gifts this experience offers in the context of a supportive community. Each session will incorporate gentle yoga, somatic exercises, reflective writing and conversation for an embodied approach to rebuilding the lost art of "the village".

• When - 2nd Thursdays 7-8:30pm EDT, April 11, May 9, June 13, July 11 (4 sessions)

• Where - Blossom Wellness in Montpelier, VT and online via livestream and replay

• Cost - Sliding scale $65-85

With light, life, and love,

Devon

P.S. For a limited time, I have decided to open comments and likes on Toward Utter Aliveness to all subscribers. Please pop in and tell me what you think!

1. Much credit is due to Molly Caro May for teaching me this practice.

2. Developed and taught to me by Jessie Harrold.