Stress in the City (or Small Steps Towards a Big Payoff?)

(Yes, I have the coffee mug and the poster up as daily affirmations)

Part of embracing city life is actually enjoying it. Not faking it, not pleasing people for approval, but really enjoying your own unique life in all its awkward and fumbling glory. Sometimes satisfaction and feeling connected to the grid comes naturally; other days I feel like a foreign body in an eyeball. So disclaimer: this post is not about sassy shoes, theme parties, the beach, or pay-by-the-ounce frozen yogurt. Gotta deal with what's underneath, so that when the pretty all rises to the surface you've got something solid beneath it (and there are only so many times Yogurtland can fortify my dignity).

Some days, city living can put you through the ringer, whether it's feeling like every lane is the slow lane (in EVERY situation where a lane is possible, in consecutive situations), or realizing the only arable land you own is a dead potted plant, or owning up to the rat race that earned you a patronizing boss but lost you a paycheck to cover rent in an apartment that may--but probably does not--have a washer-dryer in unit. I am stressed even writing that. And for what? A recent study found that city dwellers showed increased activity in the amygdala--that lovable, almond-shaped part of your brain--when given the same mental task as our more even-keeled rural and townie neighbors. It's essentially a part of the brain integral to fear processing and self-protection.

I'd like to propose an analogy: this result reminds me of the ADT home-security system commercials, with the good-looking home-security guy who answers the phone when a rabid Viking breaks in your house...except in this example, the "security threat" was a harmless squirrel who snuck in the doggie door...i.e., a non-stressful stimulus triggers a stressful reaction. As I write this, in fact, I stress over the possibility that city life may in fact not have made me more capable of handling stress, but nay: it may have increased my stress and fear response in situations where my pals with porches and yards are, quite frankly, kicking ass and kicking back.

So how to cope? The funny thing is, it's so simple. You're stressin' to the max, then all of a sudden, while you're settling into your self-pitious fog:

LAUGH. Laugh, I tell you. This is Small Step One in a quest for a happier and less active amygdala. We get our LOLs in unexpected ways, and I'm telling you, laugh at those initial stressors. Laugh (in your head please) at the lady in the Trader Joes line, in front of you, who had that hidden shopping cart full in addition to her basket and it's gonna be an hour and your meter will expire because of this. Laugh (loudly out loud) at the terrible driver who slows down but never turns. Laugh (very quietly and to appropriate persons) about your boss and his micromanaging of your every staple. Laugh, by all means, at the fact that you have spent so much money on that tandem parking space, because when you laugh, you are laughing with all of us.*

*everyone on the 405 is TOTALLY cracking up at how funny it is that it takes two hours to get over the hill.

I don't even have to tell you about all the wonderful chemicals you release when you really, truly laugh. So please, keeping doing that. When you've had your fill, think about Step Two: Giving. Laughing and giving are very close, actually, as the best laughs are shared. In a more serious sense, I am realizing that fulfillment is an open-cycle of happiness and giving. Yes; that is layers of vague on top of vague, but if you think you can hoard the Happy all to yourself, you're crazy. I'll be working on ways to articulate this Giving I speak of, but I might need to get back to you next week...heading to Vegas tomorrow morning to see Britney Spears in concert, and I don't know what the heck is going to materialize over the next 48 hours. Not a clue. But believe you me, I will be laughing, and I will be giving (my money to a blackjack dealer).

Oh and don't for a second think that I've forgotten to post photos and musings from a Southern wedding. Just waiting for the pro pictures. And then I will go all sentimental on you, and you will regret ever having wanted me to post pictures from my weekend in rural Louisiana. NO ONE loves a snow cone like I do.

My dog, my Abita beer, and my hot tub bid you a wonderful weekend.