Scurry

I love junk food—snacks, candy, and fried anything. I can barely contain the 800-pound person inside me waiting to be let loose. To control him, I keep a scale in my bathroom. I weigh in regularly to gauge the effectiveness of my discipline.

As I walked into my bathroom, a critter ran towards the sink. It is embarrassing that something so small can trigger my fight-or-flight response. Whatever it was, it took off from the closet door, past the scale, and towards the sink. I checked but did not find the beast invading my home.

A few days later, the same thing happened. The same path of scurrying. Continued inability to locate whatever outside thing was on the inside.

The following week—AGAIN. Apparently, I was now cohabitating with it. However, it was a weekend, and I had no time limit. I headed for a flashlight and saw it run the other way.

It took embarrassingly long for my brain to recognize what was happening. Our scale has a glass base. Early in the morning, the light coming through the bathroom window hits the scale just right to reflect the light along the back edge of the glass.

I know with absolute certainty the flash is a reflection. Yet still, every few weeks, the light traces along, and my brain puts all panic systems on high alert.

I can know what something is or is not, but still have my biological responses triggered. With practice, I can pause for a moment of awareness. I can slow my response until I have the clarity I need to process properly.

Where do I assume my emotional response is “just who I am,” even if hard-wired and inaccurate? Do I allow space to revisit with clear, reduced-emotion thoughts? Am I flinching at nothing?

Be curious, be kind, be whole, do good things.