1. Pay the doorman a living wage

Bright ideas for dark times

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First of all, a very unexpected announcement - Wintering is #1 in the UK non-fiction chart this week! I’m completely flabbergasted! Thank you to everyone who bought a copy, and to all of you who talk about it with so much passion. I’m bewildered by how lucky I am, honestly. Anyway, onwards…

Hello,

This morning, I woke at 2am and didn’t get back to sleep. My anxiety is running high at the moment. It comes and goes. I no longer see myself as a permanently anxious person, and that feels like a big win, but it nevertheless bites me sometimes. These last few weeks, I have very much been bitten.

I know the shape of my anxiety a little better than I once did. It no longer frightens me, and I trust that it will pass if I take good care of myself.* In fact, I’m quite curious about it, the way it grips my body, the way it makes my thinking swirl like a stirred pot. That doesn’t mean I like it, but it is another state of being, another facet of my humanity. I can step back and watch it, but I would also like to be getting a bit more sleep.

Illustration by Complot

I texted my friend

Caroline Donahue

about it, saying how I get frustrated when I let anxiety in. I know how to stay on top of it, but when times get crunchy, I let go of the habits that keep me in my body and out of my head. Caroline told me that Ram Dass described learning to relate to his neuroses differently over time, taking the sting out of it. He referred to anxiety as an interloper at a tea party; nothing more than an irritating, unwanted guest.

‘I am not that chill,’ she said, ‘I am still like, “Where the fuck was the doorman?? You assholes were NOT invited.”’

This tickled me quite a lot, because that’s exactly how it feels. How dare this vile feeling invade my inner sanctum? I’ve been gatecrashed.

‘I think if I remember to meditate and walk, my doorman shows up.’ I said. ‘I’ve just got to pay the doorman a living wage.’

This is why I don’t like being considered an advice-giver. I know how to look after my doorman, but I don’t always follow my own advice. I suspect it’s the same for pretty much everyone reading this essay too: we are, collectively, not great at sticking to the things that help us. We know exactly what they are, but it’s so easy for them to seem superfluous, a set of luxuries that can be dropped in busy times. And yet, without them, I soon start wanting to crawl out of my own skin. It’s no coincidence that Enchantment starts with me leaving a post-it note to myself: Go for a walk. I know it’s what I need, and yet I don’t let myself have this Nice Thing.

Anxiety can feel a lot like a rational response right now. That doesn’t mean it’s good or inevitable. There is an awful lot to worry about in this world, but not all of it has landed at our doorsteps quite yet. We need to be able to witness these things, to consider them and to act on them as we can, but then to let anything go that does not immediately press upon us. Anxiety is a trapped emotion; it loops around us like a wasp in a jar, and its terrible buzzing drowns out all the lovelier parts of the world.

I’m not sure if that’s a good or a bad introduction to the series of posts I want to start today. We’ve landed in incredibly uncertain, gnawing times, and I’d like to explore how we can get through them intact - how we can make ourselves useful and take pleasure in the life we have; even how we can thrive. I write books that delve into moments like this, but I still never feel like I have all the answers. To me, that’s exactly the right place to start.