Feeding the Soul

The Mean Reds. Boy, did I ever have a case of them this week. And I assure you, my hair wasn't nearly as coiffed as Our Audrey is displaying here.

In case you haven't seen Breakfast at Tiffany's (which is a wrong that should be immediately corrected, by the way): "The Mean Reds are horrible. It's when you're afraid, and you don't know what you're afraid of."

It doesn't happen to me often -- thank goodness -- but each experience with the Mean Reds is different. This one manifested as an almost total personal paralysis. I managed to continue business as usual, but outside of my home office I was an intolerable mess. Non-communicative; desperate for sleep, yet reverting to a third shift schedule (never a good sign); completely unable to do more than the bare minimum. How I managed to stick to eating lower-carb is beyond me, but I did. Small victories.

Sometime Friday afternoon, after hours of copyediting for a client, I noticed a shift. As inexplicably as the Mean Reds hit, they left within an hour. I finished work, took a swim, listened to preseason football, and managed to get out the door for dinner with friends. A glass of wine and some olives later, it was as if this horrible, awful, no-good week never happened.

Yesterday, The Brit and I slept in, leisurely lunched, and did a little antique hunting. Happy hour with friends turned into many hours, a dissertation of the pros and cons of dating a sea captain, late supper, and merriment into the wee hours. Today, we headed north to the Musical Instrument Museum and barely scratched the surface of their amazing collection. And I realized something, somewhere around Mozambique...

Perhaps this new way of living -- this diet or lifestyle or what-have-you -- is more than simple numbers and calculations. Perhaps the bigger part of it is also evaluating what is critical to invigorating your life force and what is, literally and figuratively, dead weight. Good people and a sense of community are as essential to me as water and breathing. As is music, some of which can stir me at such a base, primal level that I (shockingly!) can't put the feeling into words. I just know it's right and incredibly vital to who I am.

This weekend reminded me what I crucially need. And suddenly, part of that need is to get back to dance classes and movement. I'm hopefully saying goodbye to the Mean Reds for quite some time now, but I'm grateful for what this bout taught me. And for the good sense to know that everything -- even mental states -- balance out in the end.