While pondering what to name this particular post I decided to create a thrivingoptimist blog category called “how to”. I’m not sure yet if all posts given this designation will be of a similar tongue-in-cheek nature…perhaps some will actually be helpful or instructive! Until that is decided, I hope you enjoy my random rantings below.

I love my new hammock swing. I love the location of the tree from which it hangs in the corner of my yard which I have designated as “the woods”. I love the way the branches hang down on one side of the tree like a weeping willow, but are filled with broad leaves that make a rustling sound when the breeze is just right. I love observing the local bald eagle as it soars from treetop to treetop across the channel, and how the smaller birds follow it around, hoping to capitalize on the scraps it might leave behind from the catch of the day. I love the deep blue color of the woven strands that create a net to support me, yet allow for refreshing airflow at the same time. I love the wide view of the lake that reflects the sparkles of the sun differently depending on its angle. All of this sounds like the prime set-up for a peaceful and relaxing experience, doesn’t it?

So why then, during my most recent escape to this happy place, did I find myself overcome with the noise of a busy brain? Why were the sounds of the singing birds and rustling leaves drowned out by the clatter of my ever-obtrusive thoughts? Because…I am an overthinker…and when this brain-train gets rollin’, it is often impossible to stop.

The analyzation began with how I should sit in the swing. Since I have a stack of books that I am dying to finish I had selected one to accompany me in the hopes I could get through a few pages. Therefore, I needed to find a comfortable position where my neck was at the perfect “reading angle”, lest I put unnecessary strain on it. I also wanted to be able to gaze out at the lake in between paragraphs, but if I tucked my legs up in the swing the breeze would spin my chair around to face the channel-front homes behind me instead. I glanced up above my head, contemplating a different way to attach the swing to the carabiner, and decided that if I flipped the orientation of the connection I would most certainly face the desired direction.

So it went–book down, stand up, reverse swing, get comfortable again, pick up book, and……spin around to face channel again. Sigh.

I resolved to keep one leg out of the netting so that I could stabilize the swing where I wanted it. Let the reading begin, right? Not so fast. With my foot firmly on the ground I began to sway myself, trying to decide if I wanted to go back-and-forth or side-to-side (anyone else unable to sit still??). After a few seconds of movement the repetitive bending of my knee joint began to cause some pain, so I stopped, picked up my foot and let my leg hang, therefore setting off the spinning of the swing again. Well, if I am not going to have my foot on the ground then I am going to put it back up in the cozy cocoon of the hammock and let the breeze take me where it will. Fine. Time to start reading.

Just as I was finding my starting point on the page I heard a creaking noise above me. The climbers’ rope that my handy husband had securely wrapped around the sturdy tree branch was shifting and rubbing against itself. No big deal, I thought. This rope was designed to hold up to three of me according to the website, so there was nothing to worry about. However, at that moment the memory filled my mind from years prior when I was lying in a hammock with my young daughter on my lap, and my body quickly remembered the painful feelings of the split second when the rope broke and we fell several feet, badly bruising my tailbone as it landed on the large root of the mature oak we were swinging from. I tried to convince myself that was not going to happen this time, (for one, there was no tree root beneath me) but it was too late. I quickly extended my legs to the ground to offer additional support…just in case.

I cannot tell you exactly how much time had elapsed at this point, but it had been just enough to remove me from the anticipated state of mental and physical relaxation and thrust me into overthinking mode. The brain-train had left the station, and it wasn’t stopping for awhile. Reluctantly I stood up with my book in hand, the crisp bookmark in exactly the same place as when I started, and unhooked my hammock swing. The walk back to the house is short, but this time it felt long and defeating. Tranquility-0, Cerebrum-1.

Where is the lesson in all of this, you ask? I don’t think there is one. I have spent years grappling with my overthinking nature, repeating mantras such as “just be” or “serenity now” over and over, trying to achieve some mystical place of enlightenment where my mind can be at rest. But it is these moments in my day, where I am trying to create calm instead of allowing it to come to me, where I realize that it’s not a battle worth fighting. Slowly I am beginning to accept that my brain-train will always be on the move, and that it is ok to go along for the ride. The serenity, then, can be found in the unexpected moments where I catch myself staring into my loved ones’ eyes for a second longer than usual. Or when I spot a sign at a gift shop with a witty phrase that makes me giggle. Perhaps it is when I see a fellow human performing a random act of kindness and tears well up in my eyes. There is no need to force moments of joy in our days, we simply need to recognize the ones that are already there and the emotions they draw out from us. Our brain has enough to do already.

Serenity is the state of being calm, peaceful, and untroubled, representing a tranquil existence and inner quietness even amidst life’s complexities. It can describe a person’s mental state, a peaceful place, or an overall peaceful way of life.