A Serious Case of Drift

The dark side of my summer of sloth.

In August, I noticed something strange.

I felt off.

I was cranky. And anxious, which was weird because I was on vacation. There was almost zero stress in my life. It was summer and life was all about play.

My imaginative brain was offering up more than the usual ticker tape of disturbing thoughts. The chatter in my head was like that annoying whiny friend who drones on and on.

I asked my husband, who is not inside my head, but close enough to know what’s leaking out of it, “Do you notice I’m complaining a lot?”

“Yup,” he responded, matter-of-factly, and without hesitation or judgment.

“More than usual?”

Pause.

“Yeah, I think so,” he said.

“Hmmm,” I thought.

What’s this about?

I did a little mental review of my life.

I had taken six glorious weeks of summer vacation. I hadn’t written a thing. I had let go of all things connected to my professional life. There was lots of socializing, eating, and drinking. Lots of fun with grandkids. Kind of ideal, really.

I had also let go of the daily rituals and routines that fuel my sense of well-being. I’d been phoning in my daily yoga practice to such a degree that the most strenuous part of the routine was unrolling my yoga mat. I had been struggling to get to the gym on a consistent basis. Truth be told, I hadn’t been moving much at all.

As I thought about getting back to work in September, I felt listless and this low-grade hum of anxiety.

And then it hit me. I knew where I was. I had been here before.

Ah yes, this was Drift.

This is how it feels when you let go of the paddles of your canoe and let yourself drift along the river of life. At first it is glorious and yummy, and then it gets, well… old.

Drift is not all bad. Sometimes I need to let everything go and allow myself to be carried off for awhile. The problem is that too much drift in my life is the same as too much drift in a canoe. If I’m not tethered to something or providing any steerage, the canoe can slide into a nearby bank and get stuck.

The tell-tale signs of drift.

1.     An allergy to effort.

Effort requires energy, drift does not. It’s as if I can feel the energy leaking out of me. I become irate at things like discovering the remote is on the other side of the room. If I do have the remote in my hand, skipping ahead through the commercials just feels too hard.

2.    An accumulation of drift weight.

You’ve heard of driftwood? I collect drift weight. Like driftwood that appears silently on the beach, drift weight quietly accumulates on my hips and before I know it, nothing in my closet feels comfortable.

3.    Irregular sleep habits.

Catching myself with eyes closed and drooling in a chair in the middle of the day. Doing on-line jigsaw puzzles at 3 a.m.

4.    Everything hurts.

I’m not sure that sitting is the new smoking, but at my age, the longer I sit, the longer and more painful the journey from sitting to… well, not sitting. After awhile, any form of movement becomes painful.

5.    Nasty, energy sucking self-talk.

I become plagued with all the things I’m not getting to and all the judgments of myself for not getting to them. I begin to question my competence, my value, my worthiness. I begin to question my dreams and ambitions. Not just whether I have sufficient talent or drive to achieve them, but whether they are worthy at all. All of this is like hooking a vacuum up to my spirit and sucking the life out of it.

6.    I can’t seem to get out of my own way.

I can’t focus. Worse, I can’t even start. I can’t hang onto a goal for more than 10 seconds. I want to make a cup of coffee, but there’s that ding from my phone, but I can’t find where I put my phone… I wander around like a zombie from stimulus to stimulus unable to complete anything.

I came to the painful realization that my canoe had, once again, drifted deep into the bay of sloth, lodged itself into the bank, and I didn’t have the energy to pull it out. The part of me that felt inspired and motivated; the self that is consistent, hard working, and reliable had packed up and moved off in disgust.

Fortunately, this was not my first paddle.

I knew what I had to do.

The way back from drift.

I had to resume The Practice.

For me, my daily practice is both an antidote to drift and the means to a faster recovery. It is the leverage I use to push away from the bank.

Drift and procrastination are not the same thing, but they are closely related. You might call them fraternal twins and they often hang out together. Drift is more about an absence of energy and motivation; procrastination is about fear and avoidance.

The cures for both are the same. There’s the anxiety laden, tortuous, slam up against a hard deadline and pray for the adrenaline to kick in cure. Then there’s the gentle, easy, one small step at a time method.

My daily practice offers me the gentle easy cure. In my case, it’s comprised of a trio of rituals – meditation, yoga, and journaling – customized to my personality, preferences, and the time I have available. The practice is not rigid, but it is consistent and repeatable.

It’s also a practice in showing up for myself. It builds confidence. I’ve learned that for me, the hardest part is showing up. Once I arrive, all the doubt, fear, and soul-sucking questions about my worthiness simply fade into the background. All that exists is the work in front of me – the one thing I need to do right now.

My morning ritual is hard-wired to my writing practice. It’s like a pre-shot routine in golf. I trust it. It signals to every cell in my body that it is time to begin.

No doubt, no distraction, no drift.

Your practice is as individual as you are.

There is no optimal practice, no one right way to do this.

I’ve coached all kinds of individuals in the past 20 years and the practices they adopt are as unique as they are. Your practice might be a morning run, morning prayer, or a simple gratitude practice. It could be as quick and simple as making your bed. The key is whatever you choose, be mindful and consistent. This is what will give it power in your life.

This form of practice is not habit, which tends to be mindless; it is ritual. Or as author Greg McKeown describes it, “habit with soul.”

A good practice supports you to be conscious and intentional - more mindful and awake to your life and purposeful in the way you navigate it.

In my case, my practice protects me from the mental, emotional, and physical ravages of drift. If a strong wind comes up and tips the canoe, or I find myself lodged in the riverbank, I recover by returning to the practice.

Please take care of yourself.

Some of the symptoms I’ve described here can be a signifier of more serious issues, particularly, if you find yourself unable to shake them on your own. Drift is not the same as debilitating anxiety and depression. Drift is a common and more fleeting state of being. And the cure, if not easy, is straightforward.

If you are having symptoms that you simply cannot shake or that persist despite your efforts, do not hesitate to seek support from a qualified medical professional.