I Choose Squirrels 🐿️
On deciding what to let influence our lives!
The other week, a text popped up from someone who is chronically unkind to me and has been chronically unkind for decades. And it was about something that they’ve been on me about for decades. They are always on me about something. And it’s never good.
As always happens when I see or hear from this individual, my nervous system blows. Evelyn Waugh turned that gorgeous phrase in Brideshead Revisited “a blow upon a bruise.” Or what my cousin says is a poetic way of denoting trauma. The interaction can be gigantic, large, or medium (they are never small) but my nervous system, which has tangled too much and too hard with this person already, simply registers it as danger.
Over the years, the damage from an initial impact has lessened; whilst my nervous system was once jacked up for weeks or even months, I can now move through these blasts within days, occasionally hours. But my mind will often linger, flipping over the words directed at me, examining them from this angle, in this light, through this pair of glasses. Or it will simply relive the moment of receiving that text. Comparing it to prior moments of receiving similar texts or emails or horrible in-person encounters. As fleeting as these mind horrors might be, they take a toll.
The morning after receiving this text, I was standing in front of my office window which offers an enchanting view of my bird feeders and the huge maple tree where my beloved squirrel friends live. I love squirrels. Every morning, I step over the mounting pile of peanut shells and plunk a fresh handful of peanuts in the v in the middle of the tree whilst the squirrels peek shyly around the branches in greeting, drawing ever closer.
That morning, just as I felt the electric pressure of ruminations coming on, the swirl of the lies and manipulations, the allure of anger, I caught sight of one of the squirrels waiting patiently for me on a wooden step nailed into the tree and another in the v, their tails curved up over their head, watching the window, and I thought, “I choose squirrels.”
And just like that, all my focus went entirely to the squirrels.
Throughout that day, whenever I felt a round of self-denigrating (let’s be honest, chewing on people’s nasty or manipulative words is not a kind way to treat ourselves) spinout coming on, I said either out loud or in my head, “I choose squirrels” and boom my mind shifted direction instantly.
This phrasing didn’t appear out of nowhere. One of my ride or die books is Tiny Beautiful Things by
. I first read it when I was so so ill and so so scared; it offered me hope and gentleness and a clear view on reality that I desperately needed at that time.Later, I downloaded the audiobook which Cheryl narrates which came in handy as I have sleep trauma. After the head injury, for years and years, I stayed awake for three or four days straight, and when I finally managed sleep, it was for two or three or maybe four hours. I’m not sure how I survived this – but whilst I largely sleep well now, if I do have a bad night or two, I can easily slip into panic that the terror sleep cycle is starting up again.
A friend taught me the trick, on these now rare sleepless nights, of playing audiobooks to lull me off to sleep. Tiny Beautiful Things once again became my companion in rough times. I put it on lowest volume and slide it under my pillow – and all of Cheryl’s brilliance, compassion, and humor fills my soul and, apparently, stuffs me full of wise and directed subliminal messages.
One of my favorite stories is called “I Chose van Gogh.” In it, Cheryl shares the story of a painter friend of hers who was raped three times over the course of her life. Cheryl asked her how she recovered and continued to have healthy sexual relationships with men. Her friend said that at a certain point we get to decide who it is we allow to influence us; that she could allow herself to be influenced by three men who screwed her against her will or she could allow herself to be influenced by van Gogh. She chose van Gogh.
I love this story so much; I’ve listened to it countless times and will undoubtedly listen to it countless more. Its truth is burrowed deep in my bones.
Not that it’s a matter of choosing squirrels or van Gogh or what have you, wiping our hands on our jeans, and that’s that. Not that we’re suddenly cured of mind-numbingly repetitive thoughts that are objectively bad for us. Thoughts that wreak havoc on our mental stability, self-worth, and physical health. Thoughts that take up a lot of brain space and eat away at our time.
No, it’s not a choice we make once, frustratingly; we make it over and again. I chose squirrels for days. I still am. But the choice becomes easier (why is there something so tempting about choosing the option that makes you feel horrible about yourself?). And the urge to chew on those belittling thoughts pops up less often.
And choosing squirrels doesn’t mean I’m ignoring that I’m hurt or angry or overwhelmed or disappointed. It just means I choose not to embed this awful experience into my nervous system by playing it over and again. I’m also creating breathing space around my reaction to it so I can find thoughtful, grounded, and loving ways to tend to myself, and to the situation, if needed.
I studied Tibetan Buddhism for many decades, and I remember how often people would ask my lama, Gelek Rimpoche, how to deal with anger. He would tell them to watch television. Rimpoche was a high lama and had the same tutors as His Holiness the Dalai Lama, and had many celebrated students such as Allen Ginsberg and Philip Glass. I think people were expecting more, well, obviously-spiritually-laden answers. In the beginning, I certainly was.
But Rimpoche would laugh that big laugh of his and clarify: you need to distract yourself; to allow yourself the opportunity to shift out of the activated angry state into a more neutral state. From there you can try to apply the antidote: patience.
So, readers, I choose squirrels to influence my life. For a long time, I chose some harmful beliefs about myself that, I realize now, weren’t even mine. Those harmful beliefs are still hanging out, tempting me. But squirrels and their sweet little faces light me up. They flood me with joy. And love. And respect. And hope. And humor – squirrels are funny. They remind me that dwelling on awful texts from people who do not have my best interest at heart are one way of getting through life. And dwelling on squirrels is another.
We do get to choose.
If you enjoyed this essay, you might also like this one about another way of learning to be kind to myself:
Upcoming interviews with Kiese Laymon on his beautiful new children’s book, City Summer, Country Summer. And Karie Fugett on her stunning debut memoir Alive Day.
This is so wonderful and so relevant right now Jane!!
Wonderful post that really resonated. In my case I try to 'choose kangaroos'. I see them on my early morning walk every day and they never fail to make me smile. When things often get me anxious, I will try to focus on the wildlife elements of my life, rather than the stressful parts.