One of the hidden stress responses Kelly McGonigal talks about in her book The Upside of Stress is the “tend and befriend” response: Stress physiologically compels us to help others and strengthen relationships. We can tap into this stress response, she says, whenever we’re feeling overwhelmed and stressed simply by answering one question:
So it’s been a while since I’ve posted–first I got sidetracked when I was told my thesis was due earlier than anticipated (by a month! but don’t worry, I finished it–and passed my defense), and then I had to catch up on homework, and then I’ve been attending a YOGA for Youth teacher training and it’s been busy (forty hours? two weekends? check!).
Excuses, excuses, of course, but it’s my way of saying if I could have been here, sharing ideas and experiences with all of you, I would have been. =)
I’m still in a frenzied state, of course, attempting to stay on top of everything as graduation and Teach for America barrel toward me, but I want to take a quick moment to share something with you–call it my three-day-early throwback Thursday.
I was once told all of calculus, and by extension all of mathematics, was built upon an assumption, and that should this assumption prove false, everything we know about mathematics, physics, the world as a whole would just crumble into nothingness and we would be left to flounder in a world of unknown possibilities and frightening realizations.
The truth is that was all before I became a math major and learned this is just a staple fact of axiomatic math: We make initial assumptions, build systems upon them, but acknowledge that they only hold when those foundational axioms are true. (That’s why there’s multiple geometries–such as Euclidean and hyperbolic, etc.) So the world won’t come crashing down in fire and brimstone. We just know the rules won’t always apply.
The point of any of this is not at all mathematical–but factual. Like Tolkien posited, a reader will only believe so long as the writer has sufficiently sowed a willing suspension of disbelief in the reader–the notion that, for a moment, we will ignore the rules we know in favor of the rules we wish to believe. For a brief few moments, dashing from word to word across the page, we forget that reality has bounds and for a moment become limitless.
I’ve lived my own life as both reader and writer: I’ve laid a foundation of beliefs upon basic axiomatic assumptions, and as I write these words, I fear I’m losing hold of my own willing suspension of disbelief.
I wrote Sojourn a week ago, but school kept me from posting it any sooner. Reading it over, proofreading my mind to open it to others, reminded me exactly of all the things I was feeling when I wrote it. (My most meager hope is that something even slightly similar was stirred somewhere inside my readers’ souls.)
Today I’m distracted. Not namely by those feelings, but by ones greater. (In Toy Story, Woody made the comment that Buzz wasn’t flying, he was falling with style. Well let’s face this: I’m not falling. I’m flying.) It’s kept a perpetual fire burning inside me, an eternal light, a hearth to never die down, always tended if oft unseen.