GRATITUDE.
It’s a vital go-to tool when one starts to feel sorry for oneself and drifts off to wallow in misery for a time. It’s basically a self-kick in the butt commanding you to determine whether this is mental-health-threatening depression, or just not being grateful for all the good things you have.
You know those spells. When things just seem bleurgh and all you want to do is hide under the bed and cuddle your dog. Naafi, actually. That officially stands for Navy, Army and Air Force Institutes, but the troops came up with a ruder version that sums up those just-can’t-be-bothered days.
Back in the post-hippy days when everyone was searching for “meaning” and before self-worth could be tallied by views, likes and followers, one of the things we tried was plotting our cycles ‒ so-called biorhythms ‒ to try to predict and prepare for the next time the blues struck. S’true. Failed abysmally, of course. The Meaning of Life was exposed in the Monthy Python classic of the same name: “Try and be nice to people, avoid eating fat, read a good book every now and then, get some walking in, and try and live together in peace and harmony with people of all creeds and nations.”
A quick consultation with Prof Google and I see that not only is tracking biorhythms still a “thing”, there’s even an app for it now. Wiki labels it pseudoscience, but hey, if it works for you, that’s all that matters.
After some straight-talking, I understand I have much to be grateful for. Here are some of my highlights.
I am:
Very grateful there is no-one (that I know of) to hear me when I occasionally doomscroll my way through Twitter. There is frequent cussing and two-word responses to very very many twits. Mostly ending in off.
That no-one (that I know of) has a listening device in my home, and my pooches don’t go to play school to repeat the words they hear.
That the victims of the verbal volley remain distant. Else I may have to extend my arm at high velocity and punch ‘em in the throat. Which would also result in strained biceps and broken knuckle bones. And assault charges. Knuckleheads.
That recent research shows swearing, specially if it’s in your home tongue, has many important benefits. It has analgesic properties, lowers blood pressure, helps memory recall, builds social bonds, adds strength when performing strenuous tasks and generally helps you vent and relieve mental pressure. If you don’t believe me here’s the link to the paper here. Just don’t expect many swear words: it’s lab-tested science, dammit, not smut.
That it’s so bliksems hot it can only mean the avo tree will start producing soon. And we learned from last year that guerilla gardening sometimes means someone, in the middle of the night, climbs your garden wall, up your tree and steals every.single.avo. We salvaged three, max. Spikes and pitchforks at the ready.
That no-one is forcing me to doomscroll and I can leave Elon’s toxic little toy behind. And Zuck’s.
The feeling of freedom that induces fills me with gratitude beyond measure.
- Lindsay Slogrove is the news editor.
The Independent on Saturday