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not a lot of genuine fear here in our world, so when it appears, it's worth noting.

Anxiety, on the other hand, is dangerous paralysis. Anxiety is the exaggeration of the

worst possible what-if, accompanied by self-talk that leads to the relentless minimization

of the actual odds of success.

Anxiety makes it impossible to do art, because it feeds the resistance, giving the lizard

brain insane power over us. It's impossible to be a linchpin if you agree to feed your

anxiety.

You'll notice that throughout this book I've often used the word "fear" when I really

meant anxiety. That's because we do it all the time, confusing the two. A bad habit.

The Grateful Dread: Two Ways to Deal with Anxiety

You're lying in bed and you can't remember whether or not you left the kitchen light on.

This quickly leads to all sorts of scenarios playing on your internal movie screen,

including midnight robberies, home invasions, and more. Like most episodes of anxiety,

there are two responses. I'd like to argue that the first puts you on an endless treadmill,

while the second (much more difficult) approach leads to all sorts of good outcomes.

The first approach is to seek reassurance. Get out of bed and check the light. After all,

there are burglars in the bushes just waiting for you to fall asleep without that light on-checking to be sure it's on is the best way to get them to run away and find another house.

This approach says that if you're worried about something, indulge the worry by asking

people to prove that everything is going to be okay. Check in constantly, measure and

repeat. "Is everything okay?" Reward the anxiety with reassurance and positive feedback.

Of course, this just leads to more anxiety, because everyone likes reassurance and

positive feedback. After you check the light, you might want to check the window locks

and then recheck the light, just to be sure.

The second approach is to sit with the anxiety, don't run from it. Acknowledge it, explore

it, befriend it. It's there, you're used to it, move on. No rewards for worriers. No water to

put out this particular fire.

The problem with reassurance is that it creates a cycle that never ends. Reassure me about

one issue and you can bet I'll find something else to worry about. Reassurance doesn't

address the issue of anxiety; in fact, it exacerbates it. You have an itch and you scratch it.

The itch is a bother, the scratch feels good, and so you repeat it forever, until you are

bleeding.

The idea of sitting with your anxiety appears to be ludicrous, at least at first. To sit with

something so uncomfortable isn't natural. The more you sit, the worse it gets. Without

water, the fire rages. Throughout, you remain placid. The anxiety is there, it's real, but

you merely acknowledge it, you don't flatter it with rationalization or even adrenaline. It

just is, and you embrace it, like a hot day at the beach (or a cold day in Minnesota).

Then, an interesting thing happens. It burns itself out. The anxiety can't sustain itself

forever, especially when morning comes and your house hasn't been invaded, when the

speech is over and you haven't been laughed at, when the review is complete and you

haven't been fired. Reality is the best reassurance of all. Over time, the cycle is broken.

The resistance knows that the anxiety trick doesn't work anymore, especially if you're

friendly to the anxiety. Pretty quickly, the anxiety cycles start to diminish and eventually

peter themselves out.

Don't ask me to tell you that everything is going to be all right. I have no idea, for

starters. And my palliative opinion actually will make your anxiety worse in the long run.

Anxiety and Shenpa

Shenpa is a Tibetan word that roughly means "scratching the itch." I think of it as a spiral

of pain, something that is triggered by a small event and immediately takes you totally off

the ranch. A small itch gets scratched, which makes it itch more, so you scratch