Odd socks
A piece on anxiety
There isn’t much out there my brain has not thought about before. I am certainly ignorant about most things, but I consider myself a great over thinker. In which ‘great’ stands for I have most certainly thought about all of the possible scenarios involved in any given circumstances I find myself in.
For those rare humans who are unaffected by the grabby tentacles of the overthinking monster, I like to describe it as "‘looking for a nice outfit in your wardrobe as you come across an odd sock at the bottom of a long forgotten drawer’. ‘And now? What am I going to do with this?' Usually, the options are simple, either hold on to it or throw it away and so be it. Yet that grabby little monster make it so that either scenarios will have consequences and therefore my head will be preoccupied with calculating what’s the least amount of loss vs. gain in such scenario until I end up finding the other sock a year later.
And so I have spent most of my days stuck between two realities: the one I am physically in and the one I am mentally in. The simple day by day life and the mind churning what ifs. Where I am vs. where I could possibly be. The present being the pair of socks I can definitely wear and use and the future as that odd sock that lingers at the back of the lingerie drawer and looks at me like I am a soulless, reckless human for not dropping everything I am doing right now, to go look for that odd sock.
My ability to be physically present, and yet mentally being 7 steps ahead of time, is second to none. Not only I would be having a glorious lunch, enjoying and tasting bite-sized culinary moments, I would naturally also be thinking that perhaps that brunch money was better invested in a 10th of a hair cut (why are curly hairdresser so damn expensive?!), or how far is the station from here because my train is at whatever o’ clock and so I better check my time.
Despite having operated like this for years, it certainly wasn’t a problem when I was younger, because it felt like my brain capacity could handle a few odd socks here and there, but lately things have started to change. Blame it on my 30’s era, my social media addiction, the high mortgage rates, the environmental crisis, the fact I still don’t own a dog, or most likely EVERYTHING together at once, but life seems to be weighing on me a lot more than it ever did. It started getting to the point where the head space available is like the one on my MacBook: insufficient for the latest software upgrade. ‘Who cares about the latest software update!!’ shouts my grandpa alter ego. And damn right. Why putting effort into something new when what I have already feels comfortable and familiar? I always avoided making the effort to upgrade my Mac because I just didn’t see the point of it. Until all of my programmes stopped working or became obsolete.
Equally, it’s been so much easier and comfortable for me to keep allowing my mind to cruise through the eternal process of scanning for threats, and finding solutions for problems that never happened. That’s what I have always done. It felt familiar, it felt safe, it felt right.
Until it didn’t.
Until my default thinking got in the way of enjoying my hobbies.
Until my old operating system got in the way of enjoying time with my loved ones.
Until my anxious views of the world had made me worried sick about things that will likely never happen.
Until I realised that if I continued the way I was headed, my what ifs would entirely replace my now, and all I’d do, would be existing on a page of a book that’s never been written.
So recently I have started, slowly and painstakingly, to throw the odd socks away.
Let me tell you. It is the hardest thing I have ever done. Firstly, because not all odd socks are really odd. Some look odd, but they are just waiting for the next wash to be paired up again with their mate. And so allowing time and patience for this was the first step. As an action- seeker, moment-filler mind like mine, the act of spending time with myself doing nothing or being compassionate towards my thoughts has been quite the undertaking itself.
Secondly, because when I finally come to understanding that a sock is hopelessly odd, and it’s actually sort of wasting precious space in my tiny wardrobe, it feels like such a grieving process, letting go of it. Thank you sock, for keeping me warm and cozy all these years, I guess it’s time for me to move onto bamboo socks instead. (Replace sock with any self-destructive feeling or thoughts - et voilà!)
Lastly, because replacing socks that have been with you for a long time is hard. I am tempted to go digging in the bin bag and resurrect a few because they feel familiar. I will try to find any possible excuse to keep them there because my mind is telling me ‘this is the best that I can do, and that those socks were the best I had…’
But alas, around the corner, there will hopefully be the day in which I can admire my lovely brand new socks and perhaps feel grateful for all of the good things I was able to experience with these new socks, and feel thankful I was able to find the courage and the time to sort through my messy wardrobe. And I will look at myself in the mirror and realise that I have been doing so much better and my new socks are way cooler and more functional!
Reading this I realised how silly it all sounded, but, exactly as you gather, writing really helped me process things that otherwise would have felt like eternal hellish thought loops. I hope that you find some solace in reading this piece too, and if you’re looking for a community of anxious millennial to join, then please consider subscribing to my Substack.
‘Til next time,
Fran