Intrusive thoughts are ridiculous

There, I said it.

Welcome! It’s one of the three days in every year where the weather in NYC is glorious — 70s, not too humid, breezy. The sunlight is dappled, the roses are in bloom. The city hasn’t racked up enough hot days to transform into Garbagey Smellville, the Land of 1,000 Stinks. Soon a warm front will lumber on in and everything will instantly become hot and wet and begin to seep and reek, so I’m determined to enjoy this moment while I can. Today I commuted into Manhattan and got an iced Americano and practically skipped into my therapist’s office.

(This is a print in my therapist’s office, and also how I felt today. Except I was wearing a sun dress.)

Part of my good mood, I suspect, is that I’ve been … well, not really writing (except for this, I guess this counts as writing?) but thinking about writing. Thinking about it in a productive, I-wonder-what-this-character-would-do kind of way, and not in an oh-god-I-haven’t-written-in-forever-I’m-doomed way. My brain is pleasantly engaged with ideas. And one thing I’ve realized about myself is that if I don’t have an idea keeping my brains busy, that void quickly fills up with anxiety. (See: last week’s post.)

One of the forms my anxiety takes is intrusive thoughts. Not just your garden variety “something bad will happen to my loved one” (although clearly I have that too); these are more like “What if I did something bizarre and vaguely humiliating?” thoughts. They inevitably popped up during work Zoom calls.

What if I were to say “I like farts”? Just, for no reason?

“Alice, what do you think of the spreadsheet* where we — “

“I like farts!”

“You… what?”
A tense silence ensues while everyone stares at Alice, the admitted fart-liker. Then:

“You’re disgusting, and are fired.”

Oh god! I can imagine saying it! What if I do! I don’t even feel particularly strongly about farts, one way or the other! My heart would immediately start racing.

(These thoughts, by the way, never pop up on the subway, where we’re all so acclimated to bizarre behavior that very little would faze anyone. I could sing “I like farts” at the top of my lungs while performing a slow strip tease and no one would so much as glance my way. Thus, as long as I’m on public transportation, I am free of at least that particular brand of anxiety. Maybe I should just hang out on the F train!)

But the random intrusive thought that had really been dogging me lately is this: What if I shave off my eyebrows? I know. It’s ridiculous. But you have to understand, I’ve been thinking about this all the time. It popped up out of nowhere one day, and wouldn’t let go. I don’t want to shave off my eyebrows! I need my eyebrows! But what if I did? Oh god!

Of course I know I’m not going to intentionally shave off my eyebrows, despite my thoughts, and it’s very unlikely that I would do it accidentally. (Whenever I shave my legs I have to talk myself through it. “You’re not going to reach up and shave off your eyebrows, Alice. You’re also not going to slip and in so doing, shave off both your eyebrows. You’re not!”) But then it hit me: What if I did it in my sleep? What if I’m a sleep shaver? And now that I’m worried about it, does that make it more likely that it might happen? Oh god!

My point: I think these two things, intrusive thoughts and creativity, are closely related. Both are acts of imagination, both ask “What if…?” Because now that I’m using my imagination in a more productive way, the intrusive thoughts have taken a back seat. The idea that I might shave off my eyebrows is unlikely enough that I can find it hilarious. Where did I come up with that? It’s in black and white now instead of technicolor, retreating into the shadows while my imagination noodles on less anxiety-inducing concepts. And maybe this is helpful to you, somehow? Maybe anxiety is just your imagination trying to come up with something to entertain itself? I hope so. I also hope you are not also worried about shaving off your eyebrows. It’s a silly worry, and we should all be free of it.

And even if you did shave off your eyebrows in your sleep, I would still find you adorable.

*I’ve been away from a desk job for only a short period of time, and yet this was the most business-y imaginary conversation I could conjure up. Spreadsheets.