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Someone recently asked me how I am and my response took them by surprise. Instead of answering with a single word— fine, okay, or meh— I said: I feel like that box of 64 Crayola crayons. I’m feeling a little bit of everything— exhilarated, exhausted, confused, heartbroken, sad, worried, bubbly … but they’re not so neatly stacked and organized. It’s more like crayons in a bucket. Everything is a bit everywhere … messy and yet contained. And that actually feels okay.
Can you relate? And if you grew up in the 80s, do you remember the thrill of opening a fresh box of perfectly organized, unused crayons? Remember that smell? And all those colors! Fresh possibilities and creative pursuits ready for action. Okay, I’m digressing. What I’m trying to say is that we’re often feeling a mix of emotions, but one can take over and color (pun intended!) our entire experience. And yet, something remarkable happens when we begin to make room for the intricacy of our experience—when we notice more than just angry, frustrated, exhausted, worried or whatever feeling seems to be loudest or boldest in the moment. When I taught 4th grade, I would offer my students an exercise that, on the surface, might seem a little … non-teacher-like. At some point during the day, usually after lunch or when emotions were running high and focus was scattered, I’d invite my students to create the longest run-on sentence that they could, with just a bit of structure. First, I would invite them to feel the support of what they were sitting on and feel their breathing, allowing their breath to be exactly as it was. Then I’d invite them to notice how they were feeling using any of these sentence starters: “I’m noticing…” “I’m sensing …” “I’m aware of …”
At the start of the year, I would model this process out loud. I might say: “I’m noticing I’m exhausted” or “I’m sensing this swirl in my stomach.” Then, I’d invite them to check in with themselves to see if what I said fit how they were feeling. Maybe it did, maybe it didn’t or maybe it kind of did. I’d even ask if anyone wanted to share aloud what they were feeling. And most of them did! This alone was powerful; it helped normalize feelings And we could have stopped there — but we didn’t. Next, I’d invite them to notice if there was something more; maybe they were exhausted and excited about an after-school playdate. That tiny yet magical word — AND — gave permission for another feeling to exist alongside the first, even if it was its exact opposite. And just like that, “the run-on sentence game” began — I’m noticing how sleepy I am AND I’m sensing tightness in my cheeks AND I’m noticing noise in the hallway AND … Sometime during the first week of school, I’d ask the class if they noticed a difference in how they felt after we played the “run-on sentence game.” I remember one boy saying, “It makes me feel better. I don’t know why. I just do.” As the year went on, I began teaching them the science behind why this exercise (and many others) helped them feel better, without needing to change how they felt. Which brings me back to those 64 crayons. What helps us feel better is becoming the container for all the colors—all our feelings. When our feelings have room and space to be there just as they are, we begin to feel okay. Maybe, even more than okay. Comfortably okay. This week, I’d like to offer a small taste of this process, so you can feel more comfortably okay. So you can feel some ease, even if there’s some worry. More energy, even in the midst of sluggish exhaustion.
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