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Eri Ikezawa (she/her/hers), Low Entropy Volunteer Writer

 

Picture this: A blank wall with nothing adorning it but a single painting. 

 

At first glance, it just looks like there’s nothing except a forest in the frame. There are billowing trees, with trunks as wide as they are tall and branches stretching lazily with their viridescent leaves. It is an expanse of greens and browns, earthy tones suiting the imagery perfectly, the complementary offset to the clinically white wall surrounding it. 

 

But once you amplify your focus, zooming into the details, you’ll see so much more. The small critters crawling stealthily up the aged bark of the statuesque trees. The rivulets from a recent rain shower trickling down the leaves, little drops stubbornly remaining as it waits for the sun to appear once more. The beady eyes of avian predators on their unsuspecting insectoid prey, flashing menacingly. 

 

And once you look even more closely, you’ll see how the steel frame of the painting has decolored with time, promises of rust emerging slowly. You might notice how the painting is hanging a little crookedly, as if someone touched it with careless hands or an aimless mind—details all overlooked in the hodgepodge hustle and bustle of everyday life. 

 

But by that same token, if you only look at all the miniscule details, you might become so blinded by each individual feature that the beauty of the bigger picture is completely lost to you. Instead, you might become fixated on removing the age stains from the painting or begin observing small imperfections on the canvas that would’ve otherwise gone unnoticed.

 

You begin to lose the ability to simply enjoy a piece of art for what it’s worth, just basking in the pleasure of experiencing and being present with what is in front of you.   

 

Life is much like this. 

 

If we only look at the bigger picture, constantly fast-forwarding to the future, daydreaming of what could be, we would miss all the features and peaks, textures and streaks, every microscopic detail of each stroke contributing to the finished “painting” of our lives. We would be splattering paint all over an empty canvas, aimlessly hoping the finished product will resemble our hopes and dreams. 

 

Sometimes, we simply must start off small—take time to luxuriate in the present and set short term goals so that we don’t get overwhelmed by the enormity of all we hope to achieve and become. 

 

I remember the days where I’d always set such an intense magnifying glass on what I wanted or hoped my future would be like to the point where I was utterly crippled by the cumbersome weight of my own expectations. This complete inability to take a step back to relish in my small victories and gradually climb towards my aspirations was completely counterintuitive—instead of feeling driven or motivated, I was paralyzed. I was static, motionless and immobile.

This inability to remain in the present, I’d later realize, was a huge catalyst for my anxiety. 

 

Now, whenever I feel overwhelmed—perhaps because work is hectic or taking on new responsibilities as a pet owner or having a disagreement with a friend—I stop. I voluntarily stop, take deep breaths to tether myself back to stable ground before I resume facing the task at hand. Whenever I see myself being drawn into the violent tempest of anxiety, driven by worry about my future, again, I voluntarily stop. 

 

But in this day and age, it can be extremely difficult to hit the pause button—especially in a world where being exhausted from “the grind” is heralded as something to feel triumphant about and being lost in hordes of busy bodies in a crowd is a mere symptom of current society. As such, when I used to hear suggestions of trying meditation, taking deep breaths, or electing to take a nap, I would perceive them as either a waste of time or guilty indulgence. I would have to remind myself in these vulnerable moments when I question whether I am allowed to rest or allowed to take a moment, that in order to flourish in any aspect of my life, I have to start at the most basic stepping stone—taking care of myself in body, mind and spirit. 

 

I found what helped most was the inclusion of therapy in my repertoire of self-care activities. It has helped me make peace and cope with my anxiety diagnosis, permitting me to rewire my brain to more productively approach situations that would’ve caused undue stress in the past. It has helped me to stop undermining my struggles or pain, assisting me in recognizing that even if someone may have it worse than I do, it doesn’t negate my feelings.  

 

And it has been instrumental in allowing me to acknowledge that taking time for myself—taking care of myself—is okay. So now, by rebuilding the connotations of what resting or stopping means—peeling away the associations of laziness from it—I haven’t been seeing past the forest for the trees. 

 

In fact, I think I can now appreciate the holistic picture and the individual features; I see the forest, but I am not ignoring the trees smattering the canvas either.  I have begun to recognize that, as most things in life, neither extreme is beneficial to me. 

 

Now, when I stand in front of the painting I mentioned at the start, I start small. Once I am comfortable with the foundation of my future aspirations, then I gradually build towards the broader picture. If I ever feel overstimulated and laden with intrusive thoughts, then I stop again to get my bearings once more. 

 

Progress to self-development isn’t a linear process, so my advice when you start feeling stressed and distressed is to just start small. 

 

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My name is Eri Ikezawa and I have an extended minor in psychology and a major in linguistics. I’m still on the path to quelling questions about myself and the direction I want to head in, but in the meantime, I have always wanted to find a way to help others and contribute to a community dedicated to personal development and self-love.