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Staying neutral while the world does its thing
I’ve been thinking a lot about the kind of energy that defines daily life. Energy that shifts when you walk into a room and feel someone else’s bad mood before they even open their mouth.
Or catching up with someone who says everything’s “great,” but they’re humming with unease, and before I know it, I am too.
I used to think I was empathetic. I know now that I was just porous.
Life’s been lifing at Mach 10 lately, complete with curveballs, deadlines, and high-stakes decisions. For the most part, I’ve been steady. Flowing with the tide. Feeling like myself again. Until one moment last week, when everything changed in an instant.
I was feeling fine despite the chaos. Grounded and focused. Then suddenly, I could feel the familiar tingling of wired anxious energy.
I checked into my body. My jaw was clenched, neck tense, shoulders hunched, my breath shallow, and while I knew my heart wasn’t actually racing, it felt like it was fluttering wildly in my chest. It was almost as if I was curled up into a ball — compressed, choked — even though I was sitting upright, slightly tilted back in my chair as I leaned against its sturdy backrest.
The old me would’ve taken it personally: What’s wrong with me? Why am I nervous? But this time, I caught it. I asked myself, Wait. Is this even mine? And almost immediately, the tension started to dissolve.
I had a choice: get swept into it or hold the quiet, steady centre I’d been practicing — the kind that stays cool and clear while a precariously stacked deck of cards wobbles in slow motion before the inevitable gust of wind takes it down.
That moment landed hard. Because I realized in hindsight, maybe it doesn’t even matter whose energy it is.
Maybe the point isn’t to analyze it, name it, or trace it back to whoever’s projecting it across the table or the room.
Maybe it’s just about noticing the shift, acknowledging it, and choosing not to connect to it at all.*
*File that under things I’ll probably forget when it matters.