Category: Essays

I’m an environmentalist. I grew up hiking with my dad and learning about the trees I walked past and the birds I heard nearby. Because of this, I’ve grown up with a love for the wild and a respect for nature’s workings. I also grew up watching shows and reading books about wild storms, storm chasers, and adventures in the wild. These things filled me with the desire to travel and a taste for adventure. These two interests, it seems, may come to a head at some point during my lifetime, if the failure of the Paris Climate Accords is anything to go by.

The ideals of the Paris Climate Accords are monumental; they are based on hard and accurate science, and they set reachable, if difficult, goals and deadlines for nations across the world. It seems like a perfect solution, if it weren’t for the fact that it’s made up of politicians. I have a sort of stubborn optimism for our world’s future – in terms of climate change – but I also have a deeply set pessimism when it comes to politics, ingrained by 4 years watching Donald Trump speak before a podium. This all evens out to a resigned cynicism, and while I will dedicate my life – an education and career in renewable energies, activism in environmental policies – to alleviating the symptoms of global warming, I have also accepted the possibility of failure. All it really takes to remind myself of the world’s hopelessness of meeting our under 2 degree C cap in time is the following graphic.

Regardless of whether we meet this goal, the world is already experiencing deadly and devastating consequences of global warming. Last year’s hurricane season, for example, was record breaking in the sheer number of tropical storms, not to mention the severity of some of them. Pacific island nations are now quickly losing land to rising sea levels. Critical farmland in central Africa has been inundated by unpredictable rain levels and storms. Unpredictable weather, extreme conditions, and shifts in seasonal climates are all major markers for drastic climate change. Failing to meet our set goal will result in exponentially growing instances of these kinds of events; even if we manage to live up to the Paris Accords, we will be combating this and other effects of climate change for generations to come. I don’t know what will happen, and I don’t know how soon these kinds of events will increase in frequency. 

But! In order to save myself from certain apathy and depression, I have embraced the eventuality of apocalyptic weather patterns and the ultimate failure of government systems to solve the climate crisis. Instead, I look forward to an adventure just as thrilling as Jake Gyllenhaal faces in The Day After Tomorrow, a fantastic movie that everyone reading needs to watch. In this movie, Gyllenhaal’s dad, a global climate pattern expert, works tirelessly to convince the government and many national and international organizations of the impending pseudo ice-age and the steps necessary to save people; meanwhile Gyllenhaal and his friends hole up in the NY Metropolitan Library in order to stay warm, and utilize cobbled-together survival knowledge to make it through the worst of the storms.

I intend to pick up this attitude – do my best to prevent, but then take pride and purpose in living through such disasters. Instead of despairing about the state of the world, I will be like a stormchaser, facing strange conditions with both an academic mindset (to learn more about the conditions and help others facing similar situations, of course) and a ready-to-be-thrilled attitude.

“I will not bare my soul to their shallow, prying eyes.”

Oscar Wild, The Picture of Dorian Gray

The fear of being known is a human experience. People strive to hide their inner selves, to protect and shield their innermost values – the parts most revered and shameful. Yet it is just as human to long to be known, to wish that someone could climb inside one’s mind if only to finally be understood in all one’s quirks and joys and sorrows. It is the intersection of these desires, the clash of fear and relief, that bring about suffering and, ultimately, contentment. 

I cannot claim to be very broadly lived, or experienced, or even knowledgeable about human nature and common journeys. I am 18 years old, quarantined for one and still young enough to be unfamiliar with heartbreak and life’s tests. But I know myself, and I know my friends and family. The nights that have been trapped in my memory like bees in honey are those where I confess the things my heart and mind shout, when I bare my deepest thoughts to their inspection and find understanding or at least a further exploration. And I cannot help but treasure the discussions I have been part of, deep at night but slowly fading to sunlight, when I can learn the intricate ways my friends see their world and learn to feel among its currents. There is no soul like another; there is no one world as we all see it, but many worlds seen many different ways, meshing together in a lattice of thoughts and feelings and observations. 

There have been days I wished that I could enter someone’s mind, if only that I could better understand how they see the world, and how they see me. There is a fear that lives in me, quelled after years of self-coaching and calm talking-downs, that wonders what my peers think of me, who they see me to be. There is a constant thrumming under my perception of the world that works vigilantly and almost unnoticed in its efforts to always be monitoring and shifting the way I act in accordance to the people around me. In this I understand when Oscar Wilde, through Dorian Gray, expresses the fear of being bared to the world; there is a shame that lives under the skin, a fear that we are not as we should be, that we are wholly other to the rest of the world. But there is also a pride and understanding, that our souls run so much deeper than seems possible, that our inner selves are built upon currents of feelings and thoughts and memories that run in complex patterns towards the whole we are – even if that whole is only visible through a peephole to the rest of the world. 

It is this understanding that the inner self runs far deeper than meets the eye that creates a need to hide it away. It is almost like the awareness of the depths of our souls, hidden away through circumstance and intention, is what makes us fear its being known – in making it unknown, it becomes like a lie we tell the world instead of something that the right people will uncover with patience. 

In Mrs. Dalloway, Clarissa feels this same fear that Wilde expresses. She has hidden away her inner self – her memories of freedom with Sally, her regrets about Peter, her insecurities left unvoiced – in order to protect herself from society’s scrutiny and finding herself lacking in their testing eyes. But Clarissa finds no security in this strategy, instead only a deeper spiral into herself and her somber ponderings. Clarissa fails to distinguish between friendly and “shallow, prying” eyes. 

Wilde may have been correct – or, at the very least, relatable – in expressing the fear and evasion of baring oneself to scrutiny, but this epitaph leaves another perspective unacknowledged. It is unhealthy to isolate oneself and hide one’s soul away: man thrives on connection and meaningful interaction. A life empty of this is no life at all. So it may be prudent to fear being known, but it is nonetheless a profound relief and joy to share one’s inner workings with others deserving and patient enough to appreciate it.

Welcome to Katie Watson’s 1st Annual The Grammys, I’m your host. This blog will take you through my music journey this year, cataloguing the best albums, artists, and records of the year. Thanks to my friends and family, I’ve found a lot of new artists and genres to explore while also getting to hear new music from some of my favorite bands. Our live music will be performing for you tonight from the comfort of their past performances as documented on YouTube. I hope you enjoy!

Kicking off the evening, we have LANY performing their track “Bad News” from their album Mama’s Boy. 

And now moving to our first awards of the night, we have our nominations for Album of the Year. These albums have each had a profound influence on my life in their own ways, and each carry their own unique and exquisite vibe that caters to a specific mood. 

Fine Line: My friend introduced me to Harry and this album forcibly on a car ride, and ever since that day this album has been a reminder of the happy and fun moments right before quarantine. Each song on the album has a different mood, but together they make one complex, artistic, and incredible vibe.

Heartbreak Weather: I remembered the existence of other 1D members following Fine Line, so when Niall Horan released a preview of his album on Twitter, I decided to check it out. This album became the anthem to my at-home workouts and runs, and brings me memories of sunny skies and the anticipation you feel in spring.

The New Abnormal: I’ve been a huge Strokes fan since freshman year, mostly thanks to encouragement by my dad and sometimes my brother. When this album came out following a few single releases, I was immediately obsessed and shared it with my family. My intense love for The New Abnormal was validated last week when it won the Best Rock Album Grammy.

Mama’s Boy: LANY has been a favorite band of mine since 8th grade, and I’ve been waiting for this album since 2018. Every song really hits the spot and satisfies my need to hear more. Listening makes me feel so hard, walking the line between a song to blast in the car with elation to sob on my bed in the dark.

Vampire Weekend (self-titled album): This is an older album, but I discovered it just last month. I’ve heard a few of their songs before but never really got into their kind of sound until my brother reintroduced me to a song on this album. I quickly fell in love with all the songs – they have such a simple, happy mood that it’s hard not to enjoy.

Winner is… 

Mama’s Boy

Before we get into the artists featured this year, we have Wallows performing a live version of their hit “Are You Bored Yet,” which originally featured Clairo.

Next up are the nominations for Artist of the Year:

The Strokes: The first song I heard by the Strokes, like everyone, was Last Nite. From there, I borrowed my dad’s CD for their album Is This It, loving every song and each other random song that came up on Spotify. The CD for Room on Fire came next, and I quickly found favorites in there as well. CDs have helped me develop my love for Strokes and better appreciate their unique sound. Their style of music is both a product of my musical journey and a major influencer in the type of music I enjoy today.

Arctic Monkeys: Of course I knew of them for a while, but I really started listening to Arctic Monkeys after I found some of their songs on a random alt rock playlist and kept getting them stuck in my head. Although they aren’t pivotal to my musical journey, they had a good impact on my music this year and I wanted to honor them for that.

The Vaccines: Ironically, I first discovered the Vaccines on a playlist made by another favorite band of mine, Wallows. Once I heard that first song (A Lack of Understanding), I eventually delved into that album (their first) and loved every single track. The voice of the singer and the build up of the melody paints a pretty good picture of the general indie rock sound I love.

The Lumineers: Lumineers get an easy spot here, as they remain one of my most listened-to artists if only because my dad loves them possibly more than I do. It all started when I saw them at a music festival in summer 2019, and from there spiralled into a deep dive into their older music during music nights with my dad. Their sound is so comforting and emotional that it’s hard not to love.

Winner is…

The Strokes

And for our last performance of the night, please enjoy “Golden Dream” by Snail Mail, life from KEXP radio.

And finally, we have nominations for Single of the Year:

Say It by girl in red: I found this song mentioned online, and decided to give it a try. I loved it right away, but it took a couple days for my true appreciation to sink in. Her voice carries so much weight and the song has a lovely story and beautiful melody to bounce your head along to.

The Kids Don’t Wanna Come Home by Declan McKenna: After being recommended Brazil by this artist by a friend, I found this song on a random playlist on Spotify. It opened me up to the album as a whole, but this song continued to stand out in its creative structure and the chorus that’s great to sing along to. 

Calm Down by Pete Yorn: I was introduced to Pete Yorn by my parents, who have been fans of his for a while. This song was released in 2019, but it still played a major role in my life over the last year as one of those songs to blast in the car. It’s a combination of ecstatic and melancholy, but it really helps smooth out dark moods and elevate the good ones. A musical masterpiece.

I’m Not Having Any Fun by Bad Suns: This song is the definition of summer. When the first drumbeat rings out, I know to turn the volume all the way up and take a deep breath before singing along at the top of my lungs. Pure joyous vibes and a fun song to listen to.

rangerover by Porches: This song was also found in a playlist by Wallows, and it’s easy to underestimate at first until you catch on to the wonderful chorus. It’s definitely more on the pop end of the indie spectrum, but it’s a nice chill song that carries you through homework and car rides alike. It reminds me of a day at the dunes and long car rides. 

Winner is… 

Calm Down

That’s all for tonight folks. Please feel free to listen to any of these songs, albums, or artists yourself! They come highly recommended, and honestly were a major factor in helping me get through this mess of a year. Please let me know what you think of them in the comments, and let me know about your own favorites! I’m always on the lookout for new music. Thanks for reading!

“I measure every Grief I meet” by Emily Dickinson

read the poem here!

While at first glance Emily Dickinson’s “I measure every Grief I meet” appears to be a comparison – almost, perhaps, a competition – between her own pain and that of others, her stumbling and disconnected lines pair with her emotional tones to show that she finds grief to be a unifying force, both to comfort oneself and find depth in people we otherwise only see superficially. 

The poem begins with an almost scientific tone, as Dickinson introduces the central theme of grief – capitalized for its significance – and the idea of searching for the feeling in others. She effectively narrows the focus and tone of the piece with her first four lines in a contradiction of topic and tone: discussing the heavy and emotional aspects of grief with a “narrow, probing lens” seems counterintuitive, until one understands Dickinson’s intentions. Her initial pondering of the emotional weight others carry and how it compares to her own – if it “has an Easier size” – seems at first as if she considers her own grief to be supreme, and measures it against that of others as if to prove her own suffering. However, it becomes clear as Dickinson continues that this is far from the truth, as she actually seeks to better understand those around her through close examination, in order to connect on a more personal level. 

Indeed, this is confirmed when Dickinson creates a two-way path for connection in her relationship with those she observes. She considerately wonders if “They bore it long – or did it just begin,” capitalizing “They” in order to show that the subject of her ponderance is real and not theoretical. Moreover, the topic shifts to her own experiences, describing the age of her grief that “feels so old a pain.” This is no easy topic to discuss, but Dickinson offers some of her own pain and thoughts to her audience in an attempt to connect deeply and share fairly; as she asks to understand her audience’s emotions and suffering, she offers a vulnerability of her own. 

Dickinson brings the third stanza with a weighted question and a lot of baggage. Beginning, comparatively lightly, with “I wonder whether it hurts to live – And if They have to try,” Dickinson opens up the idea that grief is timeless, and weighs one down long after its initial waves break against the shores. It is almost a need to validate her own struggles, wondering if others grapple with the endless weight of pain as she does, or if she is alone in her suffering. She is also finding the strength to recognize her own pain in others and to empathize with their emotional journey. By speaking exclusively about the other subject, “They,” for this particular stanza, Dickinson can distance her own emotions slightly from this clearly personal and loaded topic. This becomes painfully necessary in the second half of the stanza when Dickinson wonders “whether – could They choose between – It would not be – to die.” The dashes and shorter phrases here create a stumbling, hesitant tone that reveals how personal this is to Dickinson: the thought of choosing death over life, fear for her own future and those of others, fear for the choices she may make if she lets the weight of life overwhelm her. 

Sharply changing the tone, Dickinson next moves into a moment of hope and a discussion of future healing. She “note[s] that Some – gone patient long – at length, renew their smile” and begin to find positive emotions in life once again. While slightly dashed with the notion that such feelings are “An imitation of a Light, That has so little Oil,” Dickinson suggests that there is hope for the future even if all will not be as it was before (something later explored in Derek Walcott’s “Dark August,” another discussion of grief and healing). Using the word “imitation” to describe the smiles and hope of those who wait out their grief with patience suggests that such gestures are hollow and insincere, as humans are incapable of fully recovering from grief. The “little Oil” fueling the “Light” – a symbol for healing and positivity – alludes to the low energy of depression, and the greater efforts that now go into a fleeting smile that once took no effort and lasted longer. 

In the following stanza, Dickinson’s words become more disconnected than previously, as she continues to consider the grieving process of others and how that may offer her some comfort. She wonders if “when Years have piled – some Thousands – on the Harm – that hurt them early – such a lapse Could give them any Balm.” The fragments of thoughts and ideas show that the concept of receiving some relief thanks to the passage of time is foreign to the poet, but something to consider and perhaps hope for nonetheless. The image of years piling on “the Harm” is reminiscent of applying weight and pressure to a wound – a life-saving process that prevents further damage, but may hurt in the short-term.

In an about face, Dickinson’s next stanza offers the alternative: the possibility that time offers no comfort and simply prolongs and even expands the initial pain. The smooth lines of this stanza, written with the least dashes of any stanza in the poem and a fluidity previously unseen, both visualize the smooth passage of time in a graph of grief and suggest Dickinson’s familiarity with the concept. Perhaps the years would change nothing, “go[ing] on aching still Through Centuries of Nerve – Enlightened to a Larger Pain.” The reference to nerves suggests a sensitivity and rawness to the subject, compounded with new wounds accrued over time. Such “larger pains” may be effects of a “Contrast to the Love,” hurts made starker and more painful from the juxtaposition to new brushes with gentleness and care. 

Following Dickinson’s thoughts on the possible reactions and pathways that grievers follow, she opens her discussion back up to explore not only the diversity of the grieving process but also the way in which grief has different causes for everyone: it is widespread, diverse, and felt uniquely. Dickinson acknowledges that “the Grieved are many – I am told – there is the various Cause,” and although the falsehood of her being solitary in grief may be a new concept to the poet, she still manages to find hope and unification in the idea. The causes may be diverse but the effects are felt widely. While death is a brief event, “Grief of Want – and Grief of Cold – A sort they call ‘Despair,’” and isolation are all prolonged experiences that invoke their own kinds of grief. While grief is a universal experience, Dickinson acknowledges that it is different for everyone; this idea greatly opens up the possibility for sharing weights and finding validation in similar struggles in others. 

This idea of sharing and validation finds further footholds in the following stanza, in which Dickinson brings her discussion full circle. She admits to the fallibility of her scientific approach to observing grief in others, yet “a piercing Comfort it affords In passing Cavalry.” This is a crucial distinction for Dickinson. Instead of referring to her audience or subject as “They” or simply by their grief, she recognizes them as a cavalry. This shows Dickinson’s feeling of camaraderie in pain and grief, as herself and those she passes are all fighting against the weight of their suffering, fighting for hope and a better future. It shows that she is measuring grief in an attempt to feel comfort and familiarity, to remind herself that she is not alone in her struggle and doesn’t have to continue carrying her pain alone.

The final stanza recognizes a community to which Dickinson finds examples of emotional healing and a continued excitement to find others like herself. The symbols of the church, like the cross, represent themes of sacrifice and pain, love and peace – themes that Dickinson struggles with and strives for. These symbols are once again described as observances of those she passes – griefs she meets – and show that Dickinson is comforted by others’ expressions of faith and hope for the future. The final line ends with an expression of hope and a dash instead of a period, expressing a hesitant and shocked belief in the idea that “some – are like my own -” and an open-ended statement awaiting response; the last line sees Dickinson finally reaching out to experience an engagement with “They” and those that can commiserate.

Dickinson’s “I measure every Grief I meet” provides a deep exploration of the grieving process and its personal nuances for the poet. More importantly, the poem expresses that one is not alone in grief and pain – one can find others who feel similarly and accept the support waiting in those we would otherwise not look at too closely.

Here you have a comprehensive list of music that irresistibly compels me to dance against my will, even when the only dance skills I have are jumping and pumping my arms. Whether it’s the emotion or the beat or the voice, something just makes my heart swell and I just have to sing along very loudly. (If the title seems specific to you, it’s because I do this fairly often when home alone. It’s cathartic. Please give it a try.)

I highly recommend this experience. The compulsion to dance and the vibes from the music cure all cases of stress and anxiety. You can see my earlier post on dopamine hacks for a detailed description of the magic of dance and serotonin, but it’s science! But more importantly, music and dance are something very important to humanity. It’s a form of sharing and expression that comes and goes straight from the heart. It takes a lot of elements to make up a good song – the voice, the rhythm, the tempo, the layers, the instrumentals – and dances can have some complicated steps, but I believe that these things are base, foundational experiences in our lives as humans. Even the most rich and complex song is simple in how we connect to it so easily, simple in its pure, unhindered delivery of emotion to the audience. And no matter your experience, anyone can dance with a good song to guide their improvised moves.

Here’s the list! You may know some of these, but whether or not you do, I encourage you to listen to each song while reading the description, and maybe dance along too. 

1. If You Wanna by The Vaccines

The inspiration for this blog post. Pure energy. Please listen. The chorus makes me jump in circles and sing along even though I quickly run out of breath and my voice drifts off-key just as fast. Even when I forget to pay attention to the music, or don’t immediately recognize the song, the emotions hit me hard and fast – adrenalin, joy, and the feeling that I have something out there to grab onto. (For the record, most Vaccines songs are great! Especially their album “What Did You Expect From the Vaccines?” But none match the high spirits and energy this song encapsulates). 

2. Jackie and Wilson by Hozier

Surprised? Most of Hozier’s songs are dark, slow, and deep. This one keeps that undertone of something dark, but the chorus really picks up the tempo and layers on the drums and guitar enough to get that rocking sound going. I really haven’t looked into the lyrics much beyond the chorus (because I historically can’t ever make out the words people sing, ever), but the story line there is really fun to visit: young and exciting love, mystery, protective and caring relationships. The heart and soul that defines Hozier is still in there, but the mood is brand new, built up into something hopeful and exciting by the drum beats that were created to bounce along with and the jazzy, blues rhythm of the song that brings life to it. Not to mention Hozier’s voice, a smooth gift from God himself. This one makes me want to get into my car and 

3. Heroes by David Bowie

Uhhhh, yes. This song! I first heard it from the movie adaptation of Perks of Being a Wallflower (please give it a watch, Logan Lerman and Emma Watson and Ezra Miller are beautiful and the movie is too), and ever since it still gives me the feeling of being on top of the world. There’s no quick drum beat to jump along to, but the swell in my chest just won’t let me sit still when it comes on. The emotion that Bowie puts into every syllable is unbelievable, and his voice is even better. The drums, although not fast enough to jump to, are steady and powerful and lift me up so high from my lows. It’s the kind of song you can put your hands up to and sway along to the visions he evokes of having power and time and love, of being invincible and indomitable and enjoying life in its purest, simplest forms. It makes me feel free, and freedom makes me want to dance. I hope that you can get some of the same rush that I do when you hear this song.

4. Under Control by The Strokes

This one is more of a “roll the windows down and put the aux on full volume” kinda song, no matter the weather, but it warrants a mention in this category. First, I have to express my endless love and devotion to the deity that is The Strokes. If you haven’t listened to them, I beg you to drop everything and play just one song. You literally can’t pick a wrong one – I’ve yet to find a Strokes song that I don’t immediately like. Their new album came out last May and I’m still not over it’s beauty and power. Now that the endorsement is over, we can return to our regular programming. “Under Control” definitely makes top 5 Strokes (a high endorsement, considering the volume of music they’ve produced). It has a steady rhythm and the classic lingering notes of most Strokes songs, but they vibes! I’m honestly at a loss to how this song, with its medium pace and low-pitched voice, but somehow the drums just before the chorus get me anticipated enough to head bang in the car and bounce on my toes when I’m at home. If you disagree with its presence on this list, that’s perfectly valid, but I inexplicably understand that it belongs here, at least for me. 

For me, a lot of music has meaning because of the memories I connect with it. Listening to Under Control sometimes vividly evokes the time I heard it in the car on the way to the orthodontist. If You Wanna makes me remember the emotional crisis I was having between the emotional high of pulling off a conference I had spent a year planning and the stress of senior year finals. These memories – and more importantly, the feelings associated with them – come back to me every time I listen to them. Maybe the force of emotion I felt the second time I heard If You Wanna is what makes it so powerful for me now, even if the experience now is joyful and cathartic instead of crying-on-the-floor overwhelmed. Music is personal and messy and so entangled in our lives that no two people could ever hope to experience it in the same way. Even so, I hope that this list inspires you to make your own and to branch out in your own music taste. 

Thanks for reading! I would do a review of Red, White & Royal Blue, which I just read this week, but I’d be lying if I said it would be anything but keyboard smashes in all caps. P L E A S E read though, highly recommended.

With quarantine, dreary weather, and, for some, seasonal affective disorder (SAD), looming over us this winter, a lot of us good use some pick-me-ups. For me, at least, the fewer hours of sunlight and endless stretch of school’s monotonous rhythms is enough to put me in need of any extra happinesses I can snatch. The Christmas season and New Year’s highs often lead into purposeless lows for those on break, without a school schedule or organized activities like clubs and Zoom breakout rooms to keep us up and at ‘em. To quell some of the inevitable days of doing nothing and then feeling bad about doing nothing, I’ve created a list of dopamine hacks to help our brains shake out of their funks. Dopamine, serotonin, and endorphins are the happy and calming (respectively) chemicals that are released from our brains. Based on reward systems fed through our senses, they respond to positive and pleasurable experiences that can be replicated intentionally to make ourselves feel better. You may or may not be familiar with some of these, but either way I hope that any of them help you out in a moment of random remembrance of my list!

1. Chocolate (obviously)

Chocolate is the classic go-to for lots of people feeling down. This alone creates a comforting and familiar emotional connection to the comfort food, aiding the chemical processes stirring in your brain. Chocolate, or more specifically cacao, contains small amounts of the chemical phenylethylamine as well as tyramine, both of which induce the release of dopamine. It also increases release rates of serotonin. However, overconsumption of chocolate, and therefore overproduction of dopamine, can lead to negative emotions and social withdrawal. So be careful with your portions when turning to chocolate for comfort! It should be treated like a novelty – increasing the reward sensation – and in tandem with other strategies. 

1. Hugs

(PSA please only hug people you have been quarantining with and feel comfortable with both physically and COVIDly)

When was the last time you hugged someone? Personally, I associate hugging with family and friends – greeting and saying goodbye to relatives after a long time apart, and comforting each other when it’s needed. The best hugs are with the people who mean them: smushing against each other, tight arms wrapped around each other. Tip for anyone who’s reading: don’t hug with cagey arms! If you’re going to hug someone, you need to mean it; otherwise don’t bother. 

Hugging has several social connotations. It makes us feel more connected to each other and socially bonded, reducing feelings of isolation and loneliness (exactly what we need for quarantine!). It also reduces stress by reducing levels of the stress hormone, cortisol, in the body. The feeling of sinking into someone’s arms really just helps you let go of worry.

Chemically, hugs work wonders. They trigger the release of oxytocin, which lowers stress and anxiety while also promoting positive feelings like trust and empathy. It also increases levels of the power trio of happy/calm chemicals: dopamine, serotonin, and endorphins. These chemicals work together to relax the muscles, elevate moods, and relieve symptoms of depression. It’s the triple threat of good feelings.

All this writing of hugging is making me want to get up and hug someone… be right back. I have a prescription for a full minute of squishing my mom.

1. Walking in nature (or just the sidewalk)

Recently, researchers have been increasingly studying the positive effects that nature has on the mind, mood disorders, and stress. Countless studies have found that nature walks improve social connections, elevate moods, and relieve symptoms of disorders like depression and anxiety. In a 2015 study, researchers found that after a 90 minute walk, participants had lower activity in the part of the brain that focuses on repetitive thoughts inducing negative emotions. Studies point out that the calming sounds of nature and relative silence outdoors aid in reducing cortisol levels and heart rates.

Personally, nature has always been a calming place. While it may not stop the flow of thoughts going through my mind, it certainly takes my emotional focus away from whatever has been stressing me. Keeping an eye out for deer or squirrels in the woods and listening for birds in the trees is a calming way to keep my mind active and on calming topics. Walks with my dad are common, and we always find interesting topics to discuss as we walk, whether it’s about nature, history, or food. Breathing in the cool air and hearing my shoes rustle leaves underfoot centers me and helps me focus more on the present, letting go of all the other thoughts and emotions from the rest of the world outside of where I stand. I definitely recommend this as a relaxation or mood-lifting method.

1. Dancing

This particular strategy is a personal favorite and 100% recommended by the author. Whether you prefer mellow, relaxing music, upbeat pop, or hardcore rock, it’s hard to resist dancing or singing along. Lowering your inhibitions and just expressing your love of the music is a very freeing and uplifting experience. 

Dancing to music has a wonderful effect on the brain and mood. It’s even used to help prevent and reduce symptoms in people for Parkinson’s and dementia. Like all physical activity and exercise, dancing improves the memory and neural pathways. More specifically, dancing, like hugs, releases oxytocin, serotonin, dopamine, and endorphins. Music is a big component in this, especially music associated with positive memories and emotions, but the spontaneous movements from dancing and the social bonds that are strengthened by it are even more important. 

Whether you’re alone in your room or in a room of friends, don’t be afraid to bust out some moves and make them up as you go. Just enjoy the music and the silliness of the moment. 

 

If you’re feeling down or just bored, go ahead and try one of these or make up your own spontaneous form of a happiness boost. Self-care routines like skin care and painting your nails, going for a run, and working on a puzzle are all alternate ideas that help to relax the mind (and keep you busy during the break). Feel free to comment with any other ideas and thoughts you have and have a great break!

 

Resources:

Chocolate: https://healthyeating.sfgate.com/chocolate-dopamine-3660.html

Hugs: https://www.pihhealth.org/wellness/blog/the-surprising-health-benefits-of-a-simple-hug/ 

Walking:https://www.health.harvard.edu/mind-and-mood/sour-mood-getting-you-down-get-back-to-nature 

Dancing:https://neuro.hms.harvard.edu/harvard-mahoney-neuroscience-institute/brain-newsletter/and-brain/dancing-and-brain 

https://www.mdlinx.com/article/researchers-identify-exercise-for-optimal-health-of-body-and-mind/lfc-4088

“The trees are speaking to each other.

… They have feelings, my friend. The Elves began it: waking up the trees, teaching them to speak.”

• The Two Towers by JRR Tolkein, directed by Peter Jackson (regarding the Ents)

There are columns of life and memory that stand among us. In their secluded dwellings they whisper, unconcerned with the transient squabbles of their fleeting neighbors. These towers of thought and feeling live like rocks in the river, shaped by time and yet rarely moved by its chaos. They stand as a testament to the tangibility of the past, to the unyielding drag of time like a chain on the land. Do they watch, as we bumble around, trespassing their most holy roots like ants on an altar? Do they weep as their companions fall for a purpose without meaning? Or does the passage of time weigh too heavily upon their bowed limbs for them to notice the crumbling of their great cities, the disappearance of their brothers and sisters? To be a tree is to feel, to speak, and to lose. For trees are stubborn in the face of time’s cruel drag, unwilling to admit their slavery to its law. They stand brittle, easily broken and yet unyielding.

Trees are memory given form, the tablet upon which all of history is written and preserved. They are born long before man and will endure long past our swift passings; in our fleeting lives, they are one of the few constants that remind us of our insignificance, of the truth that there was life and history before us and more to come after our time. We are merely witnesses to their majesty. Age and memory, on scales far greater than we can conceive, are written in the rings of trees, in their gnarled bark and bent limbs. The trials and joys of trees are ingrained into them, records of our own histories – the above-average rainfall, the droughts we weathered through: proof of our resilience and connection to the land. These records remind us to look outside of ourselves, to gaze upon the lovely greens and browns and blues that mark the natural world we have been blessed with, and remember. Our humanity is so intrinsically tied to trees that our calendars revolve around the changes in them – the budding in spring, the bloom in summer, the color and fall in autumn, the shivering branches in winter. The very colors they explode with bring peace and joy to us, each season and change meaning something different but nonetheless significant to each individual, culture, and society. Their age, which transcends their yearly cycles, reminds us of the passing of time and the grand scale of life and memory we live on.

In my childhood home – which I moved from in 4th grade – there was an old maple tree with deep grooves and roots peeking out of the grass all across the lawn. The maple towered over the street, dwarfed the houses lined up in a row, and stood proudly through the winds of winter. It was the centerpiece of my childhood: the base for every game of tag, the place to rest after a race, my companion when I fell off a bike. The buckeye tree next door filled our buckets with hard-earned brown nuts, knocked down by soccer balls and cracked from their thick, spiked shells with eager fingers. My neighbors and I would proudly count and compare yields, filling our days with the battle against stubborn tree branches. With their distinct bark like the wrinkles on a face, their stubbornness and reliability, those trees became real and vital figures in my life and memory. Trees are more than a part of the land – they are companions and characters in each individual and collective story written on Earth. 

Why, then, does man insist on tearing down our steadfast friends and cultural centerpieces? In man’s fleeting life, we scrabble for a feeling of power and control in this world we did not make nor outlast; perhaps, even, the trees become a mockery (to a certain kind of man) of our short lives and small roles in this grand scheme of Mother Nature’s. Like irate termites, man brings down these temples of wood, built up over millennia of learning and growth. The destruction of forests, now falling in droves, is akin to the destruction of memory, of life, of change. In pursuit of shallow ideals and petty visions of power, man brings down the pinnacle of Earth’s evolution. Like a child presented with a second-place prize, our temper tantrums have erased such history. It is the burning of the Library of Alexandria, on a scale spanning billions of years and just as many species.

In the end and the beginning, trees are the most fundamental aspects of our lives. Through the many seasons of history, they have stood proud and tall, with compassion for our needs and as reminders of the beauty in life, change, and death. Yes, they watch; yes, they speak; yes, they weep; yes, they lament. Their reliability and giving nature are familiar to us; less familiar are their mysterious dances, the soft whisperings, the gentle bend of the branch to ease the journey of forest critters. Caught up in our own lust for significance and drive for progress, man misses the majesty of nature’s temple columns: the trees.

What can actually be divided by zero?

In its simplest form, dividing a number by another is just the act of separating it into so many parts. In other words, division is sharing a group of things among an unnamed number of people. If I wanted to divide 20 by 4, my third grade self learning division would have imagined splitting my own 20 cookies into groups to share among 3 friends and myself, the answer being how many cookies we each got in the end. In this way, division becomes more than a mathematical operation – it becomes the act of sharing, a relationship between people.

Classic mathematics will tell you that no value can be divided by zero. Ask Siri, and she will tell you that there is no answer. From a third grade perspective, dividing something by zero means splitting a finite amount of things into no groups – even the original group is gone. This is puzzling under initial scrutiny. What starts as something and becomes nothing? Or, if viewed under the impression that dividing is simply the act of sharing, what can be shared and possessed by no one? In this case, most objects and concepts can be ruled out, as they can be possessed by at least one person and therefore are divisible by 1. This presents two alternative theories left as to what could possibly be divided by zero: something that is shared by everyone and therefore belongs to no one, and something that can never be possessed. 

The first option is admittedly slightly easier to explore. If something – be it a concept like ownership or a material object (or collection of objects) – can be shared by everyone and everything, then it must therefore belong to no one and nothing. In other words, something spread into such a vast, even infinite, number of groups must eventually come to the point where none of those groups truly possess that something. Some things could never fit the bill here: knowledge, while it has the potential, lacks the practical means to be distributed so widely. On the other hand, something like suffering – a universal experience that takes many forms – could be shared by an infinite, unknown number of organisms. Yet even if suffering is a shared experience, no two people or life forms experience it in the same way, and therefore it cannot be truly shared by anyone. In becoming so widely spread, it loses its ability to be uniform – the thing being divided changes and loses its essential components, which means it is scattered into nothing. When something is divided by zero, it is like trying to take something that exists (finite) and split it into nothing. When something like suffering becomes so infinitely split and spread, it loses its identity and becomes something no one shares and is possessed by no one. In this way, it can be divided by zero.

The second alternative is no less complex, albeit more restrained in its solutions. In order to be divided by zero, the original value must never be able to be shared among anyone. In other words, it is something intangible and unattainable. Such a solution under these restraints therefore exists in theory, but is not material, and can never be interacted with. For example, if something can never be found, it can never split into multiple shares – it can be divided so that no one gets a share. This is best described by knowledge. For now, these constraints apply to concepts like what existed before the Big Bang and why matter is so much more abundant than antimatter. But these mysteries may one day be solved, and will therefore eventually be divisible by much more than zero as the knowledge is shared. However, there are some things that will never be understood or attained. One example is what comes after life. This is something that, under our universe’s laws of physics, can never be known and therefore if divided by zero, can be split among no one – because there is no one to understand it. Contemplations on life after death aside, unknowable knowledge is just one example of something that can never be shared and therefore is divisible by zero. While the original value does indeed exist, it can be divided by zero because it cannot be split into any number of groups; it is not divisible into anything, and therefore cannot be shared among anyone or anything.

By all appearances, the answer to any value being divided by zero is undefined. Indeed, the great majority of values can’t be divided by zero. But if one is willing to think a little out of the box and envision division as something more than arithmetic, the answer becomes much more complicated. In the scientific world, formulas and relationships depend on division, but in its purest form, division is nothing more than splitting an original value into groups to be shared. So the question instead becomes, what can be shared by no one? In this way, the answers become clearer: something so infinite that the original value is negated, and something that is impossible to share but exists nonetheless.