Have you ever seen Das Boot (1981), the movie about a German submarine? I don’t recommend it. I don’t remember much about it except a terrifying few moments of sirens blaring, lights flashing, and Germans screaming, “ALARM!” This scene convinced me I’d never want to set foot on a submarine.

            Sad to say, I feel as if I am in a Code Red Das Boot moment every time I turn on the news. So, these days I’ve been searching for ways to lower my level of stress and increase my emotional wellbeing.

I read that the scent of lavender is calming so I bought a three-pound bag of lavender-scented Epsom salts. One evening, I dimmed the lights and drew a warm bath. I poured half the bag into the water, figuring I’d use an amount lavender proportionate to my gloom. More lavender less existential despair, right?

            After five minutes, my head ached as waves of nausea hit me. I felt faint and dizzy as I struggled to haul myself out of the tub. The sad truth: I had lavender-poisoned my body, which in no way decreased my feeling of angst.

            When my life feels out of control, I de-clutter. Right now, my life feels out of control. So, I organized my desk, kitchen, and car. Next, I non-gently persuaded my husband to clean out his study, an 8” by 10” room filled floor to ceiling with books, papers, photographs, and doodads from all eras of his life. My spouse is not one to throw anything out.

He tossed only .01% of the items in the room. Then, he boxed the remaining books and papers, pulled down the rickety ceiling ladder, and began lugging them up into the attic.

 My fear of heights and the sketchy ladder had dissuaded me from ever checking out what my husband had been squirreling away over the past twenty years. However, my feeling of dread overtook my fear of heights. So, I white-knuckled my way up the ladder and joined my husband. I discovered hundreds of household goods I’d believed we’d tossed but still existed in various states of disfunction.

At the center, I saw three disintegrating cot mattresses made of foam. A giant military-style board game sat atop them. Both the game and mattresses looked as if they’d had been eaten by attic trolls and/or mice. I pushed the mattresses toward the open stairwell, which jostled the broken-down cardboard box. Tiny pieces scattered everywhere, including into the insulation below. As I tried to catch the box, I lost my balance. I grabbed hold of the edge of the rotting mattress, which was anchored to nothing.

As I slid toward the eaves, pulling the grody mattress with me, I realized no floor existed beneath the insulation. I screamed for help, although not loudly because my husband stood only eight feet away, watching my ill-conceived efforts. My significant other didn’t budge, instead he fixated on small bits of plastic. A stickler for keeping belongings intact, he yelled, “Oh no, you’ve lost the game pieces. We’ll never be able to find them!”

Trying to inspire my hubby to enter rescue mode, I shouted motivational words that involved swearing. Lucky for him, my husband chose me over the game parts, walked the eight feet, then yanked me away from the mounds of insulation.

My conclusion: both the lavender and the de-cluttering proved ineffectual in ushering me out of CODE RED status.

This is the current plan:  I am taking life slowly, trying not to borrow trouble from each day ahead. I am a planner, so staying in the present is challenging but I am attempting to build resilience for the long haul. My goal is to remain in my lane, figuring out what is mine to do.

Right now, additional coping strategies include having dinner with dear friends, filling my house with the orderly sounds of Bach, and trying not to squirm while listening to mindfulness clips on YouTube. So far, those activities have not resulted in life-threatening events, so maybe I’m on a roll.

Dear friends: good luck and godspeed. See you on the other side.

Let me re-word that: I’m hoping there will be another side to see you on.

Blessings all around.

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Interested in reading more essays? Check out, GRANNY GANGSTER, MY BRIEF LIFE OF CRIME or IRRESPONSIBLY GROWN POTATOES.