...Well Sh*t
The existential dread remains, but maybe this helped?
I’m writing this feeling slightly nauseous. I deleted Instagram off of my phone home screen, I haven’t had TikTok on there for months either. Still, I couldn’t be anywhere on the internet this weekend without a barrage of news that made me feel at best queasy and at worst doomed. You ok? I’m not really.
Like me, FKA Twigs (or Twigs as her friends seem to call her) is trying to break up with her phone. I spent a snowy afternoon last Sunday 42 stories up in the air, invited by her brand partner On to a training workshop titled “The Body is Art.” We stretched, we danced, we ate macrobiotic salmon bowls, and did a sound meditation with her yoga teacher Tom, a cheery blond Brit who led plant medicine retreats in Costa Rica and looked like a Hemsworth brother. All in all, I spent four hours trying to reach my well-est, most centered self, in spite of the morning I’d spent doom-scrolling.
During her time with me and my peers, Twigs introduced The Eleven, an art piece and practice of somatic healing she developed starting back in 2019. Each of her eleven principles is tied to an aspect of wellness. “Minestate” involves positive self-talk. When she’s tempted to pick up her phone, she turns to “croning,” slowly rubbing her hands together, to bring awareness to the habit she wants to break.
What is art in the context of wellness? The two intersect in practice — art therapy can boost serotonin in the same way a walk might. Creation is an outlet in which to explore physical health or mental wellbeing, whether it be through dance, poetry, or painting. I had already written much of this piece when I read an article by my friend Sue: The Wellness Industry Has No Use for my Cancer Diagnosis. It spoke to the prickly feelings I had already been navigating in thinking about “wellness” the commodity versus our quest for holistic health. No one ever wrote a song about the spin class they finished or the green juice they chugged.
In the wrong hands, “The Body is Art,” could mean chiseling at yourself through protein powder and heavy lifting until your body looks like a Michelangelo statue — focusing on the veneer. What I think Twigs (as I’ll now call my new friend) was getting at in The Eleven, was a practice to bridge the disparate parts of her own life — touring as a famous musical artist, and the rituals she’s implemented to pull that off.
“Training puts me in a different mind and body space that elevates me to a higher frequency,” she told Vulture. “It’s got nothing to do with how I look on the outside. It’s just a beautiful feeling.” A higher frequency may not be my words of choice, but I think we’re striving for something similar.
The Class
Like a soothing pilates teacher, Twigs coached us through a series of warm ups, stretches, and frenetic movements. We spent five minutes moving our hands over our body, replacing thought or distraction with the sense of skin on skin. Another five were spent swinging our bodies from side to side, our arms hitting our chest pseudo-rhythmically as we flowed to house music. I mostly kept my eyes closed, though occasionally I’d sneak a peek, reminded we’re just a bunch of strangers flailing our bodies around.
As our closing ritual, Tom spun his way around singing bowls and banged at a gong as we all lay prostrate. The person next to me was crying. I felt it more physically, a tingling on my skin — ASMR at work!
I left feeling calm, my inner voice echoing the self assurances I’d practiced as I sped through the snow back across the bridge to Brooklyn. But as soon as I was home and splayed on my couch, the bad habits were back, and a gnawing little shadow of anxiety sat once again in the pit of my stomach. I scrolled Instagram, and felt the tightness moving through my body, flamed by fires, and politicians, and the feelings of inadequacy that pop up for me sometimes faced with the online highlight reel. Keeping mindful habits is a lot harder without a team of sharply honed experts there to nudge you on.
“Maybe quieting your mind forced you to face the things you’ve been busying yourself to avoid,” the ever-wise Dylan said to me as we snacked in the kitchen. I think he’s right. Afterwards, I tried my best to not stuff all the feelings away (I cried lol).
The Quest For Well-Being
In times when everything feels particularly sad or dark, it’s worth remembering that being on this weird little journey to best-self-dom doesn’t end with never feeling bad. Rather finding ways to process or move through bad feelings in a healthier way.
While I’m skeptical that arm-swinging or sound baths are the answer for me long term, I do find some value in getting out there in the world to see what sticks. Don’t worry, I’m not suggesting that shopping at Erewhon and getting lymphatic massages are somehow the solution when it feels like everything is burning down. Instead, when things feel big, it is good to go small and focus on the practice.
A few years ago I had a therapist who recommended Taming Your Gremlin, a strange little workbook that coached me through separating myself from negative self talk. I had to give my little self-hating gremlin a name, positioning it as something outside of me that could be hushed and scolded. It kinda worked, for a while… but ultimately telling some imaginary gremlin named Arabella to shut up mostly felt cheesy. Perhaps I should have gone the Sasha Fierce route instead.
Now, the thing that helps me the most (besides simply staying off my phone) is running. The mix of movement, the quiet time to process, not to mention the endorphins, bring me a sense of peace in moments I feel frenetic. For you it may be drawing or meditating, it doesn’t really matter. True wellness isn’t about an optimized body or mind. We’re always going to have problems, and some of them are never going to be fixed. But, on the ever-winding spiral of self-growth, I hope that exploring ways to approach these issues with grace and self-love is the key.
For one afternoon, The Eleven did help me find a little bit of peace. A few days later, I found myself slowly running my hands over each other in a moment when I started to spiral. I’ll never refer to it as “croning” (sorry Twigs), but maybe it will come in handy again.
Wonderful column, Aemilia! ❤️