Are You Overstimulated?

Coffee doesn’t make me nervous.

I make coffee nervous.

Don’t smoke.

Don’t drink.

So you think my brain would be protected from overstimulation, right?

Wrong.

For two years, I taught writing as a volunteer at a locked psychiatric unit in a hospital in West Hollywood, California.

Or, possibly, for two years, I was a patient on a locked unit who thought he was a writing teacher.

Probably the former, but possibly the latter.

They had me teach the class in a room that had very little in the way of decoration.

They said that the patients would not learn well in what they called an overstimulating environment.

Turns out I’ve created an overstimulating environment for myself wherever I go.

When I get up in the morning and I’m making breakfast and putting away the dishes from the night before, I watch old episodes of The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson on YouTube.

When I’m in the car, I listen to sports talk radio, which is basically grown men talking about other grown men talking about sports.

When I take classes at the gym, which I do pretty regularly, the music is blasting and everybody is flying around the room.

When I’m on the phone, and I’m bored, I check my email.

I used to read the news online almost obsessively.

Okay, obsessively and excessively.

I gave that up, but I’m still plenty online to keep my mind occupied.

When I’m powering down at night, laying out my clothing for the next morning, it’s more Johnny Carson.

In short, there’s barely a moment in the day when I am failing to distract myself from myself through the use of my magic rectangles, my smartphone and my laptop.

Where does it get me?

Frazzled.

Sleeping lengthily, but not too well.

Overeating, once the stimulus of the day’s work (and noise) dies down, I still have to keep feeding the stimulus-loving beast.

Yes, I meditate.

Yes, I pray.

But those are mere moments compared with the real work of distraction and overstimulation.

Last time, I mentioned that I was giving up the news.

Not an easy habit for me to break, but so far so good.

Now I’ve got to ask myself whether I really need one more Tonight Show monologue about Jimmy Carter, one more blast of hearing what’s wrong with the Red Sox’s middle relief (they stink, that’s what’s wrong with the Red Sox middle relief) or one more dip into my kid’s healthy school snacks which, if you eat them in large enough quantities, are not healthy for you.

So I’m on a Quiet Diet.

Because I’m overstimulated, and I don’t think all that excitement does me any good.

As Dean Wormer said in Animal House, “fat, drunk, and stupid is no way to go through life, son.”

Neither is…overstimulated.

Wish me luck on my Quiet Diet.

I’ll let you know how it goes.