A woman’s auburn hair falling softly to the side of her head, gold hoop earrings peeping through the strands. A man wearing a 2024 Celtics championship shirt, crisp and new. A doctor in baby-blue scrubs, dancing down the hall, a phone in his hand. A bed of raspberry-colored flowers. A sapphire car in line for the parking valet.
I’d attended a lecture on stress management before that morning’s rehab session. When I’d asked about tips for non-neurotypical people, the lecturers had recommended a sensory inventory. Notice things in your environment in the categories of smell, sound, touch, taste, and sight. As an anxious, Type 1 autistic person with a ton of stressors, this sounded worth a try. On the post-workout trek back to my car I went through the senses. Smells of cleaning fluid and cooking, flowers and car exhaust. Ding of the elevator bell, squeak of rubber-soled shoes, rattle of stretcher wheels. Sweat evaporating off my skin, the rough canvas of my purse strap. As I passed the cafe, the remembered taste of croissants.
I decided to combine sight with the side task of identifying one interesting thing about every person I passed. This gave me an excuse to look closely at people, something that I’d like to do more of, when it feels safe. I’m nervous about a “What are you lookin’ at?” moment. But if I’m armed with appreciation, I have an easy response. “What beautiful earrings!” “Go Celtics!”
This experiment turned into a writing exercise. While not exactly calming, that day’s stressors faded from my mind as my imagination hummed to life. In the car I clumsily typed ideas into my phone’s notes app. Giving the people names: Marie, Derek, Dr. Monteiro, dancing because he’d just nailed down a date. Maybe a worn hiking boot discovered among the raspberry-red flowers…I wish more men wore that color…Who was driving that sapphire car?
Walking’s an essential part of the creative process for lots of artists. One of the most notable literary walkers was Charles Dickens, who would walk for hours around London. He met all kinds of people and had a knack for depicting them on the page. I thought one of the people I’d seen, or maybe more, might be worthy of an old-fashioned, elaborate description, in a Dickens style. For Charlie D., the entrance of a significant character requires a narrative pause, like so:
He was about the middle height, but the thinness of his body, and the length of his legs, gave him the appearance of being much taller. The green coat had been a smart dress garment in the days of swallow-tails, but had evidently in those times adorned a much shorter man than the stranger, for the soiled and faded sleeves scarcely reached to his wrists. It was buttoned closely up to his chin, at the imminent hazard of splitting the back; and an old stock, without a vestige of shirt collar, ornamented his neck. His scanty black trousers displayed here and there those shiny patches which bespeak long sendee, and were strapped very tightly over a pair of patched and mended shoes, as if to conceal the dirty white stockings, which were nevertheless distinctly visible. His long black hair escaped in negligent waves from beneath each side of his old pinched up hat; and glimpses of his bare wrist might be observed, between the tops of his gloves, and the cuffs of his coat sleeves. His face was thin and haggard; but an indescribable air of jaunty impudence and perfect self-possession pervaded the whole man.
Meet Jingle, a comic villain in The Pickwick Papers. Other than “long sendee,” (I couldn’t find a definition of this phrase that made sense), it’s a clear picture, eh?Jingle’s shadiness is evident from the first sentence, in which his body proves to be deceptively tall. The lies are imperfect—his other-man’s clothes don’t fit, and those dirty stockings show through the worn trousers. However, Dickens makes it clear that Jingle’s not all bad, either. He has energy and humor and enough self-respect to—spoiler!—eventually turn out for the better.
My relaxation trial proved energizing—perhaps paradoxically, this was more relaxing, to me, than meditating or mantras. I’m going to try some of the walking-in-the-world focuses that I found writing teachers recommending online and see if I can channel some of that Dickens expansiveness. The tips include looking for something specific, such as an interesting piece of architecture, or something discarded, or a sound, or a thing in motion. Next time, I’ll bring along a notebook with lots of blank pages to fill.
the jeanSpace 