Consider This Your Gentle Reminder

Am I Scared or Just Forgetting to Play?

One of the peculiar little puzzles I’m working on these days — and yes, that phrasing is intentional; it is a puzzle — is trying to approach things with curiosity instead of fear.

Sounds easy, right?

Like just a flick of a switch: boop, now I’m curious! But no. My brain is like, “Oh look, a challenge? Time to panic and assume doom.”

But here’s the thing.

Once I remember, I can be curious; it actually does switch pretty quickly.

Oh, right, I’m not being hunted by wolves; I’m just trying to write an email. Or have a challenging conversation. Or figure out my taxes. Or solve literally any life situation that isn’t actually a life-or-death emergency but feels like one because my nervous system is as dramatic as hell.

So the question becomes: how do I remember?

Because when I remember, I soften.

I breathe again.

I notice how many colors are in the sky. I step outside and feel the sun like a miracle on my skin. I think, “Wow, being a human is wild and lovely.”

But when I forget?

I’m in my dark apartment, hunched over, staring at the laundry pile as if it had personally betrayed me.

I’m thinking of putting up posters. Like actual ones. On the walls. In the hallway. On the mirror.

EVERYWHERE. I. LOOK.

“Am I afraid? Or curious?”
“What if this was a game?”
“PLAY.”

Not for aesthetics.

For survival.

Because being an adult is so fucking hard sometimes.

Like why didn’t anyone tell us? Or maybe they did, and we just thought they were being dramatic because we were twelve and thought taxes were a fictional concept. But no, turns out this shit is real and relentless and weirdly boring and also emotionally high-stakes all the time?

But also, there are flowers.

And cold drinks.

And wind.

And dancing in your kitchen.

And friends who send just the right memes at the right time.

There’s remembering that GOING OUTSIDE IS GOOD FOR YOU (yes, I’m yelling that at myself).

It always starts with awareness. For me, anyway. Randomly, in the middle of the spiral, something clicks. A thought like, “Oh. I’m stuck.” Or, “This is fear, not truth.” Or sometimes just, “Hey Rain. You’re spiraling again.”

And that moment — the remembering — it’s not always loud. Sometimes, it’s just a soft little whisper. But it matters. It breaks the spell. It gives me the chance to pivot.

That’s what this post is about. A chance to remember. A moment to pause. To look around and say: I don’t have to be afraid. Not of the laundry. Not of the feelings. Not of doing it wrong. I can be curious. I can play.

Let’s put that on a poster.

Let’s live as if we genuinely believe it.

Let’s remember.

Even if we forget again tomorrow.