Earsdropping: on fidget spinning

The start of the fall quarter at the community college is coming in the next couple of weeks and with that comes a temporary moniker for me that sticks until the heat is off. My wife and I refer to him as Old Man Drips. Old Man Drips believes that the first day of classes will be full of career-ending gaffes. Old Man Drips believes his legitimacy as a well-seasoned instructor will be called into question. Old Man Drips believes he will be shouted out of the classroom to roaring applause, as he is a masquerading charlatan. But Professor Bryan Hoffer doesn’t believe any of that.

Professor Bryan Hoffer understands that the first day is the start to a long and gently building journey into knowledge throughout the coming weeks (Professor Bryan Hoffer is the sappy, teacher-y type). Professor Bryan Hoffer recognizes the value of his near-decade of experience as a faculty member across colleges and universities. And Professor Bryan Hoffer often recalls the very positive tone of the first day while the glow of a new school year is still bright.

It’s often a roll of the dice to see who takes over on the first day, when Old Man Drips and Professor Bryan Hoffer are vying for the same spotlight (but a dark-colored short-sleeve button-up and air conditioning in the classroom do help). Lately, Professor Bryan Hoffer has been winning. It could be something conscious in my ability to be present and focused with those in front of me or it could be subconscious, becoming more self-assured over time. Either way the Scooby Doo mask of impostor syndrome has been taken off and underneath is Professor Bryan Hoffer — oh crap, I think the way I wrote that makes me the villain? Wait, so should impostor syndrome be wearing a Professor Bryan Hoffer mask? I give up. You get what I mean.

I’ve found many ways over the years to cope with my anxious thoughts that, while subtle quirks, have definitely become a part of my character. Case-in-point: I’m currently playing with one of those paper binders clips while I write. Though, you wouldn’t ever find me toying with a fidget spinner since I like to adapt, reuse, and recycle my objets du calme.

Here are some of the things I typically have within busy-hands reach to pop my anxious feelings as they bubble up:

A tiny bit o’ paper

Typically a recent receipt or gum wrapper, closely sourced from my bag or pockets. Its role? To be twisted in tubes and folded in endless creases of corners and angles, back and forth, compact and opened back up, until all structural integrity is gone. It is then slightly torn at until I pick up the pieces — literally and figuratively — and it makes its way to the trash. Better it than me.

A cup of water 

Preferably a glass pint where I have my own access to refills. Having a server endlessly topping off my water at a restaurant has this people pleaser overflowing with anxiety. I can’t tell if I’m mortified or relieved when they finally give up and bring the pitcher over. Heaven forbid they comment on how much I’m hydrating. This device keeps me afloat in between awkward silences, staves off the thoughts of hunger before food arrives, and keeps me anchored when talking with others.

A song in my head

One that is probably not also in my heart. This song is not meant to be sung for the purpose of joy and catchiness, but rather to keep me on track and in a rhythm. It is hummed to myself, but loud enough to shut out distracting thoughts or disconcerting quiet. This one is really catching on. A student I was tutoring a few years back started also using this coping mechanism. The true comedic moment peaked when she was told by her mother, annoyed at her humming, to “stop being Bryan” (ah, the badgering badge of honor).

Some shoes made for walking

And that’s just what they do. Sometimes I like to pace my thoughts to movement, letting the speed and gait be my path to feeling more grounded. Some people think in circles, I like to walk in circles in order to unwind my thoughts. I just have to be sure to travel counter-clockwise because the thoughts chasing me often run clockwise.

Some napkins 

Oh, so many napkins. Big ones, small ones, light ones, bright ones! To be clear, I don’t take handfuls everywhere I go, but I cannot throw out any clean napkins that are still left at the end of a meal. You never know, I might just need one. Not to humble brag, I am a bit of a collector — though not the kind who keeps them behind glass in a dust-proof case. Yesterday at lunch, I was picking up some tacos from the counter at a local taqueria, with two salsa squeeze bottles propped between my already full hands. The bright orange habanero salsa slipped (twice) between my fingers onto the ground with a corner drop that squirted perfectly, painting the wall like Jackson Pollock. My mother raised me to clean up after myself, however, this was the kind of place that only gives you a single napkin and I was not going to ask for more. Who came equipped with extra napkins to crouch and wipe up the splatters of his shame? This guy.

While I cannot quell all of my neuroses, I do have the equipment for my anxiety. These items of intervention are the salve until my eventual salvation. So even if Old Man Drips floods the front of my psyche, at least I’ll have a napkin, some water, and a song in my head.

Photo by Heather Green on Unsplash