Anxiety is a very generous word, so generous that it makes a
lot more sense in the plural, anxieties. This is because, like a large
umbrella, a load of elements can fit under it.
However, despite its multitude of disturbances and manifestations, anxiety can
be traced back to quite simple and predictable stress triggers. In its origins,
it is much more visceral and organic than people imagine.
A common trigger, for example, is hunger. You can lose hunger, overeat, stick
to a crash diet, all as a neurovegetative expression of stress.
Irritability is another trivial trigger. You are more easily irritated, frustrated,
and angry over nothing, cultivating an inner anger, sometimes silent, sometimes
explosive.
Loneliness is also an important trigger. It is a complex feeling that includes
inadequacy, weakened belonging, nostalgia for everything that has already happened and for
everything that cannot happen. It is a mood that can be thoughtful, rueful,
self-defeating, filled with neediness and dependence.
Fatigue, finally, is the most common of all triggers. You may notice this
mentally with impaired thinking, physically with exhaustion, overwork, and
worry. There is also cognitive fatigue, typical of those who need to make
successive, objective, and rational decisions at short intervals; and emotional
fatigue, typical of people who feel they are experiencing affective stagnation.
These triggers, converting from one into another, mark stress as the primary
cause of anxiety. You may be tired or bored and have an increased appetite or
become irritable. Likewise, you can lose your appetite when irritated or
grieved, feel tired after a frustrating day at work and so on.
From stress to anxiety disorder, there is a gradual aggravation of the
frequency and intensity of these triggers, often twisted by a first emotion
originating another secondary, irascible, lasting, and marked by anguish. A
panic attack, for example, is a symptom of anxiety rather than a simple stress
response.
Lately, I’ve found myself anticipating winter — not because it is here, but because its presence has begun to register. A shift in tone. A quiet deviation from the familiar. We are still within autumn, yes, but the pattern is clear: a cooling, a thinning of light, a withdrawal. Winter does not arrive with grandeur. It infiltrates. It operates in intervals — a guest that does not overstay, yet rearranges the room all the same. It brings with it not only the chill, but a quiet audit of our habits. Our homes, designed for air and openness, falter in the face of this visitor. We adjust. Coats reappear. Blankets are retrieved from high places. Improvisation becomes method: Havaianas with woollen socks. Soup, made not only to nourish but to ground. This is where hygge emerges — not as aesthetic, but as principle. The deliberate act of creating warmth within transience. A structured comfort, built from attentiveness. Outside, clouds obscure the light. Inside, a countermeasure: sof...
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