I was feeling desperate.🙃
Last Saturday was the 17th rainy Saturday in a row.
Everything was canceled. Everyone was climbing the walls. Dandelion crowns and woven flowers, complete.
It was giving early-pandemic restlessness—cozy had long worn off.
I understand boredom to be the threshold to creativity.
But sometimes monotony needs a little help.
So I reached for a tool in the proverbial kit.
I turned up my senses—not because I was inspired, but because I was desperate.
At the sink, I slowed down.
The water ran over my hands—sliding between fingers, pooling in my palms. Soft, weighted, warm, flowing.
I picked up the sponge and felt the cushioned layers within it, shifting as I pressed it against the firm surface of a cookie sheet.
I let myself feel it. Not rush it.
It didn’t feel magical. It felt like maintenance.
At the counter, I leaned into the lilacs—my favorite smell. Sweet and full. Like the air had texture.
The other flowers had no scent, but their colors—bright pinks, yellows, whites, purples—were loud in the best way.
I touched their petals. Velvet. Papery. Waxy.
I lit candles. Played music.
Breathed more intentionally—not to calm down, but to drop in.
To meet myself right where I was.
Then the rain came harder. Of course it did.
My girls ran to the door, faces lit up.
They're relentless about our ritual—dancing in the rain, no matter what.
I felt that familiar crummy-mood tug. The urge to stay dry, small, and separate. But watching them, I realized: my mood was pulling me away from exactly what I needed to move toward.
So I went.
Barefoot on the wet ground.
Cool drops hitting my tired face as I tilted toward the clouds.
Arms wide. Spinning. Singing.
The rain on my skin brought me back.
We jumped, laughed, stomped, and moved with no purpose.
(I think this is called play?😉)
And in that moment, I felt it: aliveness.
The next day brought sunshine. Boat rides. Bikes. Delicious food.
But the shift didn’t start there.
It started at the sink. At the counter. In the rain.
Noticing. Tending. Letting sensory life back in.
It opened a door—to connection with myself, with my girls, and with a sense of aliveness that can break through even the most monotonous gray day.
Sometimes it happens naturally—your favorite food, a breathtaking vista, the first warm day of spring.
Other times, you have to turn the volume up on purpose.
🌀 Why This Works
Tuning into safe, pleasurable sensations is one of the fastest ways to bring your body back to the present moment. This is wildly helpful anxiety, but also as a small step out of collapse or freeze.
👉 Fast way to slow down.
👉 Go slow to be fast (clarity).
🌀 Practice: Tune into Your Senses to Reset
For rainy Saturdays, restless Tuesdays, or any day that feels flat or just incredibly overwhelming:
See — Look for 5 things with texture, color, or contrast
Feel — Touch 4 surfaces or sensations (water, fabric, breeze, skin)
Hear — Listen for 3 calming sounds (or differentiate near, far, internal)
Smell — Find or create 2 scents you enjoy
Taste — Sip or savor 1 thing with attention
📚 Source of the 5-4-3-2-1 Practice
While not tied to a specific Buddhist lineage, it echoes practices in Vipassana meditation, where attention is anchored in direct sensory experience.
This specific 54321 technique dates back to the mid-late 1900s and is credited to psychotherapist Betty Alice EricksonIt and was popularized by therapists and veterans’ programs (like Anxiety Canada and the VA), and has roots in mindfulness, Western psychology, and polyvagal theory.
This grounding technique is widely used in:
Somatic therapy
Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT)
Trauma-informed care