The Handbook for Bad Days

by Eveline Helmink

  On bad days, I sometimes think about the bright green sweater. To me it is a symbol: What do I need right now to put something in motion, give it a push in the right direction for later? Am I already living according to what I would want to manifest?

  // Radio Mantras

   The spiritual benefits of low-brow easy listening

  There’s no written rule that requires you to speak Sanskrit or mandates that you study a certain number of self-help books or clock a minimum number of meditation minutes to achieve personal growth or a conscious life. Not because it’s useless to do those things, but because they’re not required. It isn’t all or nothing; often there’s a middle ground as well.

  Take mantras, for example. An article in Happinez once referred to mantras as “lullabies for the soul,” and I can’t think of a nicer description. When reciting mantras, you chant words of wisdom that help you to calm your soul, to vibrate off negative thoughts, and to bring positive intentions into the world. You might know Om mani padme hum—a well-known mantra in Tibetan Buddhism. There are many different translations, but it is said that the sounds free you of pride, anger, jealousy, and stupidity, and that you can sing it to wish yourself (or someone else) to be freed of suffering and the source of that suffering. But it’s not a magic spell.

  You can om mani padme hum all you like: Without a genuinely felt intention, the words remain hollow. The opposite is also true: Words you genuinely feel and understand can also be meaningful. I like to call these radio mantras. In Europe, we have a station called Sky Radio that plays “only the best music nonstop.” If you’re not regularly listening to it at home, you have surely heard it piped into the back of a cab, a store, or your workspace. Whether they really only play the best music is up for debate, but that’s beside the point. In any case, radio stations like Sky excel in easy listening and golden oldies, and at times, that’s perfectly fine.

  One fine day, I was in a store looking for something, and suddenly a song hit my ear that, for a split second, moved me. If you happen to be holding a hot cup of tea in your hands right now, I’d suggest you put it down, because you might roll over laughing when I tell you the name of the song that so unexpectedly transported me to enlightenment. It was… well, um… it was “My Heart Will Go On” by Celine Dion.

  I don’t even know all the lyrics, but that cheesy chorus hit a nerve. Before I knew it, I was going down the rabbit hole. My mind went whizzing through endless tunnels, illogical associations merging into new insights; small eureka moments were exploding like bottle rockets in my soul, and I landed on an incoherent conclusion that I will spare you—but also with a relaxed body and a consoled heart. And, most important of all, in that moment I found this sensation pleasant and fine. I still occasionally hum that song as a comforting mantra. And yes, my repertoire also includes mantras of less questionable reputation.

  But remember this: It doesn’t always have to be highly intellectual or “officially” spiritual to have meaning. Breathing in a little air will make your practice so much more approachable and lighter. There’s no law to determine what is wise and what isn’t. Nothing is mandatory; everything is allowed. So go ahead and blast mediocre songs to cheer you up on a bad day. Or binge schmaltzy rom-coms. Or read books that didn’t win a single literary prize. I find it wonderful to see how completely random words and images can reach into your soul like the jittery claws of an arcade grabber machine and dig up something to drop into your consciousness like a prize.

  // Create Soundtracks for Your Life

   Music matters

  Music is a language that transcends boundaries—both those separating the people of the world and the one between you and the highest heaven. Music lends everything color, meaning, atmosphere, emotion, and meaning. It is not without reason that people have been using music since the beginning of time as a way to share stories and feelings, to stir up crowds, or to calm them down.

  I often think about it in my car, with the rain pouring down and drops converging into mini-rivers flowing across the windshield. Those are the kind of moments when music can be the soundtrack to your life: Will it be a melancholy ballad that makes everything gloomy and hopeless or an up-tempo dance song to the rhythm of the lampposts flashing by? Music colors the story.

  You can also fill a space with music as though it were water, your skin the only barrier between outside and inside. You can lose yourself to the music, as they say. It is a way to communicate between your inner and outer world, as well as a form of play. In any case, I am very sensitive to it. On bad days, I impose a strict ban on melancholy ballads. When I need an extra boost, I play ridiculously happy music. And some proper beats during my workout easily make me do ten lunges more than I thought I had in me. I often play classical music in my office, which helps me focus. And when I play the cello or the ukulele, I feel the deep reverberation coming from the sound box next to my heart.

  Music is closely related to our body, mind, and soul. Regardless of your age, your culture, or the path you walk, music is healing. It can act as a pain reliever, tranquilizer, or muscle relaxant. Our hearing, like our other senses, is a means to perceive and experience the world around us. You can stimulate and soothe it with sound, and consequently change your mindset. Music affects brain waves that help you reach, and remain in, a certain state of mind.

  I sometimes listen to delta waves before going to sleep; they help me fall asleep more easily and deeper. A simple tip for lesser days: Create playlists for each of your possible moods. A playlist to help you reach deeper into your emotions if you feel like letting your tears flow freely. A playlist that is soul-soothing: calm, chill, relaxed. A playlist for when you need energy. A happy playlist. Curate whatever you need. That way you provide your life with your own soundtrack.

  You can make your own music too, even without being able to play a single instrument. Sing to yourself. My favorite places? The classics: in the car and in the shower. At the wheel, I furiously scream along to punk songs and belt out ballads while crying my eyes out. I’ve shamelessly danced to house music and also devotedly chanted mantras. The soul likes to sing, and not every ego enjoys an audience. So that shouldn’t be too difficult to arrange.

  Singing, like many of the other shortcuts in this book, has long received the scientific stamp of approval. Singing works on the body just like yoga and meditation: It reduces stress and increases the production of good hormones. It bends your breath into unexpected curves, helps express your emotions, and creates vibrations that can invoke a sense of harmony in your body. It’s good to let your voice be heard, from the depths of your essence. To make sounds that express something. To growl, to roar, to bellow, or to hum softly. Using your voice for your own well-being is not about auditioning for The Voice at all; it’s about vibrating an energy you don’t need “out of your system” or evoking an energy you actually do need. It is for good reason that yogis love the “ohm” sound, which actually sounds like “a-u-m.” It is said to be the primal sound of the universe, in which everything that is comes together. When you sing or chant “ohm,” you tune in to that pure energy and allow yourself to resonate with it. So sing, nightingale, sing!

  // Art Is Good for You

   Museum wellness

  When I was about fourteen years old, I was a fan of Picasso. With my wonderfully pretentious adolescent brain, I made a solemn pledge: No matter where in the world I’d end up, if there was a work by Picasso on show, I’d go and see it. On my bedroom wall, works by the great artist hung scattered between Nirvana and NOFX posters, among them a surreal, weeping Dora Maar, Pablo’s muse.

  I knew something about grief and suffering by fourteen, but I remember that when I stared up at Picasso’s work, I felt it, without needing to grasp it intellectually. It spoke to me at a deeper level, as only art can. My obsession with Picasso passed, but my love for art remained. Or rather, what remained is the love of what art can do to you.

  Museums are safe spaces. Surrounded by art, I fee
l secure and connected. I feel perfectly calm and content at a Georgia O’Keeffe show at the Tate Gallery in London or looking at the photographs of Patti Smith, taken by Robert Mapplethorpe, in the Kunsthal in Rotterdam. When you’re in a museum, time dissolves a little—being in those halls is at least as nourishing as a spa day. Artists provide insight into something all of us are trying to do every day, whether on a personal or universal scale: to experience reality and transform it into something meaningful.

  Even the most trivial anxieties can be a source of creation and transformation. Art challenges you to form an opinion about what you find beautiful and what you don’t, to be open-minded, to see how creative and expressive your mind is. And art is always truthful. It speaks a universal language that expresses, in countless ways, what pleasure is, what pain is, what love is, what frustration is. Art helps you to reflect on emotions and to express them. A lot of art is the result of artists having to deal with lesser days: Vincent van Gogh, to name an example, wasn’t necessarily mister sunshine.

  A visit to a museum doesn’t have to be pretentious and highbrow. You don’t need to be an expert at all. Knowing what the artist meant to say with his work, or being able to place it in its time—that’s all great fun, if you’re interested, but it doesn’t have to be so complicated. My son saw a juicy hamburger sandwich in a work by Marc Rothko. That’s fine too—I believe Rothko wanted viewers to establish their own relationship with his work.

  Visit a museum and take your time. Absorb everything you see and examine what it means for you. You don’t have to find it beautiful! Resistance and disapproval also sharpen your mind. In his role as John Keating in Dead Poets Society, actor Robin Williams says, “Medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for.”

  If all of the aforementioned doesn’t interest you, one final encouragement: It’s so amazingly quiet in a museum. You can hear yourself think, and sometimes, that’s reason enough to go.

  LOOK AROUND FOR A MOMENT

  // Nature Is a Mirror

   Bad days are a part of life

  Occasionally, I’m amazed by just how much heartache we cause ourselves over what is. Truly everything around us, including our own body, tells it exactly like it is, unvarnished. Step outside, look around you, and you see one big neon sign: This too shall pass. In nature everything is impermanent. Everything is evanescent.

  When was the last time you were rain-soaked down to your socks? I myself remember it precisely: It was during an editorial staff trip with the magazine on the island of Texel, and we were rushing to catch the ferry back. Above our heads, a rainstorm broke loose, and ahead of me lay endless miles of biking through the dunes. It’s strange, what happens in situations like that: At first, you begin to peddle faster—as if you can dodge the raindrops or overtake the clouds. Then, briefly, your mood turns sour as you slowly but surely are getting soaked to the bone. But after that? By the time your pants are sticking to your legs and your hair is draped on your head like thick spaghetti noodles? I had to laugh so hard. I was soaking wet anyway. I was already cold anyway. There was no escape. It’s raining. And it will clear up. Ultimately, a simple story.

  Once you become aware of all the things going on around you in nature, you have one of the most comprehensive educations you can find, right there, completely free of charge, within reach. And we ourselves are part of it. You are that nature. It’s just that we often don’t act like it. Headstrong little humans, all of us, we think: It shall not pass. It shall not wither. Love has to be everlasting. Bodies shouldn’t turn wrinkly and feeble. The sun should keep shining. We want the same from the world around us: fresh strawberries in the store year-round, no one is allowed to fall ill, and how come you suddenly get fewer “likes”? There’s nothing in nature that blooms 365 days a year—but we are a tough crowd when it comes to that message.

  Ignoring the circle of life causes a strange kind of tension in your head and body that can go unnoticed. When you don’t pay attention, you run the risk of actually no longer being fully in sync with life. We tend to associate “a new season” with fashion collections, trends in home decoration, and recipes, not with life itself. To us, it’s complicated enough to go to sleep when the sun sets and to wake up when the sun comes up—let alone to relate the passing of things to ourselves. And that’s a shame, because nature is constantly evolving.

  Everything has its own rhythm. There’s a period of growth, of bloom, of withering, and of stillness. And on a bad day, it’s a comforting thought that everything is cyclical, that everything is transient. Maybe the storms of life are raining cats and dogs right now, but hey, it’s not going to last forever. Let life happen! We can live spring, summer, fall, and winter—sometimes four seasons in a single day. There are moments during which you are exuberant, and there are times of growing pains and getting closer to your goal step-by-step. There are moments of harvesting what you sowed with your own blood, sweat, and tears, and there are times when everything seems to be in total gridlock (although, in hindsight, that often turns out to be a time of reflection and new insights; mark my words). That balance is necessary. Exert yourself and relax. Grow, bloom. We mirror nature. There’s a reason spiritual teachers use nature as a metaphor for personal growth and inner peace so very often.

  Sometimes I miss that sense of self-evidence, that moving along with the seasons like you did as a child. As a kindergartener, I made cobwebs from chestnuts (like God’s eyes), strung daisy chains, and built snowmen, lips blue from the cold. As an adult, it sometimes seems so much more complicated to stay in touch with nature. But you don’t have to cloak yourself in a camouflage outfit and rubber boots to see what She has to tell you. All you have to do is develop a little awareness.

  As Mark Nepo observed so astutely, “I keep looking for one more teacher, only to find that fish learn from the water and birds learn from the sky.” Look at the trees on your own street: a green haze in spring, neon green in the summer, orange-yellow-brown in the fall, stark black silhouettes in the wintertime. Bring nature into your home: tulips in the spring, chestnuts in the fall. They remind you of the bigger picture. Perhaps a bad day feels like a winter day. But after winter comes spring. Maybe you were completely rain-soaked today. But after rain comes sunshine.

  Cliché? Yes. But true. It’s the law of nature.

  Winter Is Coming

  Now and then, try comparing your emotional state to the passing seasons. It puts your moods in a larger perspective.

  Spring is about germination, about new life, a fresh start, about finding your form, about sowing and growing and awakening.

  Summer is about blooming, energy, maturity, connection, feast and abundance, outdoors, and everything taking shape.

  Autumn is the time for harvesting, seeing the result, but also for letting go, turning inward again, gathering and saying goodbye and slumbering.

  Winter is the time to reflect, to rest, to gain strength, to recharge, to enrich your mind, and to prepare for a new period.

  // Flowers as Medicine

   An excuse to always have them in your home

  I love to always have fresh flowers at home. It’s a nice ritual: going to the flower stall, handpicking the most beautiful assortment, bundling it like a casual field flower bouquet in crackling wax paper, then putting it in a vase. Having the satisfaction of being someone who always has fresh flowers in the house, of being someone who finds it worth investing in what wilts. To be someone who—even if only for herself—makes life beautiful. But flowers have an even deeper meaning to me: They are a simple, accessible, and beautifully poetic way of reminding me that everything is impermanent.

  In an interview for Happinez, Alain de Botton said something that I almost know by heart: “Accept the temporary nature of things. We assume that things we like will remain the same forever. We hope that life is eternal, that our possessions will continue to shine, that our bod
ies will retain their youthfulness. While we should think about things the way we think about a flower, which has a natural development of budding, blooming, and wilting. Then it is no longer a tragedy. It is precisely in connection with pain that beautiful things get their value.”

  Whenever you sense a resistance to the ephemeral nature of things, to time rushing forward incessantly and the feeling of having to leave behind people and dreams, walk over to the flower stall. Growing, blooming, and wilting—you can see life passing by. When you really look closely, you’ll discover beauty in each phase of existence. The intense color of a wilting petal, the intriguing, whimsical shapes: Flowers on the verge of perishing may actually be at their prettiest. That everything runs its course, and that there’s beauty in that, is something to cherish. On top of that, the presence of flowers intensifies your sense of satisfaction, positivity, and connection. Scientific studies indicate that hospital patients who are surrounded by flowers need less pain medication and are more optimistic.

  Having living (or formerly living) beings like plants and flowers in your home also connects life inside and life outdoors. It literally brings life into your house—and that benefits your soul, which moves along to that natural cycle. Our houses are often so thoroughly insulated, so soundly built, so static… if you didn’t feel an inclination to leave your house, the only way the seasons would be measured would be by how high you set your thermostat.