Trapped in the waiting room

Have you ever forgotten how to breathe? I know it’s strange. Breathing is supposed to be the bike-riding of bodily functions – you never forget. But recently I’ve found myself randomly seizing up, the jaws of panic snapping shut on my lungs, air swelling against my throat as I totally forget how to exhale . . .

I’ve even become envious of heavy breathers. Once upon a time, if I was next to those gasping human vacuum cleaners at a restaurant, I’d start throwing the free mints into their open mouths just to make a point. Now I’m watching enviously as they heave deep whooshing breaths like it’s the easiest thing ever.

And normally it is. Even through the white-hot hellfire of 2020, I inhaled, exhaled and respired like an Olympian of bodily functions. But now, as Auckland relaxes back into normality, I’m apparently stuck in a perpetual panic attack.

It’s not just an emotional hangover from the past 18 months of living in Auckland. (Which admittedly has felt like riding Disneyland’s Tower of Terror, repeatedly rocketing up into normality before plummeting, screaming, hearts pounding, into lockdown.)

I also know I don’t have social anxiety. I love people, noise and energy; I’m in the Linda Lovelace camp of extroverted attention-seekers. So I crave the hustle of our old lives.

And actually, it turns out that’s the problem. See, over the past few weeks the same mood has been creeping into my inboxes; friends and family and colleagues voicing a shared restlessness. An empty, itchy feeling of nothingness.

We’re getting on; supermarket runs, coffee dates and happy hours all happen. But it’s flat, like our lives are on pause. We’re all in the dentist’s waiting room, aimlessly prising apart the sticky pages of women’s mags while waiting . . . and waiting . . .

Apparently psychologists have a clinical term for this – languishing. It’s when you’re not depressed by life, but you’re not excited or energetic about it either. Every day feels like a big, beige blur. And, according to a recent study in the

it’s defining post-pandemic life in countries right now.

It makes sense, right? In the last 18 months, many of us didn’t accomplish any of the tiny, everyday goals we normally set ourselves. Eating healthier, going to the gym, seeing Mum more . . . all brushed aside by the pandemic. And our bigger ‘‘things to look forward to’’ list, like getting married or promoted or travelling, also didn’t happen or weren’t what we expected. We gradually gave up on planning anything, as the pandemic made planning itself look like a ridiculous act of hubris . . . Then, with nothing to distract us from self-reflection, many of us looked at our lives honestly in a way we haven’t done in ages. And a lot of us, me included, realised they bored us senseless.

So no wonder we’re all feeling a bit listless, missing the hustle and hype we distracted ourselves with in 2019. (And then feeling guilty that we can’t be more grateful for how lucky we are.)

If you’ve got an anxious brain like mine, this listlessness often spills over into panic that time is slipping by, and you’re not sprinting after it. Like you’re in a nightmare when you need to run, but your legs won’t move . . .

So if recently you’ve also been hyperventilating in the passenger seat next to your totally bewildered partner, it’s OK. The rest of us are too. In fact, it’s totally expected on this bumpy trek back into post-pandemic life where we carve a new normal.

There’s nothing wrong with you. Just remember to exhale.