Be the Peanut Butter (finding your ground when the world spikes)

A few days ago, I wrote about the idea of "glucose spikes" actually applying to life—what if life has its own version of these spikes, things that trigger us and cause a sudden surge of intensity? And what if there are things we can do, like "putting clothes on our carbs," to help mitigate that intensity? But today it occurred to me that there is more to it than just our own internal regulation.

For most of my life, I am realizing, I have been a sort of thermometer—taking the temperature of the room and adjusting myself to match it. It wasn’t anything I did intentionally; it felt inherent, almost automatic. If the person I was with had energy that was raised or volatile, I would raise mine so they wouldn’t feel alone. If their energy was low and sad, I would lower mine to meet them in the depths. I didn’t really think about it, but if I did, I probably viewed it as a noble thing—being present with someone by accompanying them in their emotional state.

The only problem is, I’ve realized it’s not actually a very helpful strategy.

Horseman Mark Rashid talks about this when it comes to relating with your horse. He says the goal is to maintain the "total energy" of the pair at a ten. If the horse is at a five, the human should be at a five. But if something happens to spook the horse and it suddenly spikes to a seven, it is not productive for the human to go to a seven as well. That only escalates the situation. Instead of a balanced ten, you suddenly have a total energy of fourteen. When the horse feels the human spike in response to its own fear, it creates a vicious cycle that pushes the horse even higher, perhaps to a nine. If the human follows, you can see where that leads.

The solution is to regulate the energy rather than simply meeting it. You have to act like a thermostat rather than a thermometer. While a thermometer merely reflects the temperature of the room, a thermostat sets the temperature and the room eventually adjusts to it.

In that example with the horse, if a plastic bag flies by in the wind and startles the horse up to a seven, the rider’s energy should actually lower to a three to maintain that balance of ten. For me, as a green rider with a very green and traumatized horse named Luna, we didn’t always find that balance. For a long time, if Luna got spooked, I got spooked. But over time, I began to learn how to "calm the spook." I became so practiced at it that I eventually became a master of calming skittish horses, making sure they were grounded enough for other riders.

The only issue was that I had developed a one-way thermostat. Because I was always the one "calming" the energy, I only developed the muscles for lowering my own state. One day, on a horse that was particularly low-energy, I realized I lacked the ability to "raise" my energy to meet the moment. My thermostat only worked in one direction.

Returning to the Glucose Goddess and the idea of "putting clothes on your carbs"—this is where the human element comes back in. In my relationships, I realized I was still often behaving like a pure thermometer. If you were angry, I was angry. If you were sad, I was sad. In food terms: if you were spiking from a "naked" banana, I was spiking right along with you.

I began to wonder: what would it be like if we became the "peanut butter" for each other? Even if a friend or a partner happens to eat a naked carb—an emotional spike—we might be able to help be the protein that clothes that carb.

I’ve seen this in action with horses. On one particular cabalgata, an all-day ride with hundreds of people, I could see a few women who were becoming nervous and projecting that anxiety onto their horses. From a distance, I began to project a calming, centered, grounding energy toward them. In the same way I had practiced with Luna, I simply sent that calmness out. I spoke to them, helping them understand what was happening, and within minutes, the situation settled. Was it my words or my energy? I don't know. But in a sense, I had helped "clothe the carbs" of that situation.

There is a fine line here, of course. If you go through the world trying to clothe everyone’s carbs, you will wind up spent and exhausted. You cannot be responsible for everyone's regulation. But in times of crisis, or in our most personal relationships, I wonder if there isn't a way to help regulate the energy so the spinning doesn't continue.

It is easy to think that staying calm when someone else is spiking is a form of passivity or a "cop-out." But true peace isn't the absence of energy; it is the mastery of it. Being the "peanut butter" isn't about being sweet—it's about being substantial. It’s about having enough weight and presence to stay grounded at a three, so that together, you can find your way back to ten.

If you’re interested in exploring how to "take the reins" in your own life, join us for our monthly workshop. We gather to practice the skills of presence and intentionality, learning together how to move through the world with a bit more clarity and a lot less fear.