The Mean Reds

You ever get the mean reds? If you’ve read Truman Capote’s book, or seen the movie, Breakfast At Tiffany’s, you might remember Audrey Hepburn explaining how the mean reds differ from the blues. 

“The blues are because you're getting fat, and maybe it's been raining too long. You're just sad, that's all. The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you're afraid and you don't know what you're afraid of.”

A chillingly accurate distinction, and one that hits close to home for many. The blues are easier to recognize, at least for me. They are usually tied to something specific, although sometimes it is more of a malaise. Either way, I have an idea of why they started and when they will end. But the mean reds have an inexplicable, multilayered nature that makes them hard to appease, and you can never predict when they will strike. 

While it’s great that Tiffany’s provided some distraction for Audrey (Holly Golightly), for a Brooklyn gal like me, taking a stroll in oversized sunglasses and antique pearls to an iconic jewelry store near Central Park is not the cure-all. Especially when the mean reds come with a splash of the blues: a hybrid of anxiety and low-grade depression. What would you call that? Maybe something in the purple family?

It’s fall in New York, have you heard? It’s one of my favorite seasons, and yet the beginning of what could be a difficult cold stretch. As the days become shorter, I can pretty much bank on the blues creeping in. Endless frigid days, scarce sunlight, and then there is commuting, which is its own miserable condition. That’ll be more than enough to jumpstart the blues. But what brings on the mean reds? Well, that’s just it. As Audrey says, “Suddenly you’re afraid and you don’t know what you’re afraid of.” No way to tell.

Are the mean reds an indicator that something is wrong? missing? Or perhaps, that nothing is wrong? You see, for those of you who didn’t know me pre-health coaching days, I was in a very creative field for many years. I filmed and edited video and films, I planned creative projects, I ran a film series, too, for a while. More recently I wrote a book, which took a lot of time and creative efforts, and of course, I paint and play guitar. Creativity is important to me, as is having a project, something to focus on.

For me, the last few years have been fraught with lots of change and growth. As a result, I always had something to do. Everything was a project, even if it wasn’t “artistic.” I was either looking for a new job, or a new place to live, and/or going to doctors to cure whatever was ailing me at the moment. In between, I had my art, my film projects, my book to write, and other goals to work toward. Life was a constant flutter, an endless to-do list with gratifying milestones, accomplishments, and semi-anxiety provoking deadlines.

However impatient I may seem, the journey really is more important than the destination, because the minute I’d actually finished the book, the films, or got the answers I’d been looking for, I’d have a brief moment of “finally!” but then I’d quickly become restless again. I enjoy the doing more than the done.

But that was yesterday. Today, I’ve finished a lot of projects. I’ve landed a job I actually enjoy. I work with supportive, creative, and kind people (a rarity in my experience), so I’m not compelled to make job-hunting a project. Same can be said for my home (I don’t see the need to relocate any time soon). My book is finished (yay!) and has received some wonderful, rewarding feedback. And this is also the first time in my adult life that I’m not seeing a therapist.

While I feel very accomplished, it feels odd to not have an active project to work on, a problem to solve, or an otherwise goal to strive for.

Don’t get me wrong, of course I have goals—I’d like to move out of the city at some point, and grow in my career, but those desires are infant thoughts that have yet to develop into clear, actionable steps. In the interim, life has become… quiet. And in the stillness, there are the mean reds, tapping, knocking, and gnawing.

“Suddenly you’re afraid, and you don’t know what you’re afraid of.” The fear is different for everyone, I imagine. It could be a nervous panic over what seems like nothing. Maybe an unsettling feeling, or an anxious jolt without a known trigger. Or maybe a more subtle fear that something is off. It could be the “is this all there is?” feeling, or the looming “none of this even matters” thought, which tags along the heels of every positive thought.

So what to do about it? How else, aside from window shopping at the world’s most famous jewelry store, would one solve this? Or as Jamie pondered, What Would Audrey Do?

When I delve deeper into the lines from Breakfast At Tiffany’s, the script reveals that the writer was also contemplating this new-agey melancholia: “It’s better to look at the sky than live there. Such an empty place; so vague. Just a country where the thunder goes and things disappear.”

While finding a purpose or giving myself a project could yield more long-term relief than looking at diamonds through a window on 5th Avenue, I also want to be mindful of not taking on projects just for the sake of taking on projects. It’s like trying to shove gum in the holes of a sinking ship. Maybe Audrey had it right—grab your sunglasses, a croissant, and a coffee, and stroll down the streets of New York until you find something that just makes you feel fabulous, even for a moment. Maybe it’s about finding those simple pleasures in life. Tennis, not to go pro, but because hitting a ball is fun. Guitar lessons, because music sounds nice, not because you plan to play at MSG. And diamond gazing, because sparkles!

Audrey culminates her explanation of the mean reds by saying that, if she could ever find a real-life place that made her feel like Tiffany’s, then she would buy some furniture (for her empty apartment) and give her nameless cat a name. Take it away, Audrey:

“I don’t want to own anything until I find a place where me and things go together. I’m not sure where that is but I know what it is like. It’s like Tiffany’s.” She’s looking to feel settled, safe enough to stay. Aren’t we all?

Where is this real-life place like Tiffany’s for the rest of us? Wherever it is, it is a place where we are not stuck in our cages, bound to keep running into ourselves (as Paul says in the film). Maybe it already exists, or maybe we have to create it.