THE ANCHOR

INK.

I have two anchors with me at any given moment. One I have with me since a wonderful summer in 2016, when my love and me got a partner tattoo, a faith hope love motive in the style of Herbert Hoffmann. It was a beautiful day in beautiful Södermalm. The artist, Max, travels the world with his tattoo machine. Romantic for him. If you need a touch-up though, it's a bit inconvenient if Max and his machine are in Korea or Mexico.

I sadly screwed up the fresh tattoo on the same day, as we strolled through the best city on the planet and I was too careless. I learned micro-adulting (like follow instructions of acquired commodities, maintain them, and care for them) only a decade later. This fact brought us here, and might have even brought you here, reading this. Maybe wondering how one can be 50+ but still has work to do growing up. So as Max was never in Stockholm when I came looking for him, I have a scratched tattoo on my arm.

BREATH.

The second anchor I carry since before I was even born, since the abdomen was formed in my mother's womb … decades before, ca. 46 years before the anchor was inked under my skin.

The anchor I describe here is one I can summon with a meditation practice. I simply breathe into my belly and say "anchor" quietly to myself. This practice is meant to help me to deal with problematic situations, stressful moments, or when I spiral into loops of misguided pride, blind rage, childish behavior or any other instinct-driven moods. If you're familiar with Kahneman*, you know what I mean: those moments when System 1—the autopilot brain—reacts before you can actually think.

These two—the tattoo and the breath—are my internal anchors. They live within me, always accessible, whether I'm alone or surrounded by chaos.

OXYGEN.

But I've learned something crucial on this journey: internal anchors aren't always enough. Sometimes you need something outside yourself to hold onto.

And I have to admit that too often my adrenalin rushes to my head and blurs my sight.

Stupid decisions are my middle name.

Impulse, envy, pride — the holy fucking trinity of tyranny of the self — sometimes knock my brains out.

In these situations — and most others — it's great to have anchors outside myself. For me, it's my love, but also music. These are my external anchors—the people and beats that tether me to the world when my own foundation starts to crack.

There are so many anchors that can hold you.

If you can connect to the ground by just breathing and summon your anchor, that's a fantastic thing to explore.

But you might ask: why is your anchor in your belly?

Because that's where your core is. Not just physically—your center of gravity, your balance—but the place where you can feel yourself grounded. When I breathe into my belly and say "anchor," I'm literally centering myself. The anchor isn't just a metaphor—it's a practice of returning to my core.

PROOF.

I was scrolling through boxes full of vinyl. Many of them Metal classics I need to own! Of course I do, but the purse says "not today"; and then I saw it: Paradise Lost - One Second. A record I once owned, but probably sold, or "lost". Remember living like nothing breaks? The fleamarket dude wants 150 euros.

I was so fucking angry at my younger me at that moment, looking back on past bad decisions the vinyl collector in me today abhors. Couldn't get over it for a couple of minutes and almost ruined the whole fleamarket trip with my love, being all grumpy and genuinely annoying.

Until I remembered The Anchor and did a few rounds of belly breathing. It worked. I calmed down instantly and found my cool again!

Since then, it's prevented me from losing my ground in quite a few situations—at work, during my gymnastics training, and in unpleasant situations—a packed bus, a crowded waiting room.

And One Second? That will come to me another time!

HOW TO PRACTICE ANCHOR BREATHING

A PROMPT FOR HUMANS

STEP 1: FIND YOUR ANCHOR WORD

Choose a word that grounds you. I use "anchor," but you might prefer "center," "home," "steady," or anything that feels stabilizing. Keep it simple—one word you can summon instantly.

STEP 2: PRACTICE WHEN YOU'RE CALM

Don't wait for a crisis to learn this. Sit somewhere quiet. Place one hand on your belly. Breathe in slowly through your nose, feeling your belly expand like a balloon. As you breathe in, say your anchor word silently to yourself. Breathe out slowly. Repeat five times. Do this daily until it becomes automatic.

STEP 3: USE IT WHEN SHIT HITS THE FAN

When you feel the adrenaline spike, the anger rising, the spiral starting—stop. Put your hand on your belly if you can (if not, just focus there mentally). Take three deep belly breaths, saying your anchor word with each inhale. You'll feel the shift. Maybe not instantly, but it will come.

STEP 4: BE PATIENT WITH YOURSELF

You'll forget. You'll spiral anyway sometimes. That's fine. This isn't about perfection—it's about having a tool you can reach for when you remember. Each time you use it, it gets easier to remember next time.

The point isn't to never get angry or frustrated. The point is to have a way back to yourself when you drift.

*Must read: Daniel Kahneman - Thinking, Fast And Slow. Kahneman shows you exactly why your brain's autopilot keeps sabotaging you - and once you see the pattern, you can finally try to interrupt it. For me, it's one of the books of books. https://amzn.eu/d/0ir9t35b