and how small things can completely change how we experience something unpleasant
I went to the dentist last week for a routine cleaning.
The whole time I was in the chair, I closed my eyes behind the office-issued sunglasses and was trying very hard to focus on literally anything other than the fact that someone was scraping around inside my mouth. When you’re stuck like that — staring at the bright ceiling lights, unable to talk, slightly dissociating — you have a lot of time to think.
I’ve been trying to be more intentional about capturing my thoughts. The challenge for me is I have the best thoughts at the most random and inconvenient times. Even when I physically can “write it down”, pulling out my phone to type into my Notes app is often too much of a chore in the moment. I’ve been playing with the idea of leaving myself voice notes, but that has felt awkward and inconvenient for different reasons. I gave it another shot though. When I got in my car, I ramble-recorded whatever thoughts I could remember during my drive home.
I ended up recording three separate thoughts. On the surface, they were about completely different things: burnout, dentist office playlists, and my dental hygienist Shelby. But I think they were actually about the same thing: how small things can completely change how we experience something unpleasant.
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The right perspective
There was a time when I used to think going to the dentist was a break. And back then, I was getting a lot of intense dental work done: deep cleanings, the kind where they numb half your mouth and spend an hour poking and scraping and doing things that feel like medieval torture methods.
And during those appointments I would think, “At least I’m not at work.” Which, in hindsight, should have been a sign. A bright red flag.
Because if you would rather be lying in a dentist chair, your mouth being prodded by sharp instruments, than sitting at your desk… something might be wrong.
But I didn’t question it at the time. I just assumed that was part of life. Work sucks. Everyone complains about it. Sometimes you’d rather be anywhere else. Even if that anywhere is the dentist.
Last week, I didn’t feel that same sense of relief in the dentist chair. I wasn’t secretly grateful for the forced hour away from my Slack notifications. It was just the dentist, not a break from the stress of work bullshit.
I realized this might actually be a decent barometer. If the next time you’re at the dentist you find yourself thinking, “this is better than being at my shitty job,” it might be time to rethink your shitty job. Because the dentist should not be the highlight of your day.
The right playlist
The playlist at my dentist office is pretty incredible. I’m not sure if this is the case at all dentist offices, but I distinctly remember thinking how great the playlist is, every time I’m at the dentist.
I don’t know how to describe the exact vibe. It’s not Top 40, but it might be Top 40 from yesteryear (but not too far into yesteryear), mixed in with some recent stuff? And it wasn’t too poppy and upbeat, but wasn’t too indie or melancholy either.
The only one I could remember when I recorded my voice note was “Lose Control” by Teddy Swims. At the time of this writing, I remembered “Waves” by Mr. Probz (I had to google the lyrics I knew to find the title and artist, because I don’t think I ever knew this artist’s name??). I knew most, if not all, the words to every song I heard that day.
I should have asked if someone curated that playlist or if it was an algorithmically selected “radio station”. Next time. But if the playlist was curated by a human, bravo. They hit the mark. Because if you’re mentally belting out the chorus, you’re probably thinking less about the metal instrument picking at your gum line.
Maybe dentist playlists are actually a carefully engineered distraction system. If so, I respect the craft.
If you’ve been here for a bit, you already know how important the right soundtrack is to me.
The right people
About halfway through the appointment I told Shelby, my new dental hygienist, that she was doing a great job, just in case nobody had told her that lately. Going to the dentist kinda sucks, and the people who work there are the ones making it suck less.
Shelby was particularly good at it. She gave really clear instructions — which way to turn my head, when to close, when to rinse. It sounds small, but in a particularly unpleasant situation, clarity helps.
She also explained what she was seeing as she went. “There’s a little pocket there, that spot might feel a bit sensitive.” And that clarity helped too. If I felt a little twinge of pain and she immediately explained why, it made the whole experience feel less mysterious. It was weirdly validating.
The attention to detail and explanation made the whole thing easier and more tolerable.
I think my compliment made her day suck less too. She agreed — not many people compliment the job their dental hygienist is doing. And she really appreciated being validated herself. (Not to sound preachy, but if you have something nice to say, say it!)
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Nothing about the routine dental cleaning itself had really changed. It was still the same chair, the same bright lights (and sunglasses!), the same water flosser thingy and sharp tools.
But the experience this time felt different.
Part of that was perspective. I wasn’t using the dentist as an escape from a job I hated. Part of it was the music, giving my brain something to grab onto (ok, that part was the same as usual). And part of it was Shelby, calmly explaining what was happening so it didn’t feel strange or alarming.
The procedure was the same, but the difference was the details around it. It made me wonder how many other things in life are like that. The “thing” itself doesn’t change, but the experience does — because of the people, the music, and whether or not you’re secretly wishing you were somewhere else.
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