“Okay, people. Relax. Exhale. Let that poopiness go. Let it go, people!” With that, activity director Cubby Toothaker tries to pump energy into residents of a senior community. He won’t give up on them, and he hasn’t given up on theater as a life celebration and whatever it takes to put on the show. To him, there’s no place in the world for poopiness.

Cubby is a character I created for my play “Make Mine Metamucil,” opening July 11 at Ferndale Repertory Theatre and July 26 at the Eureka Theater. But if you know me, you know that Cubby is very real. He’s Dave. I don’t have time for poopiness either.

Casting the play with director Denise Ryles was a chilling challenge. Actors had to be over 55, and at that age, we’re an endangered species. So what was I supposed to do, approach people in a doctors’ offices and ask, “Have you ever considered show business?” Bad pickup line. Bad place to try it.

Then, nobody wanted to play the effervescent Cubby. We needed someone comfortable in his own skin, all of it. And when you’re 55, there’s plenty of skin you’d rather not think about. Everyone we knew was either too young, too busy or holding out for a movie deal. Take it from a guy who has sweated under the lights of Action News 6, big-time show business is not all it’s cracked up to be.

Faced with Denise’s ultimatum, “No Cubby, no show,” I had to reflect. I sought the peaceful serenity of my forest, the walk from Downtown Eureka to Target. There, my $1.07 coke special had gone up to $1.34. Was nothing sacred? I was left with just two ways to deal with my poopiness, take on the cola cartel or take on Cubby. I chose Cubby.

I first attempted community theater 25 years ago, the most stressful experience of my life. My director had given me the nickname “Talking Tree,” which I don’t believe was a compliment. I couldn’t act and couldn’t remember lines. In fact, I would have performed no useful function at all if I hadn’t been the lead. They had to hang the costumes somewhere. Why not the tree?

Through that first play, I have learned that stress often has no bearing on reality. Big surgical operation? No problem — but dance in front of people? Forget it. In fact, many of us are adept at creating stress when it shouldn’t exist. We set the stage for our own poopiness.

On the peaceful North Coast, it’s amazing what passes for stress. To me, it’s one slow-moving car ahead — a two-car gridlock. Stuck behind a slow pickup truck one morning, I grew antsy. When I saw the sticker reading “Goin‚ Huntin’‚“ I imploded.

Did you ever open a CD case and find the disc gone? Then you know how I felt when my granddaughter Alyssa lost the holder for my DVD “Pee Wee Herman’s Big Adventure.” Is there no justice?

The solution to our stress problems may have come from a phone call I got last week. A woman suggested that we report on good people as much as we talk about the bad. When we hear the TV news blonde say, “He was a quiet man who kept to himself,” we know what’s next, breaking news on the guy who went nuts.

How refreshing it would be to switch polarity: “He was an obnoxious twit, but he painted an elderly couple’s house for free. Film at 11.” Perhaps no one would watch, but if I were in charge, I’d take a chance.

So how do we know we are reducing stress? Blood pressure? Pulse? Fewer enemies? Only in America would we quantify it. Don’t we do that with everything? Example: On a scale of one to 10, how much do you love me? (Hint: There’s only one safe answer, and it’s not “I’ll get back to you.”)

Perhaps the Girl Scouts have the right approach. For the past seven years, they’ve offered the “Stress Less” merit badge. Along with cooking and good citizenship, Girl Scouts learn about massage, meditation and relaxation. Given the party-like-a-rock-star example we set for them, they deserve a merit badge just for putting up with us.

My solution is to find something you like without drifting too far from the ones you love. Make your life be a mission, a purpose. My ceremonial first pitch at a Crabs game became a pathetic dribble to the plate. Because of it, though, more people know about the Arcata Ballpark collection barrels for Cleats for Kids, those Dominican Little Leaguers.

Finally, fix your eyes on someone you admire — and don’t blink. In my case, it’s Cubby, and he’s for keeps. So let that poopiness go, people.

Dave Silverbrand is a local television personality and teaches journalism at the College of the Redwoods.