Today, my readers, we are going to talk about depression. Why, you ask? Because depression is an insidious bastard and needs to be addressed. Because the more it’s talked about, the harder it is to see it as a shameful secret. Because it’s a reality for many, many people, and it’s important for those people to feel like they can speak up and get help.
According to the National Institute of Mental Health (NIMH), depressive disorders affect approximately 18.8 million American adults, or about 9.5% of the U.S. population ages 18 and older, in a given year. I am currently one of those people. That’s right, I said it, and I’m not going to hide from it. It’s part of my current reality, and I’ve never been one for self-denial.
So what, exactly, is depression? Well, the NIMH informs me that there are several different kinds of depression, and the reasons behind them, their scope of influence, and their effects are as varied as their types. I’ll focus on the type that closest fits the symptoms I’ve had, “major depressive disorder,” because that’s the one I can intelligently speak about, but the other types can be found here. Basically, depression is a mood disorder that affects you to the point that you have difficulty functioning normally. It’s beyond feeling blue or having a bad day. Symptoms vary from person to person, but here’s a round-up of indicators put together by the NIMH:
• Persistent sad, anxious or "empty" feelings
• Feelings of hopelessness and/or pessimism
• Feelings of guilt, worthlessness and/or helplessness
• Irritability, restlessness
• Loss of interest in activities or hobbies once pleasurable, including sex
• Fatigue and decreased energy
• Difficulty concentrating, remembering details and making decisions
• Insomnia, early–morning wakefulness, or excessive sleeping
• Overeating, or appetite loss
• Thoughts of suicide, suicide attempts
• Persistent aches or pains, headaches, cramps or digestive problems that do not ease even with treatment
I can personally attest to the validity of this list, as each bullet point has been something I’ve struggled with over the last several months. It’s damn difficult to function like a normal human being when you’re under the yoke of even one of these symptoms. Throw them together in combination, which is what depression does, and you’re talking about a full-on war against yourself. In the morning, getting out of bed is a struggle. Finding the will to do anything is a battle of epic proportions. At my very worst, I’ve found myself curled up in a ball on my bedroom floor, sobbing and unwilling to move for fear of what I’d do if I did. It’s not pretty, let me tell you.
The feelings are difficult to explain to someone who hasn’t ever felt them. The best I’ve been able to come up with is what I imagine possession might feel like. One minute I’m going about my business, making it through my day, and the next it’s like something else has completely taken me over. Before the events that make The Reinvention Project necessary happened, I was a pretty stable person. I didn’t really have highs and lows in mood, I didn’t cry a lot (or easily), and I was fairly balanced and leaning towards the happy side of the emotional scale. Now…well, that person is someone I hope to be again, but for now I try to deal with the dual personality I have developed.
I have heard people say that there’s only a certain type of person who ends up with depression. They’ve insinuated that intelligence plays some sort of factor, or that someone is “too strong” to ever end up struggling with a depressive disorder. I’m here to tell you that depression doesn’t discriminate. I never thought I fit the “type,” either. Now I know that there is no type. Given the right set of circumstances, depression can take anyone down. The important thing, I’ve learned, is to acknowledge the issue as quickly as possible, and get help.
Having depression doesn’t make you weak, and acknowledging that you need help is one of the strongest things you can do for yourself. I always felt like I could take anything on myself, that I never really needed help from anyone else. But realizing that what was going on in my head was not normal sadness, and finding the strength within to pick up the phone and ask someone for help, very likely saved my life. So I’m asking you, as one human being to another, to take a look at that symptoms list. Do you see yourself in it? Do you recognize a friend or family member? If you answered yes to either of these questions, get help. It’s okay to need it, and it could save your life—or someone else’s.
National Institute of Mental Health: information on depressive disorders, how to recognize them, how to combat them, where to go to get help for yourself or someone you know
Depression Resources: A list compiled by WebMD of various sources on depression information and help.
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: A phone hotline dedicated to helping anyone in suicidal crisis or emotional distress. 1-800-273-TALK (8255).
The National Hopeline Network: Vetted by PostSecret, this network provides a multi-platform help network for those in crisis (phone, email, online chat). 1-800-442-HOPE (4673).
If you have any other resources or information, feel free to comment on this post and add your knowledge!
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Saturday, January 23, 2010
I Get By With a Little Help from My Friends
Want to know who your real friends are? Place yourself in the middle of a life in utter ruins, and see who comes to help you pick up the pieces. You might be surprised.
I have been incredibly fortunate to have had a fantastic and unfailing support system throughout the various disasters in my life over the last several months. My family, of course, rallied immediately, doing that familial thing they’ve always done so well. Their loyalty and support was never even a question. Other, non-family people, however, have stepped gracefully into my life to help keep the few columns that remain from crashing down on top of me. This phenomenon is what I focus on daily, to remind myself that I have more people who think I’m worth supporting, worth befriending, worth including in their lives, than I ever knew.
Still others are good friends who have gone so far above and beyond that I can only hold them up as shining examples of what true friendship is—and hope that I have been as a good a presence in their lives as they have been in mine.
Lesson of the Day: Pick up the phone, log on to Facebook, send an e-mail, tweet away—the message you send may have more of an impact than you could possibly imagine.
I have been incredibly fortunate to have had a fantastic and unfailing support system throughout the various disasters in my life over the last several months. My family, of course, rallied immediately, doing that familial thing they’ve always done so well. Their loyalty and support was never even a question. Other, non-family people, however, have stepped gracefully into my life to help keep the few columns that remain from crashing down on top of me. This phenomenon is what I focus on daily, to remind myself that I have more people who think I’m worth supporting, worth befriending, worth including in their lives, than I ever knew.
Some of these saviors were already established in my life as co-workers, acquaintances, and friends who I saw “once in a while.” They heard about what was going on and took it upon themselves to become more than once-a-month friends, contacting me through various outlets to ask how I was doing, if there was anything they could do to help, if I needed to talk or wanted to hang out. These gestures were not a one-time occurrence; they began happening routinely and continue to this moment. These are busy, busy people, with families and lives and trials of their own, and I can’t imagine when they have the time to think of me—but they do.
Others are people who I was once friends with, perhaps even good friends, but time being what it is, we slipped away from each other. Ironically, the very events conspiring to cause such strife in my life were the same events that led me back to these once-and-future friends. Through the magic of 21st-century social media, they saw that I seemed to be having trouble and decided to reach out to me. As it turns out, several of them were having (or were just coming out of) similar troubles, and could not only sympathize, but empathize. They say pain shared is pain halved, and these wonderful people knew that, and endeavored to show me that I was not alone. These are the voices who stay up with me late into the night when I can’t sleep (which is often), companions to my chronic insomnia. The nights are the worst. These people get me through them.
Still others are good friends who have gone so far above and beyond that I can only hold them up as shining examples of what true friendship is—and hope that I have been as a good a presence in their lives as they have been in mine.
Words cannot express what these people mean to me, or what they’ve done for me. There have been days when a well-timed Facebook message or a random phone call has, quite seriously, been all that stood between my fragile psyche and a padded room. Being reminded that there are people in the world who don’t have to care about me but do anyway, just because I’m me, has done more to help me begin this journey to reinvention than all the inner strength I could ever conjure up. It’s true that most days I do this for myself, because I want to come out of this a better, stronger person, because I refuse to let anything get the best of me. But some days, the ones when I look at myself in the mirror and can’t conjure up the desire to try for myself alone—those are the days I remember all the people who’ve shown me that they think I’m worth keeping around. I lock their faces in my mind, stand up straight, and try anyway.
Lesson of the Day: Pick up the phone, log on to Facebook, send an e-mail, tweet away—the message you send may have more of an impact than you could possibly imagine.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Who Am I?
I will never again be the person I was six months ago.
This is one of the more psychologically difficult truths to accept as I delve deeper into The Reinvention Project. In small ways, we are constantly changing. That’s the beauty of humanity—our capacity for transformation, for adaptation, for growth in every sense of the word. It’s a trait to be embraced—but I’m speaking on a much larger scale.
There have definitely been some surface changes in the sum of what makes me, me. My tastes in music have shifted in notable (and perhaps predictable) ways. There’s no telling how long it will be before I can listen to fluffy pop music again without sneering (and, really, what did Colbie Caillat ever do to me?). I’ve always enjoyed Breaking Benjamin, but I have lately found a connection to their undeniably apt lyrics that I find oddly cathartic. (Feeling angsty? Pull out Dear Agony, their latest album. It’s magnificent.) There are music groups I have always adored and now can’t stand, simply for their connotations. Hell, there’s an entire country that, when referenced (and it is, with appalling frequency), has the power to reduce me to tears. And movies? Don’t even get me started on movies. Let’s just say Bruce Willis a la Die Hard and Harrison Ford a la Indiana Jones are getting a serious workout in my DVD player these days.
But these types of changes, which can happen under a nearly infinite number of circumstances, some completely benign, are not the only differences I’m contending with. There are certain fundamental shifts in my very personality, in the deepest core of who I am, that could never have happened except under life-altering circumstances—circumstances I never anticipated, but am nonetheless dealing with. These are the changes I’m grappling with the most.
To be perfectly frank, this angers me to levels I didn’t even know I was capable of. I’ve always been quite sure of who I am. I liked who I was six months ago. I was a well-rounded, stable, compassionate, loyal individual who loved deeply and lived happily. That some force outside of me affected such changes so deep within me feels like the worst possible invasion of my being. It disgusts me, and in my darker moments I’m furious with myself for allowing anything or anyone to weasel their way inside me so completely that they were even able to accomplish such an utter destruction of the components essential to who I am. So I struggle, daily, with this concept of the now-gone “old” me versus the in-progress “new” me.
Yet another facet of The Reinvention Project, then, is the sometimes uncomfortable and almost always exhausting notion of figuring out who I am, of reacquainting myself with, well, myself. The opportunities for doing this seem to appear at the most surprising of times, mostly when I find myself reacting to something in ways my “old” self never would have. In class tonight, we were discussing the book “Thirteen Reasons Why,” a young adult novel that deals with the topics of teen depression and suicide. I found myself, in the face of several classmates who were less than impressed with the book, vehemently defending it. Their arguments revolved around the character who commits suicide. Her reasons, they said, were not enough. Surely someone as supposedly intelligent as this character would never have been depressed to the point of suicide over such tiny things. Their (obviously uninformed) assumptions about depression, which the “old” me had no personal experience with, as well as their comments on the “intelligence” factor of people who consider suicide, had my hackles up immediately, and I found myself having to refrain from an all-out rant on just what depression can do to a person.
Depression is a topic on which the me of six months ago would have had nothing informed to say. The new me, however, apparently has a lot to say (fodder for future posts, no doubt), and my reaction in class has been food for thought all evening—and, as you can guess, prompted the theme of this post. Yes, I have changed, in ways I’m only just beginning to recognize. I’m trying to take such revelations as they come, without letting them overwhelm me. It’s not easy—but what about rebuilding yourself from the ground up is?
Lesson of the Day: Being in the dark makes the sudden beams of light that much brighter, and sometimes the most you can do is throw on the sunglasses.
This is one of the more psychologically difficult truths to accept as I delve deeper into The Reinvention Project. In small ways, we are constantly changing. That’s the beauty of humanity—our capacity for transformation, for adaptation, for growth in every sense of the word. It’s a trait to be embraced—but I’m speaking on a much larger scale.
There have definitely been some surface changes in the sum of what makes me, me. My tastes in music have shifted in notable (and perhaps predictable) ways. There’s no telling how long it will be before I can listen to fluffy pop music again without sneering (and, really, what did Colbie Caillat ever do to me?). I’ve always enjoyed Breaking Benjamin, but I have lately found a connection to their undeniably apt lyrics that I find oddly cathartic. (Feeling angsty? Pull out Dear Agony, their latest album. It’s magnificent.) There are music groups I have always adored and now can’t stand, simply for their connotations. Hell, there’s an entire country that, when referenced (and it is, with appalling frequency), has the power to reduce me to tears. And movies? Don’t even get me started on movies. Let’s just say Bruce Willis a la Die Hard and Harrison Ford a la Indiana Jones are getting a serious workout in my DVD player these days.
But these types of changes, which can happen under a nearly infinite number of circumstances, some completely benign, are not the only differences I’m contending with. There are certain fundamental shifts in my very personality, in the deepest core of who I am, that could never have happened except under life-altering circumstances—circumstances I never anticipated, but am nonetheless dealing with. These are the changes I’m grappling with the most.
To be perfectly frank, this angers me to levels I didn’t even know I was capable of. I’ve always been quite sure of who I am. I liked who I was six months ago. I was a well-rounded, stable, compassionate, loyal individual who loved deeply and lived happily. That some force outside of me affected such changes so deep within me feels like the worst possible invasion of my being. It disgusts me, and in my darker moments I’m furious with myself for allowing anything or anyone to weasel their way inside me so completely that they were even able to accomplish such an utter destruction of the components essential to who I am. So I struggle, daily, with this concept of the now-gone “old” me versus the in-progress “new” me.
Yet another facet of The Reinvention Project, then, is the sometimes uncomfortable and almost always exhausting notion of figuring out who I am, of reacquainting myself with, well, myself. The opportunities for doing this seem to appear at the most surprising of times, mostly when I find myself reacting to something in ways my “old” self never would have. In class tonight, we were discussing the book “Thirteen Reasons Why,” a young adult novel that deals with the topics of teen depression and suicide. I found myself, in the face of several classmates who were less than impressed with the book, vehemently defending it. Their arguments revolved around the character who commits suicide. Her reasons, they said, were not enough. Surely someone as supposedly intelligent as this character would never have been depressed to the point of suicide over such tiny things. Their (obviously uninformed) assumptions about depression, which the “old” me had no personal experience with, as well as their comments on the “intelligence” factor of people who consider suicide, had my hackles up immediately, and I found myself having to refrain from an all-out rant on just what depression can do to a person.
Depression is a topic on which the me of six months ago would have had nothing informed to say. The new me, however, apparently has a lot to say (fodder for future posts, no doubt), and my reaction in class has been food for thought all evening—and, as you can guess, prompted the theme of this post. Yes, I have changed, in ways I’m only just beginning to recognize. I’m trying to take such revelations as they come, without letting them overwhelm me. It’s not easy—but what about rebuilding yourself from the ground up is?
Lesson of the Day: Being in the dark makes the sudden beams of light that much brighter, and sometimes the most you can do is throw on the sunglasses.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Relying on Self-Reliance
It has been roughly five years since I’ve had to clean a tub. Or lift something heavy by myself. Or kill a spider. It’s not that I can’t do any of these things. (On the contrary, my independent streak is fairly legendary.) It’s that I’ve had someone else to depend on, someone to take over a few of the less desirable tasks of domesticity, or at least split them with me. I’ve had a partner. I had a partner.
So, there was nothing for it but to channel my inner weight-lifter. I’ll spare you the gory details, but I eventually managed to remove the shelf from my car and get it into my living room with no damage to either of us. That would have been cause for celebration—if the living room was its new home. Alas, the shelf I had just spent the last fifteen minutes maneuvering was destined for my office on the second floor. I would have to keep going. And I did. After some plotting, I finally ducked my shoulder inside the shelf, stood up straight, and literally pulled myself up the stairs by the railing. Was it the safest thing I’ve ever done? Definitely not. Honestly, the whole venture was pretty precarious, and I would have been in some serious trouble if I’d slipped. On the other hand…
It felt damn good to remember that while I have been relying on someone, I don’t necessarily need to rely on someone. I’ve been feeling quite keenly the devastation of my own broken circle, and the massive gap sometimes seems impossible to shrink, let alone close up. It was empowering to feel even the tiniest sliver of a shard fall back into place. I’m not about to declare triumph over my struggles or anything—I’m nowhere near that—but I do smirk a little every time I walk into my office and see that shelf.
It’s a start.
Lesson of the Day: You’re stronger than you think—channel your inner Hulk!
Everyone likes having someone they can look to when they’re in need of a helping hand. In the most intimate of situations, that person is a spouse or significant other, and they fulfill more than just the title of resident bug-squasher. They close the circle of emotional, mental, and physical needs that help make us complete human beings. The longer they’re in our lives, the more we become dependent on them. We set aside what we know we can provide and do for ourselves because it’s simply no longer necessary to provide or do them. We limit ourselves unconsciously, willingly, to make room in our lives for a relationship more important than our independence. So what happens when the circle is broken, when we’re suddenly left holding the scrub brush or the heavy furniture or the flyswatter?
I found myself pondering that very question a couple of days ago as I stared at the smallish but (I was fast realizing) really heavy bookshelf stuffed into the back of my SUV. I had bought it from a thrift store, fully assembled, without a second thought. Three burly employees loaded it for me, and I drove my merry way home, pleased with my find. Unfortunately, I realized my mistake as soon as I pulled into the driveway—I should have bought the three burly employees, as well! I considered my options: I could go next door and beg the help of the neighbor I barely knew beyond the occasional “good morning.” I could leave the shelf in my car for an indefinite amount of time until another friend was able to come over and help me. I could try to disassemble it, though it was really more of a “once it’s together it’s together” piece.
So, there was nothing for it but to channel my inner weight-lifter. I’ll spare you the gory details, but I eventually managed to remove the shelf from my car and get it into my living room with no damage to either of us. That would have been cause for celebration—if the living room was its new home. Alas, the shelf I had just spent the last fifteen minutes maneuvering was destined for my office on the second floor. I would have to keep going. And I did. After some plotting, I finally ducked my shoulder inside the shelf, stood up straight, and literally pulled myself up the stairs by the railing. Was it the safest thing I’ve ever done? Definitely not. Honestly, the whole venture was pretty precarious, and I would have been in some serious trouble if I’d slipped. On the other hand…
It felt damn good to remember that while I have been relying on someone, I don’t necessarily need to rely on someone. I’ve been feeling quite keenly the devastation of my own broken circle, and the massive gap sometimes seems impossible to shrink, let alone close up. It was empowering to feel even the tiniest sliver of a shard fall back into place. I’m not about to declare triumph over my struggles or anything—I’m nowhere near that—but I do smirk a little every time I walk into my office and see that shelf.
It’s a start.
Lesson of the Day: You’re stronger than you think—channel your inner Hulk!
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Looking Out for #1
Society has drummed into us that “selfish” is a dirty word. From an early age, we’re taught to share our toys, put others’ feelings before our own, and give our time and money to worthy people and causes. Somewhere between letting our little brothers play with our favorite matchbox car and donating $50 to the Red Cross, we have lost the ability to take care of ourselves without a lingering sense of guilt.
That knee-jerk guilt reaction is something I have had to get over in the last several months. Selfishness, I have learned, is not something to be shoved shamefully into a dark corner. Instead, it is a lifeline to my sanity. I have always been good at taking care of others. I’ve been called a nurturer by many family members and friends, and I’ve always enjoyed the label. I like making other people happy, and I like knowing that my friends and family trust that they can come to me, day or night, if they need anything. Taking care of myself has always been an afterthought, as I never felt any real cause to do so—I’m usually content if those around me are, and I’ve never truly been in a situation where I had to monitor my own emotions so closely. Until now.
So, one aspect of The Reinvention Project involves a resolution of sorts: to put myself first, to address my needs, and to let the rest of the world handle itself for a while. In a word, to be selfish. I don’t mean that I’ve cut myself off from the world’s problems, or that I ignore those family and friends who come to me. Rather, I have simply moved myself to the top of my list of priorities. It’s not an easy thing for me to do, and I’m willing to bet that if you look at your own list of priorities, you may not even make the top five.
How am I going about fulfilling this resolution? It’s been simpler than I ever imagined, and in fact, most of the time it’s something so small that I am amazed I never did it before. For instance, I’ll light candles in my living room while I’m studying in the evening—I love candlelight; I find it incredibly relaxing. I guiltlessly set aside time to watch my favorite TV shows (Dirty Jobs, MythBusters, Bones, and Ghost Whisperer) when they’re on—no TiVo, no DVR. I do Tae Bo to keep my body feeling good. In direct contrast to Tae Bo, I will sometimes have ice cream for dinner (a useful life formula? Chocolate = Win). Basically, I give myself permission to do what makes me happy, sometimes regardless of what I feel I should be doing (cleaning, studying, sleeping). It has helped me find some measure of happiness for myself when everything else seems woefully unhappy in my life. And that is more important than anything else I “should” be attending to.
Lesson of the Day: To thine own self be attentive.
That knee-jerk guilt reaction is something I have had to get over in the last several months. Selfishness, I have learned, is not something to be shoved shamefully into a dark corner. Instead, it is a lifeline to my sanity. I have always been good at taking care of others. I’ve been called a nurturer by many family members and friends, and I’ve always enjoyed the label. I like making other people happy, and I like knowing that my friends and family trust that they can come to me, day or night, if they need anything. Taking care of myself has always been an afterthought, as I never felt any real cause to do so—I’m usually content if those around me are, and I’ve never truly been in a situation where I had to monitor my own emotions so closely. Until now.
So, one aspect of The Reinvention Project involves a resolution of sorts: to put myself first, to address my needs, and to let the rest of the world handle itself for a while. In a word, to be selfish. I don’t mean that I’ve cut myself off from the world’s problems, or that I ignore those family and friends who come to me. Rather, I have simply moved myself to the top of my list of priorities. It’s not an easy thing for me to do, and I’m willing to bet that if you look at your own list of priorities, you may not even make the top five.
How am I going about fulfilling this resolution? It’s been simpler than I ever imagined, and in fact, most of the time it’s something so small that I am amazed I never did it before. For instance, I’ll light candles in my living room while I’m studying in the evening—I love candlelight; I find it incredibly relaxing. I guiltlessly set aside time to watch my favorite TV shows (Dirty Jobs, MythBusters, Bones, and Ghost Whisperer) when they’re on—no TiVo, no DVR. I do Tae Bo to keep my body feeling good. In direct contrast to Tae Bo, I will sometimes have ice cream for dinner (a useful life formula? Chocolate = Win). Basically, I give myself permission to do what makes me happy, sometimes regardless of what I feel I should be doing (cleaning, studying, sleeping). It has helped me find some measure of happiness for myself when everything else seems woefully unhappy in my life. And that is more important than anything else I “should” be attending to.
Lesson of the Day: To thine own self be attentive.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Taking Stock
It’s so easy to get caught up in the flow of time, to let it carry us along, never fighting the current and never using it to our advantage, simply…existing. Before we know it days have gone by, then weeks, then months, then an entire year. We look back, trying to remember where the time went, but can only remember the highlights, good or bad, that help make up what is now the past. Entire stretches of our lives are blank to us, never to be recovered, and we shrug our shoulders and move on, perhaps regretful, perhaps determined to be more aware in the future.
Taking stock of my life is an exercise I am engaged in with tiring frequency these days. I say “tiring” because I have come to the conclusion that we humans are simply not equipped to be aware of every second of our cosmically short lives. The fluidity with which we move through the majority of our time on earth makes what we do remember all the sweeter, all the more important. Everyone resolves, at some point, to stop letting life pass them by. But isn’t that the nature of time? It moves completely independent of our wishes, our desires, our hopes, our dreams. It soldiers on, in a forward direction, deaf to our pleas for it to slow down, speed up, stop entirely. For all our technological advances, no one has yet figured out a way to control the rotation of the earth, to stop the changing of the seasons, to alter the flow of the universe.
So time passes, and our lives pass, and we are not always aware of it, and I really believe that’s how it’s meant to be. Constant life analysis is for philosophers, and while I do, in fact, have a degree in philosophy, I never planned on using it in quite so personal a manner. But, having said all that, such introspection has its place. Like when one is trying to rebuild one’s life. So, I found myself doing quite a bit of analyzing this week. A lot of it was tangible—walking around my house, contemplating new furniture placement, filling in the holes that having certain items removed left. Or going through boxes and bins, determining what I would like to keep with me when I eventually move elsewhere, what I’d like to donate, what might be better served in someone else’s hands. What do I need in terms of material comforts? What do I want?
In my current state of mind, taking the leap from the tangible to the intangible is more like stepping over a crack in a sidewalk. What do I need in terms of mental and emotional comforts? What do I want? These two questions are harder to answer, and far more important than determining how many serving spoons I’d like to keep in my kitchen drawer. I can’t say I have any answers to either question, but I know there are things I already have that fill those categories, and I am painfully aware that there are things lacking that I will eventually have to acknowledge.
The above two questions, I think, are the ones we should address when we determine to “be more aware” of the passage of time. How many hours pass that find us unhappy, malcontent, or apathetic? How many days pass that find us resigned to just making it through, hoping that the next day will somehow be better? When did we become passive participants in our own lives? Until we are aware of what we want and need, we have no hope of becoming whoever we’re truly meant to be, and we certainly can’t improve our situations. It’s a lesson I’ve had forcefully thrust upon me. I’m not saying anyone should become a philosopher—they’re not, as a rule, a happy lot—but if you ask yourself what you need and what you want and you either can’t answer or perhaps have too many unfulfilled answers, well, the next question to yourself might be: what am I waiting for?
Lesson of the Day: Knowing thyself doesn’t make the world go ‘round, but it might fill in some of the blanks!
Taking stock of my life is an exercise I am engaged in with tiring frequency these days. I say “tiring” because I have come to the conclusion that we humans are simply not equipped to be aware of every second of our cosmically short lives. The fluidity with which we move through the majority of our time on earth makes what we do remember all the sweeter, all the more important. Everyone resolves, at some point, to stop letting life pass them by. But isn’t that the nature of time? It moves completely independent of our wishes, our desires, our hopes, our dreams. It soldiers on, in a forward direction, deaf to our pleas for it to slow down, speed up, stop entirely. For all our technological advances, no one has yet figured out a way to control the rotation of the earth, to stop the changing of the seasons, to alter the flow of the universe.
So time passes, and our lives pass, and we are not always aware of it, and I really believe that’s how it’s meant to be. Constant life analysis is for philosophers, and while I do, in fact, have a degree in philosophy, I never planned on using it in quite so personal a manner. But, having said all that, such introspection has its place. Like when one is trying to rebuild one’s life. So, I found myself doing quite a bit of analyzing this week. A lot of it was tangible—walking around my house, contemplating new furniture placement, filling in the holes that having certain items removed left. Or going through boxes and bins, determining what I would like to keep with me when I eventually move elsewhere, what I’d like to donate, what might be better served in someone else’s hands. What do I need in terms of material comforts? What do I want?
In my current state of mind, taking the leap from the tangible to the intangible is more like stepping over a crack in a sidewalk. What do I need in terms of mental and emotional comforts? What do I want? These two questions are harder to answer, and far more important than determining how many serving spoons I’d like to keep in my kitchen drawer. I can’t say I have any answers to either question, but I know there are things I already have that fill those categories, and I am painfully aware that there are things lacking that I will eventually have to acknowledge.
The above two questions, I think, are the ones we should address when we determine to “be more aware” of the passage of time. How many hours pass that find us unhappy, malcontent, or apathetic? How many days pass that find us resigned to just making it through, hoping that the next day will somehow be better? When did we become passive participants in our own lives? Until we are aware of what we want and need, we have no hope of becoming whoever we’re truly meant to be, and we certainly can’t improve our situations. It’s a lesson I’ve had forcefully thrust upon me. I’m not saying anyone should become a philosopher—they’re not, as a rule, a happy lot—but if you ask yourself what you need and what you want and you either can’t answer or perhaps have too many unfulfilled answers, well, the next question to yourself might be: what am I waiting for?
Lesson of the Day: Knowing thyself doesn’t make the world go ‘round, but it might fill in some of the blanks!
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Holding On...and Letting Go
I came home from vacation on Sunday to a house that looked as if someone had come in and taken half of everything residing in it. The scene was no surprise; this supposed pillaging of my worldly goods was actually part of an agreement attached to one of the situations that prompted The Reinvention Project. I have had weeks to prepare for this sight, and it was about as disconcerting as I expected it to be. As I wandered through rooms, feeling melancholy, taking stock of what was no longer there, I thought to myself, “I didn’t even say goodbye to this stuff. I didn’t take a moment, before I left, to look at everything one last time.”
And that was when I stopped and took stock of myself instead. Because I was right—I didn’t say goodbye to the stuff I knew wouldn’t be around when I got back. I didn’t give any of it a second glance. So why, when I already have so many other negative emotions floating around in my psyche, was I getting all glum over a missing coffee table? If my instinct as I passed these objects for the final time wasn’t to linger over them, why linger over their memories now?
A large part of creating my new life, I suspect, is going to involve learning what in my old life needs to be held on to, and what needs to be let go. And I learned my very first lesson Sunday night: coffee tables, artwork, and queen-sized mattresses are firmly in the “let go” category. Now, I have a feeling that, among all the things I will be faced with distinguishing, material objects will be among the most easily categorized. Still, I have to start somewhere, and why not with the Native American pottery bought in Sedona five years ago?
As I begin this long journey, I know just enough to know that the majority of my victories are going to be small steps toward my ultimate goal. And if not crying over the fact that my dining room table and chairs are gone is the highlight of my day, so be it. After all, it’s just furniture—besides, I bought something new to replace them. A handy metaphor dropped right into my lap, to be sure.
On the flip side, knowing what to hold on to can be just as important as knowing what to let go. Case in point, last night found me sitting in one of the common areas of the university where I am getting my master’s degree. My education has been the aspect of my life least affected by the chaos that surrounds me these days. I have, however, had to give much thought to whether I would complete my degree at my current school, attempt to transfer somewhere else, or give up on it entirely (to be picked up again at a later date—or not). It is difficult to convey the slew of emotions that came with such ponderings. Learning is something I adore, and something I am unabashedly good at. I waited years to go back to school, holding off until the time felt right. Furthermore, the degree I am working on will give me an advantage in future career prospecting. All in all, being in school can only lead to a happier, more well-rounded, more successful me.
So, when faced with the distinct possibility of having to give up what has, essentially, been a dream of mine for years, even temporarily, it took a surprisingly short amount of time to come up with my answer: hell no. Sometimes, when everything else in life seems to be going downhill (and taking you with it), it’s important to grab on to the sturdiest branch you can find and hold on tight. That, for me, is a piece of paper with “M.A.” on it. No, I will not transfer. No, I will not drop out. No, I will not postpone. My education is one thing from my old life that will not be going away, and will not be modified. It’s coming along for the ride, hence my position last night on a cheap wooden chair, sitting at a slightly wobbly table, waiting for the first class of the quarter to begin. Ah, higher education.
Lesson of the Day: Any port in a storm, but be prepared to let go of the boat!
And that was when I stopped and took stock of myself instead. Because I was right—I didn’t say goodbye to the stuff I knew wouldn’t be around when I got back. I didn’t give any of it a second glance. So why, when I already have so many other negative emotions floating around in my psyche, was I getting all glum over a missing coffee table? If my instinct as I passed these objects for the final time wasn’t to linger over them, why linger over their memories now?
A large part of creating my new life, I suspect, is going to involve learning what in my old life needs to be held on to, and what needs to be let go. And I learned my very first lesson Sunday night: coffee tables, artwork, and queen-sized mattresses are firmly in the “let go” category. Now, I have a feeling that, among all the things I will be faced with distinguishing, material objects will be among the most easily categorized. Still, I have to start somewhere, and why not with the Native American pottery bought in Sedona five years ago?
As I begin this long journey, I know just enough to know that the majority of my victories are going to be small steps toward my ultimate goal. And if not crying over the fact that my dining room table and chairs are gone is the highlight of my day, so be it. After all, it’s just furniture—besides, I bought something new to replace them. A handy metaphor dropped right into my lap, to be sure.
On the flip side, knowing what to hold on to can be just as important as knowing what to let go. Case in point, last night found me sitting in one of the common areas of the university where I am getting my master’s degree. My education has been the aspect of my life least affected by the chaos that surrounds me these days. I have, however, had to give much thought to whether I would complete my degree at my current school, attempt to transfer somewhere else, or give up on it entirely (to be picked up again at a later date—or not). It is difficult to convey the slew of emotions that came with such ponderings. Learning is something I adore, and something I am unabashedly good at. I waited years to go back to school, holding off until the time felt right. Furthermore, the degree I am working on will give me an advantage in future career prospecting. All in all, being in school can only lead to a happier, more well-rounded, more successful me.
So, when faced with the distinct possibility of having to give up what has, essentially, been a dream of mine for years, even temporarily, it took a surprisingly short amount of time to come up with my answer: hell no. Sometimes, when everything else in life seems to be going downhill (and taking you with it), it’s important to grab on to the sturdiest branch you can find and hold on tight. That, for me, is a piece of paper with “M.A.” on it. No, I will not transfer. No, I will not drop out. No, I will not postpone. My education is one thing from my old life that will not be going away, and will not be modified. It’s coming along for the ride, hence my position last night on a cheap wooden chair, sitting at a slightly wobbly table, waiting for the first class of the quarter to begin. Ah, higher education.
Lesson of the Day: Any port in a storm, but be prepared to let go of the boat!
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