. . . Sadness

I am nobody.

There is no reason for you to want to know my perspective on depression, living through a pandemic, or anything else.

And yet.

I share my thoughts here, because who knows? Eons from now, my little musings may be discovered by visiting aliens. Tiny green non-binary creatures may wonder how it felt to be a human being living through a pandemic, bitter political divisions, and the realization that our planet is, quite literally, burning up.

Or my children and grandchildren may want to view, from the safety of the brave new world they will have surely forged, the lens through which I see things now, the better to avoid making the same mistakes.

I’ve written posts on hope—several of them, in fact. I’m addicted to hope, to optimism, to faith. Much of the time, I have a decidedly Pollyannish way of looking at life.

But it feels dishonest
- emotionally, spiritually, intellectually -
to write only happy thoughts.

Acting as if my brain is filled with rosy good cheer all the time is . . . well, it’s inaccurate, and it puts an untenable burden on anyone who reads posts - mine and others’ - that are uniformly blithe, who may be left to wonder What’s wrong with me, that I feel hopeless?

So here goes.

Sometimes it feels like the world is ending.

Slowly, its death throes thrashing onstage for a very long time, like a death-scene in a Shakespearean tragedy:

“My sick heart shows
That I must yield my body to the earth,
And, by my fall, the conquest to my foe.
Thus yields the cedar to the axe’s edge,
Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle;
Under whose shade the ramping lion slept;
Whose top-branch overpeer’d Jove’s spreading tree,
And kept low shrubs from winter’s powerful wind.” 
Henry VI, Part III, Act V, Sc. 2

I’d almost rather get it over with—if we’re going to have an apocalypse, let’s skip over the Henry VI agonizing, and be done with it, King Richard II style:

“Woe, destruction, ruin, and decay;
The worst is death, and death will have his day.” 
Richard II, Act III, Sc. 2

What have I got to despair over? you might ask. After all, I and my family are all financially comfortable, reasonably healthy, with successful careers and reasonably happy relationships.

Sure, my family and I have lost people we cared about, and we’ve suffered other griefs. I have health issues (nothing serious, but lots of discomfort and pain), my writing sometimes feels stalled, my career has definitely taken an odd turn (from law partner and chairperson of the board and active volunteer to . . . secretary), and I desperately miss family and friends since moving so far away.

Except for the actual losses, the rest might legitimately make me feel exasperated. Befuddled. Cantankerous, maybe. But despairing?

All that is true, and those truths make me ashamed of but do nothing to alleviate the occasional feelings of abject wretchedness.

But it’s not just my personal issues. Here in the U.S. and around the world, there is so much . . . poverty, abuse, neglect, war, need, want, fear.

I wrote this over a month ago – you may (or may not) have noticed the blog simply ceased, for a while. In my first round, I catalogued my various reasons for despair, in great detail. As you might imagine, that did not actually make me feel any better. And I worried it might trigger someone, someone who has thus far kept despair at bay. So I am sharing here only one of the items on that list -

The pandemic. Instead of uniting us in a common goal of eliminating an existential threat to our entire species, the pandemic led to still more divisions, more us-versus-them-ism. Because we can’t or won’t work together to do what needs to be done, the pandemic drags on and on, stealing loved ones like a thief emboldened by our repeated failure to lock the door.

Which brings me to the crux of the grief, for me, on the pandemic and other global issues: we human beings keep doing the same damn things, making the same damn mistakes, over and over and over. We ignore our history, and so are doomed to repeat it.

I have little tolerance for navel-gazing. I tend to think I should just quit moping and focus on others, do something constructive. When that doesn’t work, I follow the advice of experts.

I meditate and pray, try to get a little exercise,
try to eat healthier.

(I draw the line at eating less chocolate,
or drinking less coffee, however.
A person has to take a stand somewhere.)

I count my many, many blessings:

Dear beloved funny charming silly wise affectionate passionate weird family and friends . . . a grandchild on the way – even writing the words sends a pleasant jolt of joy through my veins . . . a published story here and there, and the kind words of writing friends and mentors . . . shared laughter with my Other Half . . . the Midas touch of the sun on the water in the final hours before day cedes to night . . . kabocha squash soup with jerk seasoning and crusty (albeit gluten free) bread . . . binging on Call the Midwife and Midnight Mass . . . the discovery of a new book to love (The Rain Heron – stay tuned, I haven’t finished and am hoping for a happier ending than has been presaged so far) . . . a smile from a stranger, intimating that I will not always be lonely here in our new home . . .

Our dog, with his snaggle-toothed grin and protective Pyr-paw on my arm and inquisitive, hopeful expression. (In his mind, there is something new around every corner. Something to look forward to, or at the very least pee on.)

I have finally come to the conclusion that those are all worthy pastimes – practicing gratitude and meditating and exercising and eating more vegetables – but there is no panacea for moments of darkness.

I have come to believe that perhaps we have to sit with those moments, feel those feelings. Accept despair, for a time.

I’m deeply uncomfortable with that. (See above about navel-gazing.)

It is also a very un-American sentiment. We are programmed from birth to believe that if something is wrong, it is incumbent upon us to roll up our sleeves and fix it.

But what if despair is not a wrong thing,
a brokenness to be fixed?

What if, instead, it is a rational response to tragedy and misfortune and even minor mishaps when they seem to pile on one after another, or perhaps a necessary cycle in the human psyche, an occasional hibernation of the soul before re-emerging into peace, and the only way out is through it?

As I said at the beginning of this post, I am nobody. Wiser, more expert minds than mine have spoken and written at length about the healthy response to despair. There is no reason anyone should want to read my thoughts on sadness.

Nevertheless, I decided to share this journey because I wanted to be honest. Because – although I truly love seeing beautiful photos of friends and family feeling happy, and hearing (and sharing) stories of success, and I hope we will not stop sharing those little sunbursts of gladness – those are not the whole truth. Not by a long shot.

Ultimately, I decided that if I am going to
publicly post my thoughts on life,
I needed to be transparent about what that looks like to me.

Life, that is.

Sometimes it’s glorious. Often it’s messy, and unpredictable.

And occasionally, it’s just the sh*ts.

Tune in next time
for your regularly scheduled programming
on joy, hope, peace, and love.
I hope.

Images by: my Other Half (me with a forced smile, pretending I feel happy); Ross Stone @rs2photography (wildfires); Jeremy Yap @jeremyyappy (beautiful marvelous restorative coffee); beloved dog-sitter Nathaniel (dog smiling).