There’s been a change in the wind this year. Something in the water? I don’t know. But it is a shift.
Getting things done. Not letting things languish. Finishing what I start. It’s kind of nice and feels a lot like moving forward. Moving out of Culver City and up to the Fortress Of Solitude (aka Casa Fabulous) was a real kick in the pants. I registered for college, three weeks into the semester and I am doing well in my classes. I think I can. I know I can. I am. It’s here. It’s now. I started.
I signed up for yoga. I signed up for 8 weeks of bellydance. I decided I wanted to do and live and be rather than have a lot of plans and unfinished business, and then I went out and began to do.
I’ve struggled with crippling depression on and off for my whole life, and I don’t know what’s shifted in the last year, but I don’t feel like I’m struggling quite so hard anymore. Maybe it’s just that I’ve accepted certain limitations and so I don’t spin my wheels in the deep soft sand now. I find the places where I can get traction, where I can move, and I focus there.
I still spend huge swaths of time alone, quiet, nurturing my need for down time. But I’ve learned that it is possible to get out and do, around those islands of solitude. In fact, it may even be that it is necessary to get out and do, to balance the quiet.
Things seem more in focus. I feel pretty good. I think I’m actually pretty happy, though it’s hard to quantify because it isn’t a feeling I’m really used to. But I think that’s what this is.
It is a lot of work this being happy. It takes effort. I have to kick my own arse a lot of the time to get that stuff on the calendar, get in the car, get it done, to do. Maybe that’s the point. Maybe that stuff isn’t supposed to be easy and the point is to make it work anyway. I have no idea. I just know, it seems to be working.
It feels a lot less like trying not to fall off of a tightrope and a lot more like easily walking across something a little more substantial. Actual rocks under my feet. Stepping stones that stay where I put them. I don’t want to get too cocky because that is when you fall down, and I don’t want to fall down… but I feel like maybe, I won’t fall down? If that makes sense.
Of course the beautiful thing about depression is, you don’t trust it for a minute and you’re always looking out for that thing that’s going to knock you on your keister, right?
I’m trying not to go there. And just keep walking forward.