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Tag: stress

It’s That Old Feeling of Overwhelm Again

“Post, a man of his times, tapped into a fin-de-siecle American fear. The pace of change – with telegraphs, electricity, railroads, ticker tapes, and economic booms and busts – seemed overwhelming.”

Uncommon Grounds by Mark Pendergrast

This was the turn of the last century, 1897. Can you imagine someone being transported from then to now? I believe it would hit him like a ton of bricks. Our pace of change – with the internet, smart phones, social media, 24-hour news, and economic booms and busts – is overwhelming to most of us and we aren’t even aware that we’re feeling it.

Can you feel it creeping up on you, that sense of overwhelm?

We are told, by our social media friends and advertising, that we should be doing more to stay on top of things, follow this, vote for that, boycott these companies, and rage against these kinds of people. We should be raising our children, maintaining a career, and building our bodies and minds at the same time. And don’t forget all the other atrocities that are happening all over the world so that you can have your $3 drive-thru coffee on the way to whatever it is you are going to do!

We feel bad when we slow down and unplug. As if the world’s activities are somehow our responsibility and we’re slacking big time.

In response to this silent and sneaking sense of overwhelm, we lash out at each other in anger and frustration every chance we get.

And thanks to our instant electronic connection with the entire population of the world, we get that chance very often. We send ripples of intensity, fear, sadness, electronic screams out into the world with every keystroke or thumb click…and then wonder why there is so much ugliness out there.

The internet is evil! Smash your smart phone! Delete your social media accounts!

Nah…don’t fall for the hype!

These tools are capable of doing so much for us in so many good ways. We just need to learn how to use them. Fire was once only an unruly part of nature, destroying everything in its path, until we learned how to use it more wisely. The same goes for every force and every invention. There is a learning curve and there is pain to any learning experience.

Until then, don’t fall for the hype and fear mongering. You don’t need to throw out the baby with the bathwater. Take breaks, regroup, breathe, and remember those are people out there just like you…maybe not as smart but they’re working on it. Give each other some space to learn and grow.

Losing Touch With Our Symbols

I have a new skill. I can hear the difference between a male and female Great Horned Owl in the dark, and not have to hear them right next to each other. Listening to a female call to her mate in the dark this morning, I wondered about the symbols of Fall. Why do we put owls in our Halloween decorations along with ravens and crows, harvest symbols like corn stalks and pumpkins, and cool nights and big orange moons low on the horizon?

I grew up in the city, only going into rural areas on special occasions; camping weekends with my family or hiking with friends. We slept with our windows closed-up tight, the doors locked, and the air conditioning on. I woke up to an alarm clock inside a curtained room, rushed to get breakfast and my things to get to school and then work on time. I spent very few quiet days and nights.

Moving to the rural high desert of Southern California changed my life immediately in many ways, the first of which was an immediate slowing and quieting down. My city nerves, always twanging, never resting, continued to fire off even in the quiet desert atmosphere. Like…when you leave a concert or a bar after a long evening of dancing and drinking, you lay in bed, ears still ringing from the clamor of music and laughing. Or like when you finally get the cast taken off a broken limb and your skin, grown used to the constant touch and rubbing of the material, crawls for days with the cool air against it. Those neurons in my head were so used to hearing noise, seeing light, and reacting to stimulation, it took a long time for them to relax and quiet into my new surroundings.

A couple years into living here, I began to notice the changes in seasons. The feel of the air from one season to the next, the plants that changed, the animals that came and went. People say that Southern California has no seasons, but they’re wrong. They may not be garish and obvious, but they’re here. You simply have to be quiet and look closely.

In a house with large windows filling up almost every wall, you notice the light day and night. The sun coming up a little more and more to the north or south, and then back again. The moon changing each and every evening, sometimes you think a neighbor has a new unshaded porch light, so bright that you have to close your curtains to sleep. The stars change with the seasons! I didn’t know that until I lived here.

But the owls are what I love most. Summer gets hot here, as you probably know. By August, the swamp cooler runs all night and into the morning. The big fan sits on the roof pulling air from outside, through wet pads and into the house to cool us as we sleep comfortably. It feels marvelous but it is loud and monotonous. I know Fall is coming because the swamp cooler has been able to cool the house enough to shut off in the night, leaving the house quiet and still when I get up in the morning.

Fall has officially arrived when I can turn the swamp cooler off when I go to bed and open all the windows to let the cool, dry night air flow through the house as we go to sleep. Lying in bed, it’s quiet, so quiet that I can hear animals walking by outside my window, coyotes on the hunt. It’s an amazing feeling, but not half as amazing as what I hear in the morning.

I usually get up around 4am. Walking through my office, I pick up my journal, my book, my glasses (stupid aging eyes), and my phone. I stop by the kitchen for a glass of water and a cup of coffee and then on to my livingroom couch to settle in and read until the sun starts to lighten the sky.

Surrounded by my open windows, without the fans running, I can hear all the little things in the dark, including the owls. They seem to be most active at this time of day. Maybe they are just like us, it’s the end of their day, the kids are fed, Dad is home from work, Mom wants to talk about what went on and how she’s dealing with the neighborhood. The sun will be up soon, so they’re gathering the family together and settling down?

All I know is the noise that occasionally goes well into daylight hours and finally settles down as the sun begins to peek over the horizon. I hear the higher pitched female calls first and wonder what she’s saying. Then I hear the male return her call with his low WHO WHO from across the yard. As Fall moves on, I’ll hear strange screeching noises and more who-ing…it’s mating season and they’re calling each other to bed.

I could talk about owls all day, but I’ll leave you with this…what I originally was thinking when I started writing to you about owls. Why are owls a symbol of Fall? Because when we didn’t live in cities, when we were out on our farms and ranches, making our way in the world, when we sat in the dark making up stories about what was happening around us instead of watching them on Netflix, we heard the owls being sexy out there as Fall approached and associated them with the cooler nights and the shortened days. The spooky mating calls of a large night predator became a symbol of the coming winter and we incorporated them into our own stories and lives.

My culture perpetuated the symbol, but I had lost the meaning. Moving to the desert brought that richness back into my life. Nature, human and otherwise, remains constant. We may cover some parts up and lose track of the meanings for a while, but it’s still running underneath the surface, waiting to come up and reveal itself from time to time. We just need to keep our eyes open and look for it.

Get A Hold of Yourself, Man!

 I paused on these lines and thought, “That happens to me all the time,” underlining it so I could find it again later.

It’s the reason I post quotes like this on Instagram these days, a text has jogged a thought. I used to underline it and maybe make a note in the margin and leave it at that. Sometimes, if the passage struck me in a significant way, I’d write about it on my blog. Usually though, the thought came and went, and I rarely went back to it. I’ve always been jealous of people that can pull quotes from memory while they write or speak years after they read the book.

This quote got even more interesting when, at the end of my reading hour, I flipped back through the pages to create something for my daily post. I had highlighted several passages, but my eye went to this one again. Copying it down into the graphic, I was pulled in another direction.

“The condition, known as hysterical blindness, may be partial or complete, including one, several, or all objects.”

Have you ever been “blind with rage” or so upset you can’t see straight? That’s a form of hysterical blindness, anxiety so strong that your vision clouds and you feel blind. What causes that kind of anxiety? Huge transitions, deep grief, loss…global pandemics.

When we are living in a constant state of anxiety, we can’t think straight. Our minds, flooded with adrenaline, are blind to even obvious solutions to our problems, and we make terrible decisions.

I’ve been given a pretty healthy ration of shit lately for turning off the news channels, unfollowing/unfriending people that consistently share negative and nasty news articles on social media, and generally staying out of the loop when it comes to politics. How can I possibly make informed decisions if I don’t have all the “facts”? I’m hiding my head in the sand!

Stand by for imminent cliché…

We live in the information age, where we can be bombarded and inundated with “news” from all over the world 24/7 and I don’t think it’s healthy for any human being to live under that kind of stress.

I look around at my friends and family online and I see them under constant stress about things completely outside their control causing anxiety to the point of hysteria. I saw in it building up in myself, becoming blind to my immediate surroundings, so I put a stop to it. It hasn’t stopped me from completely freaking out from time to time. These are stressful times and, honestly, I’m tired of pretending they aren’t.

By opting out of the 24/7 news cycle, I’ve been able to focus on what is in my immediate realm of responsibility, my family, my home, and my neighborhood. My anxiety has lessened tremendously, and I’ve been able to think more clearly and make better decisions that benefit my life and those around me.

Reading the paper, watching TV news, or popping over to social media for a moment, reminds me of those old movies where someone is screaming hysterically and someone grabs them by the shoulders, slaps them hard across the face and says, “Get a hold of yourself!” We’ve all whipped each other into such a frenzy, we can’t possibly make logical decisions.

What else can I do but take a big step back, protect myself, and wait for the storm to clear? Humans have survived on this planet for a long time without knowing what everyone is doing, everywhere, at every moment. I don’t need anyone to make a law, start a movement, or create a boycott to make a decision that keeps my mind and body healthy and neither do you.

THIS is Why I Drink – Episode 1

Earlier this week I read an article in the paper that made me think, “THIS is why I drink!” I laughed (LOL’d you might even say) and thought to myself, I should write a blog post with that title. I even went so far as to laughingly post the thought to my Facebook page and my “friends” and I had a good chuckle over it.

This morning I had the thought again. What if I did? An assignment, even one assigned by myself, helps me to be a bit more productive sometimes. That’s it! No more rationalizing needed. I’m doing it!

And now, my friends, I bring you, the first episode of “THIS is Why I Drink,” a short, hopefully at least mildly humorous, post about the one (or two) things this week that have driven me to drink yet again.

On the docket this week, my neighbors. Not my actual neighbors, the ones that live on my street or the ones that come over for drinks, but the wider circle. The people in general that live in my town and surrounding area. Here’s what set me off.

I’ve been avoiding Facebook. I was about to say “like the plague” but now that everyone has come to a consensus we are in one and are acting accordingly, I should say I’m not going quite that far. I have been limiting my exposure though. The fear-based dumb-assery I started to find among the groups I belonged to and my acquaintances from past lives started spreading like wildfire once the plague landed here in the US. To be completely honest, I’ve been more afraid of people than the virus since the first weeks of the shutdown.

But, you know what they say…

And since I can’t control what the rest of the world does, I took control of what I do and took a big step back from social media for awhile. I must say, it helped my mental health tremendously.

But this week, as I took my quick daily scan of my closest friends and family, a suggested group popped up and I clicked it. Like a fool, I ran my socially thirsty eyes over a few posts to see what the tone of the group was and that’s when I saw it.

It was a question from someone asking what are some good sights to see around the area since they’d be taking a drive up over the next week. The comments were overwhelmingly hostile and I was (again) embarrassed that I live here.

There were many very aggressive and nasty comments ranging from “Stay home you piece of trash.” To “Why would you come here and spread your filth to us?” But the one that really struck me was, “We moved out here to get away from you people.”

Did you now? That’s very odd. I mean, it is a desert town outside of the city, yes, but it is also a town outside a large National Park. So, I’m not sure if that really constitutes, “getting away from people.” Yes, our homes are further apart for the most part. We don’t have a big movie theater or mall, but we do have the only Walmart in a 50 mile radius.

The town is here mostly because of the Marine Base and the National Park. It is definitely a smaller rural town, but if you wanted to get away from tourists, visitors just passing through, this is NOT the place to live. Our economy depends on those people on their way to see the park and/or to go camping.

So that was the moment, this week, that I closed what I was reading and sighed to myself, “This is why I drink.”

If I simply could not ignore a question like this, because I was truly afraid of the spread of the virus and couldn’t mind my own business…wait, that’s the thing right there! If I were so terrified of the spread, I would be at home so it wouldn’t matter one wit if a tourist came out to my town, so I would mind my own business.

But if I were somehow forced to comment, I would have tried a more positive approach. Like, “A lot of things are closed in town right now because of the shutdown. There are only drive-thru restaurants, no place to stop and use the bathroom, and it’s very hot, like over 100 degrees by 11 am. I’d suggest bringing a car picnic and doing an air-conditioned drive-through of the park or the deeper deserts. You could see the town, make plans for better times, or go see the wide-open spaces. This is a gorgeous place to hike the rest of the year though! Here are some links to my favorite places!”

But no, my lovely neighbors were hostile and nasty. It was not only disheartening, it was scary to see such vehemence from over 150 people in a few short hours.

And so…I drink. Bottoms up, everyone! Fear is in the air and it sure makes people do some ugly things!

DO get out and enjoy the sunshine as much as you can. Of course, try to maximize physical space, minimize contact with strangers, wash your hands, and most of all be kind to each other. We’re all having a rough time and we’re all doing the best we can with what we have.

I worried myself silly about sharing these thoughts with you here on my blog. I know you don’t need more negativity in the world, but you know what? No one is always roses and sunshine dust and that includes me. Now, don’t worry. This will only be a once a week rant style post. Some of them will be lighter than others. And I promise to balance it out with another weekly assignment at the beginning of the week called, “Why She Gets Up In The Morning!”

So Much is IN DEMAND Lately

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Thank you, Writers Write, for all your brilliant help!

What exactly is in demand these days? Toilet paper (for some reason I still don’t understand)? Fabric masks to wear at the grocery store so the people around you aren’t afraid? Patience? A positive attitude? Honesty? Common sense?

It’s been a rough month for me, and that’s putting it lightly. I’m not coping with the stress nearly as well as I would have hoped I would, but I am learning. I wouldn’t say it’s the hardest month I’ve lived through. Being arrested for armed robbery and attempted carjacking and then spending a year of time and money getting my life back was slightly more upsetting. My arrest through me for a loop. By the end of the whole process, my entire worldview had changed. There was no going back, no return to my naïve way of thinking. I was a different person.

What was in demand then was faith that everything would work out fine and some patience with the criminal justice system. What I really wanted was patience from my friends and family. I was going through a traumatic experience, life was completely rearranged, and I was looking at the possibility of losing at least ten years of my life in jail for a crime I did not commit. Could they allow me some leeway and forgiveness if I lashed out in fear and anger, or just felt like being alone?

Somehow this crisis is different. It feels more permanent, more world-changing for everyone around me, instead of just myself and my immediate family. And it feels so unnecessary, like it shouldn’t be happening, not like this. I’ll admit, I’m not dealing with it half as well I would have hoped I would. All this self-help shit isn’t putting anywhere near the “Let it Ride” feeling I wanted to have during a crisis, but I’m learning quickly. I’ve always been one to react badly at first and then re-think and adjust. I’m moving into the re-think phase at the moment.

What’s in demand now? Bravery, for one thing. Fear makes us do the ugliest things to ourselves and others. We can’t run in fear of a virus, not like this. We can’t hide in our homes forever, afraid we’ll catch something, afraid we’ll accidentally pass it to others. We can’t tear each other apart on social media over what we believe we should and should not be doing.

Understanding and space is something else in demand. Less judgment would be nice, too. What if instead of insisting that those around us do what we believe is the right thing, we just did what was right for ourselves? What if we allowed the people around us, in our towns, counties, and states, to decide for themselves what was right for them? What if we automatically assumed everyone around us was making the best decision for themselves with the information they personally have, instead of demanding that they follow our lead?

What else? Let me see…maybe some patience with others when they question the choices we each are making? How about when we question science or what our government is doing and why? What if instead of ridiculing and belittling those that question authority, we listen to them and allow them to speak? What about those that are worried about the financial future of our country? Could we give them a voice as well? It is important, by the way, just as important as your health. You may not get the virus that is going around, but when inflation starts, companies close, jobs and food become scarce, it won’t really matter, will it? Yes, your Grandma didn’t die of the virus, but now the whole town is threatened with starving. It is a legitimate concern and something we need to weigh in the balance when making decisions.

It seems there are a plethora of things in demand at the moment, huh?

And the worst part is that it’s being demanded of all of us at the same time. Not only am I struggling with these shutdowns, so is everyone around me. It’s hard to ask for bravery, understanding, and patience from my friends and neighbors when they need it just as much; like the toilet paper, there just isn’t enough on the shelf for everyone to buy a two months supply at once.

Maybe I’ll have to supply it for myself, retreat a bit and not add to the chaos, or create something here at home to replace it.

Full Plate

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Carissa Gan

Oh, how I love metaphors! Have you ever talked with someone that told you their “plate was full” and they couldn’t possibly take on another project? I’m sure you have. I’ve said it myself. Have you ever looked at a person that said that and thought, “Not as full as mine, and I seem to find time to help.” It seems we don’t all have the same size plate, the same appetite, or the same strength to carry it with.

From the outside, my life looks simple and full of time to take on new projects. But to me, my plate is balanced perfectly and I work hard to keep it that way. I don’t have too much to do because I’ve made the choice not to, and when I make other choices, like adding to my plate things I think other people would like me to do, I’ve learned by experience that it never ends well.

Here’s a question for you. What if we’re not born with an empty plate at all? What if we have one, we know it because we can feel it in our hands, but the goal of living is to figure out how big the plate is, what’s already on that plate, and how to balance it so it’s easy to carry? When we take more onto our plate before we’ve figured out how to balance what we already have, or even know what we have for that matter, we cause ourselves stress.

Why would people around us give us more to put on our plate? Because they haven’t learned what’s on their plate and how to balance it, so they’re passing it to you. “It’s too much for me!” they say, and they pass it to you instead of letting it fall to the floor.

Many days, I know what’s on my plate and I can balance it easily. When someone offers more, I politely decline. “No, thank you. I have enough.” Some days I see friends and family with their plates so piled high, I feel bad and wonder, “Well, maybe I can take some of that off their plate and help.” When I do, I quickly become overwhelmed and drop it all. It’s not a good feeling.

Some days, overwhelmed friends with plates piled high, see my relatively empty plate and think, “She has barely anything and I have so much! Take some of mine, you have to help me.” I feel guilty and try to help, take too much on and ultimately fail us both.

What if instead of passing items off our full plate to someone else, we just dropped those items away and let them go? What if we did less? What if we produced less? All of us? What if we just did without those things instead of insisting that they exist and that someone pick up the ball?

What if we prioritized mastering the art of doing what we need to do for ourselves first? And then started adding more of what we want until we are at a place of balance for us alone? And allow others to learn and do the same at their own pace, with their own plates? It seems like we would all get more done and feel better about our lives at the same time.

And then there are more questions. Do we think the plate is empty when we first realize we have a life to live? We think we must start fill it with things to feel productive. What if we spent our childhood just learning the size and weight of our plate and how to balance it with the essentials we are born to do on it? What if we are overloading our children with responsibilities, more for their plate, before they’ve mastered what they already have? Could that be the real curse of losing a free and peaceful childhood? Could that be why depression and anxiety are on the rise?

 

Dangerous Roads

She sits and stares.

The desert in the summer can feel like a snowstorm that barricades you inside your house and forbids your exit for days at a time. There’s nowhere to escape to, at least nowhere outside. The sanctuary of an air-conditioned house, car, or movie theater all seem like fine alternatives to most, but what if you desperately crave to be outdoors? Early in the morning, before the sun completely rises, or late in the evening after it sets, are the only times one can feasibly be outdoors and even then, it’s still so hot. It’s oppressive after awhile and she dreams of hooking up the trailer and driving north until the weather is more to her liking.

Staring out at the desert landscape, she wonders…this would be a good time of year to read more. Then it starts…yeah…read more and write more…waste more time. Great.


It’s that feeling again. The one that scares the crap out of me. The one that I know scares the crap out of anyone I express it to. It’s like drowning, you want to reach out for help, but then…maybe you should just let yourself drown. You’re worthless anyway.

I write in my journal on these days. Sometimes it helps. Sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes it only relieves the pain for a few moments, like taking ibuprofen for a headache that’s not just a headache.

When I was younger, the feeling used to last for weeks, sometimes a month. Now…it’s usually a day or two before I’m climbing back out of the basement of my soul, shaking my head and wondering what happened. I read the previous days journals filled with angry scribbles and marvel at it. Who was that woman? I worry about those entries. What if my family found them and realized how sick I really am? What if I scared them with my darkness? What if I inadvertently influenced them into thinking they may have inherited this from me?

There are times when I sit with my phone in my hand. What if I just texted someone? What if I just said, “Hey friend. I’m feeling like a miserably worthless piece of crap. I’m a big fake. Nothing I do matters. And if anyone found out who I really am, they’d walk away forever (and rightly so) and warn everyone else to run the other way when they see me. I’m afraid of myself at the moment. And I need something. I’m not sure what that is. Can you help?”
Can you imaging getting that text? What would you do? Send platitudes of reassurance?

“You’re not. You’re wonderful. We all love you.”

“Have you considered getting professional help?”

“I’m worried about you.”

All of which only make the feeling worse. Now I’ve shared the misery. That’s how wonderful I am!

You know what does seem to help? Confirmation. In these moments, I crave just one person that is strong enough to throw the ball back when I lob it at them.

“Yeah…life can really suck. What’s the point of any of this shit? Let’s go get a drink!” Knowing I can be the ugliest me to someone and it doesn’t make them sad or want to run in the other direction? Priceless!

This time the feeling took me quite suddenly after weeks of positivity. There were so many productive days in a row, weeks even, and then so many wonderful people experiences to go along with it. Then one morning…bam…a text before I wanted one, a positive comment on Facebook…and I’m headed down the rabbit hole with Alice, looking for trouble.

Weird the things that trigger it.

Years of struggle have taught me one important point. It is not logical. It has no rhyme or reason. It is not reality. That realization is what has seriously quickened my turnarounds the last few years. I have reminders everywhere.

“Depression Lies To You” on a paper bracelet I wore for a few weeks years ago, sits on my bathroom counter.

“Watch for the fork in the road.” On a Post-It note above my computer.

“Look at actions not words.” Watching the acts, not the words people use usually makes me happy.

This time I will add “It’s all temporary.” And “Take a deep breath and wait for it to pass over you.”


“A scene change is needed,” I think as I wash the dishes after lunch. Staring out at the bright sky and hot sand outside my window, “But where?” I glance at the thermometer. “107” it reads. Sigh. I need to be outside! Suddenly it dawns on me and my heart brightens just a bit.

“Hey babe?” I holler into the bedroom office as I grab a towel for my hands and head back there. Why do I do that? I know he can’t hear me.

“Sweetness, what time will you be done working?”

“Half an hour or so. Why?”

“Maybe we should drive up to the mountain and take a hike as the sun starts to set. It would be cooler and then we could get something to eat together before we head back. A date!”

He looks up from his laptop, his boots up on the table turned work desk. “I had planned on kegging my beer after work so that it’s ready for the party on Saturday.”

Sinking heart again. “Oh yeah!” I say brightly. “Well, maybe tomorrow.” And I go back to the dishes.

As I’m drying off the last plate and wiping down the kitchen sink, there he is, “When did you want to go? Maybe I can hurry and finish?”

Ahh, my sweet love. He’s always trying to make me happy, which sometimes makes me feel worse, but not this time. An hour later, water bottles in hand, a few nut bars in a bag, and we’re driving across the desert in the direction of the moutains.

“Babe. I have something to scary to say that I need to say out loud, but promise me you won’t be scared or sad. I’m ok. It’s just something I need to voice.”

“What’s that?”

“I think I understand why people with severe depression kill themselves. I can feel it. I feel worthless, like everyone around me would be much better off without me.”

I get the look, the worried one, the one that makes me not want to share the feeling, to keep it inside where it rots and festers and gets worse every day until I explode in anger and frustration about something completely unrelated. Why would I torture the ones I love with this feeling? Better to just sit with it and hope I suddenly die somehow. Then no one needs to worry about how to fix it. But this time, I keep talking. If I can’t share my burden with this man, the man that has loved and supported me for the last twenty years in ways I cannot possibly explain, then there is no hope.

“I know it’s an irrational feeling. I know it’s in my head. I know the reality is far different. I sit with it and look at it from every angle. I have no idea what triggers it but I’ve learned what helps me stop it. Sometimes I write and that helps. Burn those journals when I die, by the way. Or maybe I’ll write a disclaimer on the top of the box!

“The truth is that I what I really want, what I think will really help, is to say it out loud. I want to be able to say all the ugliest things, the things that scare me, the stupid, angry, nasty things I feel about myself at those moments, and have someone just say, ‘I can understand that and I love you anyway.’

“I don’t want you to fix it. I don’t want you to worry. I don’t want sympathy or ‘No, hun, that’s just not true.’ I want agreement, acknowledgement that these feelings exists and that they suck.”

We talked and laughed all the way up the mountain, an hour’s drive of open communication and joy, punctuated by me trying not to get car sick on the winding mountain road. By the time we started walking, I was already feeling so much better. At the top of mountain, standing on a rock overlooking the valley, I took a deep breath. “This is what I needed. Just to speak it out of me. Walk in the sun. And be surrounded by trees. And you.”

It was the change in scenery, the acceptance and love of one of my favorite people, and some exercise that stopped the downward spiral this time. I know next time it may not work, but I know something will and know who I can grab when I need help.

For you out there, depression sucks ass. I love you. I know it sucks. Let’s go yell from the top of a mountain, “This too shall pass.” Even when Gandalf says none shall.

Or Do They?

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They say, “small things impress small minds,” but I disagree.

It takes a curious mind to notice the small things, to marvel at intricacies, to notice the things everyone else seems to take for granted.

“Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff,” they say. But the big stuff is made up of the small stuff.

Big things are complicated and difficult to tackle. But if we can straighten out a few of the small things, wouldn’t that change the big thing that it’s a part of?

I think I’ll keep being impressed by the little things; the tiny flowers in the desert, the micro conversations on the way to the grocery store, the cute game my son found that he thought I’d enjoy.

I think I’ll keep doing the small things; washing the dishes, sending a text, touching my husband as I walk by.

All those little things do make up the whole. And when I look back on my whole life, I’ll be able to see the big picture I made with all those tiny dots of color.

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