"Yes, I’d say our sadness can be a teacher, an asset. I let it rule me like weather for years, as if I had no say or authorship of my experience of it. When I began to have panic attacks — which were so shocking and obliterating of what I understood the material of life to be made of — I started to understand that they were being caused by a deeper and wiser capability within me who wanted me to stop, drop and roll. They were caused to essentially save me from doing myself more damage, and later I began to be able to listen when more smoke would creep in under the door and I’d sense myself close to that sort of takeover again. And really, what my sadness told me was fucking important. It’s hard to not want to make it go away, or to console someone you love who’s hurting. But also, just letting it play out, seeing what it wants to point you at, that could be a helpful way to sit next to someone in pain as well. Like, when was the last time you saw a bloodhound stop barking at a scent it caught just because you said, 'Ah, it’s okay?' " - Feist, interview with Cult MTL
Arturo recently pointed out to me that we’ve been out of undergrad longer than we had been inside it. I’m really happy we’re still friends - I remember he visited me in my dinky Berkeley apartment that first summer I had moved up here, and we got wasted on cheap liquor while anticipating how much our lives were diverging - me moving to a new city and him starting law school in a few weeks.
I saw Arturo recently and we still seem like the same people. We’ve been best friends for a long time and it’s easy to pick up conversations where we left off, even though it had been almost a year and a half since I’d seen him. We’re still generally interested in the same things, but now fewer restrictions prevent us from being ourselves. Five years later, he’s passed the bar exam and is now a fully fledged immigration attorney. And I’m still me, except I have quietly proven to myself I can work a 9-5 and more or less exist within society.
Most of my friends are well within their careers, have advanced degrees, or at least are starting families. I’m… not doing any of those things. I'm not miserable but I feel like I'm in a state of arrested development. I know the pitfalls of measuring oneself against others, but it’s hard some days to dissuade the thoughts that seemingly come as a reflex. It’s like a mental kick in the butt. I feel like a storm.
I don’t consider myself an overachiever, and find it hard to argue I can even pass for competent most days. This is sad Jean's assessment. Fundamentally, my body just feels so sad. I’ve heard from a counselor before that the opposite of depression is expression, and they encouraged me to find ways to express my emotions as a way to break through the fatigue. I think for most of my life, I kept wondering what it would be like to not be so sad. Then, I could probably be an astronaut or something, if the majority of my brain capacity wasn’t spent keeping destructive thoughts at bay. I think about relationships I otherwise may have kept, or would have continued to tolerate. When I think about bursting into song, it’s not an exciting, adrenaline-pumping song, like “Greased Lightning”. It’s an evocative ballad, a cry for help -- like the one Fantine sings after she’s sold the rest of her golden locks and teeth, her body withering from tuberculosis and cold.
I’ve been so baseline sad for most of my life, and there’s been few times in which I’ve simply allowed myself to be sad. This realization is what’s new. I think I’m tired of beating myself for being a sad person. I’m other things too. I consider myself to be optimistic, and encouraging, and observative. If that comes with a tinge (or huge waving tones) of melancholy, that’s just part of the package, I think. I met a cat the other day whose fur markings made her face look like a frown. She looked sad, almost bitchy, but she was also friendly, social, and carried a silent dignity as she perched herself on a ledge to get a better look at me. We stared at each other, which I interpreted as a silent communion.
And that’s where I’m at today.
Warmly,
Jean