My Depression Mindset is Defeated By A Tree

 B"H

Once upon a time, I believed that living an authentic life meant living from a place of inspiration.  If only I didn't have depression and anxiety, I could be inspired enough to live my life like it mattered.  Since I wasn't inspired to do it, certain things like showing up as myself, and advocating for myself, went by the wayside.  My feelings ran opposite to those actions.  And the authentic me was manifesting through my feelings, right?

Feelings have been important to me.  Looking at a tree, I find so much meaning when I feel the gladness brought on by the light in its leaves, the lizard on its bark, and the wildflower nestled between its roots.  Such a feeling of wholeness, beauty,  and unity -- surely this must be the nature of reality!

With this mindset, I naturally looked upon those things that did not spark inspiration as less alive, less meaningful, less worthwhile.  And this created many conundrums in my life.  I am inspired by a flower, but not by digging out the clay to plant it.  I am soothed by a neat tidy bedroom, but not by doing the laundry.  I feel competent when I have enough money, but dread the day's work.

During my intensive depression treatment, I learned about the concept of behavioral activation.  The idea is that sometimes, you have to counter depression by proving it wrong.  Depression says that I can't have fun, depression says I can't accomplish anything.  Depression says that lack of inspiration equals lack of authenticity and meaning.  

By choosing to do something anyway, I prove this mindset wrong.  I begin to change my bank of life experiences.  I chip away at the perception that I'm too depressed to do anything.  I start to see that less inspired accomplishments do make a difference (hello, dishes).  But this means doing things that I may not feel like doing in the moment.

To my surprise, I found that my inspiration was a poor predictor of how much gratification I would feel from my activities.  I can do something that I don't feel like doing, but feel better afterwards.  My even bigger discovery came with repeating the things I'm not inspired to do.  As I have repeated chores that need to be done daily, and prayers that I have the opportunity to say daily,  the difficulty of doing these things has gone down.  And I have begun to grow something that I have long sought but never found in the realm of inspiration: a personal feeling of stability.  

When I look at that tree again, I am reminded that the growing part of the tree is actually just a thin layer under its bark.  Much of its bulk is sapwood, which transports nutrients to be made into sugars to be used in growth and maintenance.  And a small inner core of the tree is heartwood, which is technically dead, but gives the tree much strength.

So too, only a small layer of my life is direct inspiration.  Much more of it is being engaged in the activities necessary to support life.  And some parts may be pure, thoughtless habit.  But the right habits are a strength.

Foggy Day Dream

 B"H

It's a foggy day, inside and out.  Soft wet air, with indistinct shifts in direction, and low visibility.  Moving through today is like moving through a dream.  I'm a little anxious, but not because I have to do anything.  I am anxious because I want to allow room for doing nothing.  

Nothing is what I'm doing when I'm spying shapes amongst the dripping leaves.  Nothing is relaxing as the faint breeze shakes hands with the oak branches.  Nothing is near stillness, but not complete, profound, stillness.  Just... nothing.

Nothing is not a prized state according to many.  We "should" be productive, striving, succeeding.  And it's good to do that sometimes.  

What if nothing is depression in disguise?  But there is a sweetness to nothing, a comfort, a simplicity, and a restfulness.  Depression is not nothing.  Depression is full of hard, pokey bits, and it weighs endless tons.

Nothing is appreciating the whiff of wet humus drifting in the window.  Nothing is listening to a sleeping dog breathe.  Nothing is folding warm sheets, quietly matching corners.  It's scary to accept doing nothing, for me, because in the past there was shame and blame for behaving so.  

This will be my bravery for the day: to do nothing, knowingly, and not to be put off of it.  For a little while, I will live in a dream of nothing.

Failure and the Fear of Texas Clay

 B"H

There's nothing like a good clay soil to teach humility.  Here in Texas, my clay is brown.  Dark brown, like a roasted coffee bean.  When I lived in North Carolina, our clay soil was terra cotta orange.  But all the clay soils have one thing in common, which is: they are tougher than I am.  I am neither as tough, nor yet as old, as dirt.

This morning, I tried to get away with planting some tiny little annuals into the garden.  No big deal, I thought.  Just dig a few inches down, and they're done!

You know what happened next.  Clay happened.  Sticky, heavy, stuck clay.  I knew I had bitten off more than I had planned.

It's funny, but just yesterday I clarified for myself that a big trouble spot for me, in the past, has been not putting heart and soul into my life.  I hold back.  I'm apathetic about myself.  But no more!  I cried.  I will let life pierce through me before I back off!  

And today, the clay.  Looking at me.  Belittling me.  I knew I had to take up the hue and cry, and solve my clay problem properly.  I mixed together some bags of topsoil and compost in the wheelbarrow, and added some soil activator pellets.  Then I took the shovel and... kerflunk.  I lifted the shovel again, took a mighty swing, and... kerflunk.  The clay chortled at me.

I considered, and reconsidered, whether I was going to be able to complete the project.  Did I have the strength to persevere?  I felt the dread of failure looming, particularly since I was previously part of a landscape construction crew, and could once have dispatched the wretched clay soil forthwith.  Exhaustion flowed over me like molasses, creeping into every fiber of every limb.  Fighting clay is a full-body workout.

Well I did eventually chip/dig/haul the clay out from the planting bed and replace it with better soil.  But I physically hit my limit several times.  I was dizzy, cramped, out of breath, and sweating.  I had to take breaks to avoid keeling over.  It was not a day in the park!

I got to thinking that being part of life means letting go of how I thought life should be.  I mean, I was thinking sweet little flowers on a sunny day, and what did I get?  Dirt and dejection.  And something else too.  I got happy.  I got happy because I was fully present, doing what I wanted to do, albeit not the way I wanted to do it.  I failed to achieve my original vision of how my experience would be.  But by letting that vision die, I achieved it.  I felt truly part of the new flower bed, in my very (tired) flesh!  

In my prayerbook I read, "May my soul be as dust to all."   Nothing fancy.  Just humble dust.  When I jettison the ego that says I should be more, I have the fulfillment of connecting with people and with G-d just as I am.  I'm not fooling anyone.  I am what I am and I do what I do.  Sometimes it's good enough, sometimes the clay may win.

We go to such lengths avoiding the fear of failure that springs up in our way as we travel toward our dreams!  If we can only endure those feelings, we are free to take a direct path to our goal.  But when we can't endure those feelings, too often, we get caught in twisting and turning, and don't accomplish the main thing.  

I have a new goal.  I don't want to beat the clay.  I want to endure like the clay.  I want to stay firm on my course in the face of life's varied experiences.  Because nothing keeps clay from being clay.  That stuff can endure anything.

A Haiku for Tu B'Shevat on the Harrowing Aspect of Accessing Our Hidden Potential for a New Day (Hint: It's Only in the Present Moment)

 B"H

Knowing this moment,

Sharp as raspberry brambles,

Leaves us raw at dawn.

Sing to Hashem a New Song -- Shabbos Shirah

 B"H

Shabbos Shirah, the Sabbath of Song

The Sabbath of Song celebrates the song sung by the Hebrew people at the parting of the Red Sea, a musical poem praising Hashem who brings us out of a constricted existence and leads us to full spiritual freedom.  

The freedom Hashem gives us is not a license for a free-for-all.  It is the opportunity to make a real choice.  First, Hashem has to show us what our new option is.  Where will growth lead us?  Why would we want to put in the effort to grow?  Only once we understand what is possible for us can we choose how to apply ourselves.  Then we are free to pursue our highest potential.

"Sing to Hashem a new song, sing to Hashem Everyone on earth." (Psalms 96:1)

Hashem's guidance is key, because we are only free to choose amongst the potentials we can identify.  And here I'd like to address the importance of treating depression and anxiety.  Too often, these ailments prevent us from being able to fathom a happy frame of mind.  Choices that might lead to our happiness are foggy outlines at best.  We can't picture happiness, and so it is not a choice we can make.  Is there anyone who believes that we can reach our long-term highest potentials in the absence of happiness?  I don't.  I find that happiness is like a nutrient, without which I don't have the strength to go on.

Since my recent intensive treatment for depression, I have strengthened my happiness framework.  I have identified what I value, and learned how to enhance my self-esteem by aligning my daily actions with my values.  I've learned to argue back when the old voices claim I'm not worth much.  I've learned how I was discounting positive aspects of myself and my work, while taking negatives too seriously.  (I learned these things via Cognitive Behavioral Therapy and Dialectical Behavioral Therapy, if you are interested.)

I am not a starving artist.  My best ideas come when I am happy.  My best efforts come when I am happy.  Perhaps there was a time when deprivation made people more determined.  But I believe that is rare now.  Perhaps that is why Hashem gave us a foretaste of a wonderful world when we crossed the Red Sea.  It is told that the sea floor was smooth for the people's feet, and that trees with luscious fruits grew on the newly revealed ground.  Birds sang in the trees, and the children fed them fruits.  What more beautiful picture of abundance and natural communion?  Hashem prepared us mentally to comprehend the choices that lay ahead at Mount Sinai.

It is still a custom to put out food for the birds before Shabbos Shirah.  Now, as then, we can choose abundance, and have enough to share.  Now, as then, we can use our physical labor to sustain the praise of Hashem.

"The field and everything in it will exult, then all the trees of the forest will sing with joy." (Psalms 96:12)