First “Unresolved,” now “Undecided.” I seem to have hit upon a theme, here…
In fact, this post is harking back not to last week’s blog, but to what I put up the week before — to “Hummingbirds, By Request.” I saw another hummingbird today, hovering high in the branches of one of our oaks. The bird wasn’t so much an inspiration to return to the topic of depression as a visual affirmation of my line of thought, an avian synchronicity, if you will; an external nod to a process of internal assessment (how am I doing in the depression department?) and a goddess-borne invitation to share the results.
I caught sight of the bird because I was outside. I was outside because of that “pleasures” list. Back in the day, back when the knees were working and I wasn’t lugging so much weight around, a happy abundance of time and money combined with a blithe disregard for vehicular carbon emissions and sent me tootling down to Marin multiple times a week to practice kung fu. I loved it. It fed my soul. So, despite that I’m out of shape, despite that my back yard is a kind of painful place to be these days (in a low-ego place last spring, I allowed tree trimmers to hack off a whole huge branch of the most beautiful, most sacred oak on our property; I’ve been working on forgiving myself ever since, but I’m still racked with guilt and regret every time I go out there), I’m stepping outside daily to do a little tai chi.
And it’s helped. No, it doesn’t carry me blithely through the day. But it does give me a few peaceful moments under green leaves and wrapped in bird songs, a bit of breeze, maybe sunlight, maybe soft gray clouds. Turns out that idea I had about settling for a few pleasant distractions (rather than aiming for out-and-out transformative bliss) is the right idea. Pleasant distractions are what I need, and I get two-for-one by stepping out into the natural world and focusing on my breathing, my energy and my movements.
So, the pleasures list was a big deal. The stuff that went on it didn’t make the difference. The act of making it turned the tide. Just doing something specifically for myself affected me positively. Though there were scant few pleasures on the list, making it meant I was doing something that I hoped and intended to be good for me. And so, it was.
What I’m doing for me now? I’m refusing to let myself make major decisions about my life. Oh, yes, I think I must. I think these decisions are crucial, I think they’re pressing. I think if I can just make the right choice, I’ll be able to head in the right direction and start feeling good about myself, my situation, my everything.
I haven’t gained tons of clarity from a bit of tai chi in the am. But it has become ever so much clearer to me that I’m not thinking clearly. Back when I was more lucid, I knew what kept me sane: writing, music, exercise. I knew that when I wasn’t singing — preferably on the page — it threw me off. It made me weird. It made me crazy. Now, after 18 months of dream-deprivation… well, of course I’m not ok to drive!
I’m standing on tiptoe, gazing over the edge of middle-age into the vast silver-grayness of the future, looking for signposts. But no matter what vistas delight or dismay my eye, I’m not going to choose a direction. Not now. Not yet. I’m firmly undecided.