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How small a thought it takes to fill a whole life. – Steve Reich

I have spent the last year bewitched by a singular thought. It began as a wonder, planted unintentionally by multiple people who independently came to the same conclusion, well before the idea ever dawned on me. There was—is—an energy behind the idea. Though it was slow to root, once it took hold, its vines tangled itself in every corner. The details are ever changing based on how the scenario is or isn’t playing out in my reality, taking me on a wild ride of highs and lows. As my mother put it, “It’s like you are on a river, rafting through rapids, completely unaware if you are heading towards a cliff.”

Another person is involved, of course. Isn’t that always how it is with these sorts of things. And they have no idea what I’m experiencing, of course. Because isn’t that always how it is with these sorts of things? And now is not the time to say anything, of course, because when it comes to these sorts of things, timing is everything.

So I sit. And think. And try not to think. And push it away and watch it come roaring back again.

It manifests in my body, sinusitis combined with a heaviness that creeps through my limbs. I cut through it by watching my dog frolick on a dirt path behind my home, willing myself to hear the birds while I observe her canine joy and force myself to think, “If this is my last moment on Earth, my God, it is beautiful.”

Another thought: Don’t decide your failures in advance.

There are two forces at work here. First, a lesson on perception. Due to the nature of the situation, most of it is playing out in my own mind. Over the past month, new information has come in that has me questioning my interperetation of the last year. My mental and emotional assumption of What Is has taken a sharp turn, veering away from one of hope and possibility to one of frustration and stupidity.

And yet, objectively, the situation has not changed. It is identical to what it was six months ago. All that has shifted is the story I tell myself. Still, it is maddening that I can’t find the line between intuition, instinct, and fantasy. That is not often a line I struggle to walk.

Which leads me to the second lesson, a perennial lesson it seems I am constantly forced to learn: the art of waiting.

Back in Issue 22, I wrote: We have conditioned ourselves to think that when we are presented with a choice, our only options are to pick one or the other and to do it fast. But there is an ever-present third choice that often holds the most power — the choice to wait.

I am fighting a sinking feeling telling me that I was wrong, that what I thought this was, isn’t. I want to chastize myself for being so foolish, box up the embarrassment of ever mentioning it at all, and pretend it never happened by engaging in whatever or whoever pulls me in to break up the thought pattern. But even if this path turns out to be true, it is too early to decide my failure. Frankly, there is little evidence to support the Stupidity Theory. But there is some evidence, albeit not an overwleming amount, to support the Original Theory. The truth is likely somewhere in between. I am sure I have overcorrected on both ends.

So I must wait and find a way to tend to the roots without letting the vine suffocate its host, one thought at a time.

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In May of this year, when I relocated to NYC for a few months, I started an experiment with an undefined end date: I made a commitment to create conscious, intentional distance between myself and all expressions of current events and mainstream media.

If a newspaper ends up in front of me, I toss it in the nearest recycling bin. If CNN blares at the airport, I turn my back and put in headphones. I no longer subscribe to any list referencing current events or outrage. I walk away from banal conversations or force a change in subject and delete the random videos people send me without watching them.

I cannot tell you what the weather forecast is without sticking my hand out the window. I don’t know who is throwing their hat in the ring for presidential nominations. When I found out about the Maui wildfires—on an instagram account dedicated to good news—my heart sank at the sight of it all, and still I immediately unfollowed.

There was a time when I thought that being up to date on current events is part of what made you a good citizen. Whether it was my uppity liberal arts education or my uppity liberal arts friends, I don’t know, but manufacturing my own interest in the world’s chaos felt like a duty I was obliged to perform. Perhaps, back when information was handed out in digestible bits through letters that took weeks to arrive and journalism that only delivered the news once a day, an overview of national and global happenings wasn’t so detrimental. A forty-five minute newspaper read was tempered by twenty three hours of distance. Gossip spread around town and provided for idle chatter, sure, but everyone was more or less getting the same information so I imagine there was only so much to say. And without the ability to tweet about whatever issue pissed people off, the incendiary nature of it all likely didn’t have enough oxygen to really catch fire. This allowed for the most collectively important issues rise above, leading to vast societal changes like the Renaissance, Women’s Rights Movement, and Civil Rights Movement.

My embargo exists to see what sort of movements I might experience within myself absent of noise imposed upon me. After all, can we really say that the life of someone who chooses to spend their time marveling at the beauty of a tree is any less meaningful than the person who spends their time picketing outside the Supreme Court?

The changes I’ve felt within myself have been profound in the most surprising and delightful ways. With so much mental and energetic space cleared up, I’ve been learning and creating at an unprecedented rate. Everything everywhere is art. The food I’m cooking for work has become bold, ambitious, and unapologetic—an adjective that might not seem to make sense in this context, but for me, is extraordinary. I am pulling away from the confines of painting lessons and tutorials in favor of following my intuition in a way that feels less like amateur experimenting and more like remembering how to do something I already know how to do. Even my physical body is responding. I am lighter, literally and figuratively. I am moving it in new ways that, like painting, feel like remembering.

Socially, I am both a better listener and more of a recluse. I haven’t been giving up my time to other people as easily, but when I do, I find I’m more objective. I can listen to what they have to say and, because I don’t have context filtered through some agenda, come to a conclusion or ask questions without as much judgement or assumption.

This is not entirely without its downsides. In July, I got stranded in Long Island for five days and missed a friend’s wedding thanks to a wave of airline disruptions due to storms on the East Coast. Had I been paying an ounce of attention, I might not have made a last minute change to my itinerary that caused me to attempt to fly on the day storms were predicted to be the worst. On the other hand, while I missed the wedding, I spent those five days in Long Island helping a friend who really needed that help. And I got to spend the time devouring a book I randomly pulled off the shelf, Born to Run, which in two back to back readings has transformed me from someone who thought I hated running to someone who is now going on hour long trail runs at whim, for fun.

Just yesterday, the writer Suleika Jaouad shared a prayer she threw up to the heavens in 2015: “May I be awake enough to notice when love appears, and bold enough to pursue it without knowing where it will lead.”

These words bring tears to my eyes as I type, not just in hope of romantic love, but in the courage that it takes to step forward while knowing less. Cutting ties with current events and mass media means I am forced to watch what comes up within myself. A few times, I have spiraled into a loop of worry over whether or not I’m making the right choices. Have I overcorrected? Am I going to miss something I need to know? Am I confusing my intuition with fantasy? Is not knowing what I don’t know leading me down the wrong path?

Bold enough to pursue without knowing where it will lead.

I can’t argue with the wonder that has come out of knowing less. And so, for now, I will continue to keep my distance and watch what comes in its place.

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January 30, 2025

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January 16, 2025

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