I am naturally kinda neurotic, yes, but I am also naturally happy. I feel joy deeply, whether from a bright autumn leaf on the ground, thinking about a dear friend, my cup of coffee in the morning. When I’m doing well, I’m like Browning’s duchess:
“she liked whate’er she looked upon,
and her looks went everywhere.”
My heart is easily made glad. Being naturally pretty happy is a gift — I’ve known horrible depression and I fight for and treasure an attitude of happiness, the ability not only to see goodness, but to feel it. I like being alive, and that is a marvel to me, because there was a time when I didn’t. Due to medication and love and sheer grace–God, the universe, luck, whatever you call it–I’m here, and most days I can taste common happiness. That is an enormous privilege.
But sometimes–days, weeks, months–I can’t. It’s been a rough few weeks–I’ve been spinning myself out in a way that’s unwise and completely my fault, and when my computer broke on Monday I kinda spiraled into a pit of financial-worry-fueled despair. I was tired of everything–tired and bitter. Today I hit another wall, the kind where anything beyond lying on the couch sounds damn near impossible.
So instead of writing my dissertation, or researching, or mopping the floor, or even grading, I’m writing this blog post.
Instead of listening to podcasts when I walk, I’m just walking. Sometimes when I go for a long walk with no input, it’s like I can feel my brain doing that computer re-boot self-cleaning thing.
Instead of adding more stuff to my plate, I’m quitting what I can and trying to be better at what remains.
[If I owe you a phone call, please know I love you and really want to talk to you. The first conversation after the divorce feels so difficult. And I’m so tired.
If you’ve texted me about hanging out, I really, really want to, because I love people and I love you. I’m just so tired.]
Pressing the reset button. Be back again soon. Thanks for bearing with the long silence on this blog, and the sad stuff lately. And thanks for reading.