today, part II: and then. (or, how to shake the blues!)

This afternoon, I had a little shift from the wackiness of the morning, and I just felt a little down.  In a nugget, moping. You know how sometimes you just feel it?  Probably just the lack of chocolate in the week’s diet, but it just stuck around.  And wouldn’t go away.  So, I just let it be there, and went about the business of working.  Which really is the best way to get through it anyway.  Much better than lying on the bed, listening to old Cold Play songs that, perhaps, remind you of happier days, say 10 or so years ago, and approximately, oh, 9,000 miles away.  With palm trees, and sunrise diving, and midday hammock time…

Digressing.  Self-pity.  Pity party.  It’s so pathetic, because you can identify it, and you know it’s not rational, and YET.  I was on my way to a friend’s house, to visit her newborn, and I really f*cking needed to shake it, at least a little.  So I started employing some tactics, and I thought I would share.  Yes, I still feel a bit blue, but not so much as earlier.

How to: Debbie Downer

  1. Say thank you.  Say it out loud, or in your mind, or in the windows-up radio-down seclusion of your Ford Focus.  For whatever damn thing that comes to mind: your car, the fact that you have a pair of shoes that fit, whatever.  And not in a smart-assy way.  Say it genuinely, or as close to genuine as you can get.
  2. See the opportunity, if applicable, in the situation that upset you.  In my case, I recently lost a client.  If you can remove yourself from the situation (e.g. it’s so damn nice to have a regular gig), and gain some perspective on the actual situation (I didn’t feel particularly good about the type of biz said client was in), you can see that it might, somehow — in even the minutest sort of way — be a good thing.  And really, it is just a matter of allowing yourself to see the tiniest speck of light that can make all the difference some days.
  3. Get the hello out of the house!  Depression equals wanting to sequester yourself and bask in the badness of it all.  If you can, get your butt outside, even if you’re only going to scowl at people at the library.  Just get away, if only briefly, from the energetic raincloud you’ve been inhabiting.  Stare at a tree.  Buy some notebooks and new pens at CVS.  Eat 15 samples of homeopathic-organic-vegan brioche at Whole Foods.  Make fun of hipsters getting lunch from the food trucks.  Just. get. out.
  4. Exercise.  This should really be higher up on the list, because it’s the best one.  It’s hard to cry when you’re at the gym, watching reruns of House Hunters.  Also, you just feel better when you’re doing something great for yourself and your body.
  5. Go to sleep.  Sometimes it’s just better (unless it’s a habit, then you need to talk to someone).
  6. Listen to a good/inspirational/high-energy song.  Faves include “I can only imagine,” by MercyMe (a disclaimer here, this song is highly, highly religious, but it is bound, indelibly, to Team Hoyt [see vid below], and that is one amaze-balls story, right there.  Much inspiration.), maybe a little Eminem, and loads of other either cheesy or horrible songs that I’d prefer not to make you privy to.  Start paying attention to songs that make you feel good, that give you a little boost when you’re driving, check the interwebs for exercise/running playlists to get some ideas.
  7. Write it out.  I tend to express myself better in writing than I do with the speaking, so it’s always worked for me to have a come-to-Jesus with some loose leaf.  I like a little Q&A, though it can just be a rant, or a drawn-out wallow.  Simply expressing it outwardly can extricate it from your body, and leave you some room for relief.
  8. Scream.  Preferably where no one can hear you.  Again, the car works pretty well for this particular option.
  9. Talk to someone.  A friend, parent, spouse, whomever will listen.  Don’t go on and on for an hour, or they may never listen again 😉 but if there’s a trusted someone you can talk to, see if they’ll lend an ear.
  10. Spend time with an animal.  I love dogs, because they just love you.  Cats sometimes let you get close to them, and they might let you pet them, and it’s possible they’ll purr.  Pets don’t carry around the stuff we do, they just love.  You know what they want, and they want to give it right back to you.  I hug my roomy’s dog as often as I can.  I kiss him between the eyes, I talk to him and call him stinky, I’m intoxicated by his dog-smell.  There’s nothing more joyful than watching him swim in the lake.  Even just thinking about him makes me happier.
  11. Find a way to gain some perspective.  I lost a client.  In the scheme of things, so what!?  As I drove away from the house this afternoon, the aforementioned song “I can only imagine” song was on the radio and I was instantly reminded of the video below.  Lost a client?  Boo f’ing hoo.  This dude runs/jumps/swims/bikes in IRONMAN competitions with his full-grown son in tow.  I like to call this method buck-the-f@ck-up, because sometimes the touchy-feely shite doesn’t work, and you just have to knock it out of yourself.  Which I think is what just happened for me (finally!).
  12. Which leads to the last suggestion: help someone else.  Volunteer, stalk old people in parking lots to help them carry things, wait at a door somewhere and just open it for people.  It feels good to help people out, and it moves your focus away from what’s bothering you.

I know I have more than this, so I’ll update when I can think of them.  What works for you?  Leave your suggestions in the comments!  (Also, see if you can make it through Team Hoyt without crying…)

the afterlife.

I wanted to bring it full circle, after my post re: my uncle’s death.  Yesterday, the first song I heard on my way to work was Stevie Wonder‘s “Isn’t She Lovely,” which is a beautiful song in its own right, but more poignant in light of events.

What do you believe happens when we die?  I do think we’re reborn, or set free.  Not in an evangelical Christian way, but just set free of the burden of our physical bodies.  I don’t know how to accurately describe, I guess, but I don’t believe in heaven or hell.  I don’t think that there’s a god, or God, up there racking points for or against us based on petty indiscretions like using the swears, or not going to church.

So, that’s all I’ve got to say at the moment.

31.

Ugh.  There’s really no good, or witty, or original way to start a post like this, and I wouldn’t even share but for the interesting peripherals.  My uncle passed today.  He’s been suffering from cancer for several months and opted out of continuing chemo.  He slipped into a coma after receiving the last rites yesterday, and died peacefully, surrounded by friends and family.  My mom has been with the family in Iowa for the past few days and has kept me updated.  When I talked with her yesterday, she told me he would go within the next day or two; when I talked to her today, he was holding.  With the arrival of his oldest son, he was surrounded by his family and the unspoken understanding was that this was what he’d been holding out for.  Tonight was my first class in a beginner’s series at the Shambhala Center of Minneapolis. Walking in, I turned off my phone, knowing that Chris would be gone by the time I left the building.

I was mostly fine in class, if a little distant.  During the second hour, I started feeling really agitated and even cried a bit.  At one point, Chris’s face entered my mind, the way I remember him looking: jovial, kind, smiling and laughing.  I wouldn’t claim to be psychic or similar, but I have had a few of these experiences before, I suppose they’re so powerful, especially when it’s a family member, that you can’t help but feel the vibe even many miles away.  The distraught faces of my aunt and my mom co-habitated with this peaceful image of Chris for a while, and then it was gone, then I carried on my meditation.  When I left and turned on my phone, there were two messages from my mom, and one from my aunt that Chris was gone.

I called and spoke briefly with my mom and aunt, shared my vision with them and gave them my love.  When I hung up, I turned on the Radio K-tuned radio, smack-dab in the middle of this:

Stylistically, it’s not at all appropriate for Chris, but the message is.  Rest in peace, big man.  May you be pain-free and joyful once more!

31.

This song is melancholy by its very nature; I like this upbeat version just a bit more. Plus it’s from the Concert For Bangladesh, which I keep meaning to watch.

Remembering the father of a friend, who died 3 years ago today: his sly chuckle, the delicious margaritas he would whip up in the blink of an eye, the unexpected quips, and listening to old vinyl, of which Bobby D. was an especial favorite.

Bob Dylan / A Hard Rain’s Gonna Fall