Seasons

Walking my dogs this morning, it occurred to me that we follow nearly the same route twice a day, year in, year out.  But every day is different.  Something has changed.  The grass is greener or browner.  There are a lot of clouds or no clouds.  Sometimes the neighbors dogs are out, sometimes they are inside.

Every day is a season.  This  hit me.  Every day is a flavor, a color, an opportunity, a chance, a soon-to-be-gone.

This is a healthy thought.  Mental health is in part looking forward to each and every day as an opportunity to experience, to grow, to learn, to enjoy.  You know that challenges are a part of it, but you also know even the very worst ones can’t last past this lifetime, and very few last even a fraction that long.  Most are forgotten in a week or two.

I have been living in hell.  As best I can determine, I have been in a more or less clinical state of depression since before I could speak, but it is healing.  I am getting flashes of hope and engagement, and cessation of those relentless attacks of self disgust, pessimism, and sense of impending doom and helplessness.

Doom may be impending–there are lunatics in this world even now trying to bring it about–but I think learning to face that possibility with the best attitude possible is the way to roll.

And I will be far more effective in creating and propagating creative alternatives as someone who is engaged with the world on all levels.