Taking My Own Advice

birds

I have been staring into the abyss, watching suffering and sorrow and little else, and yesterday I decided I need to step back and reaffirm the rest of my life. My antidotes for depression may sound trite, but I'm always recommending physical activity, refocusing on the positive things, and even just going through the motions of the mundane until the spirit kicks in. I figured it was time to take my own advice.

First step, I came home. I like it here, I live here, I should stop by here more often.

Next day, although I wasn't "in the mood" I put my bicycle in the back of my car and drove to candy-sweet Solvang, where I did one of my favorite loops, along Alamo Pintado through Los Olivos, up Ballard Canyon, then coasting back into town past the old Danish cemetery, Hans Christian Anderson Park, and the elementary school whose yard is always a'tumble with noisy little kids.

Back in the main part of town, the Farmers' Market was in full swing, October style, piles of bright pumpkins and butternut squash, crisp little apples, jars of honey, all the bounty of local harvests. A tiny witch in a tall hat held her mother's hand. A leathery old guy in cowboy boots was choosing onions with one hand, holding a bouquet of fresh-cut flowers in the other. Shoppers browsed and socialized, but I didn't see anyone I knew and I was glad, because I wasn't sure I could talk without starting to cry, and the day was too sunny and festive for that sort of nonsense.

This too is life, I told myself, just as real as anything else.

Today I did something really crazy. I registered for National Novel Writing Month. What the heck. Why not? People do these things. I still haven't finished the Gaviota book I've been working on for months, but now I've made another commitment to myself, and I'll give it a good try. Fiction, no less! This will be new for me. I plan to set it in Long Island during the 1960s,  and I don't have much of a plan beyond that, but if I fail, who cares? I just won't tell you about it.

I discovered I really like listening to this: Bach's keyboard concerto No. 5 in F Minor, performed by pianist Simone Dinnerstein. It's sad in a way that acknowledges all sadness but it's beautiful and reassuring as well. It's playing right now.

Blogging helps, too. Hence this post. And pretty soon I may begin to call upon my nearby friends and indulge myself in their company.

Oh, and I cleaned out my drawers and organized my closet, and even sorted through my toilet kit. Never underestimate the power of tidiness! Being organized and slightly de-cluttered greatly facilitates the ability to function and cope, and it's a delightfully mindless endeavor.

Just a few days ago I was thinking that much of what I thought I believed in was falling apart, and all the illusions I'd spun were unraveling. Now I see that I'm just getting a concentrated infusion of wisdom.

Sometimes life just happens to us, yes. But lots of times life is a decision. I choose not to get so focused on tragedy that I negate the validity of all that is wondrous and beautiful and good. I choose to keep trying to learn. I choose to be kind and not blind but I don't see the point in getting  swallowed up.I'm signing off with love and gratitude and hope.

(Hope: As a friend said, it is very cruel, but it's all we have.)

The image, by the way, is a detail from a painting of the Virgin by Joseph Stella, one of my favorites. I have had a framed print of it at home for years but recently saw the real thing at the Brooklyn Museum. Oh, the real thing was so much richer than I'd imagined...