And I’ve been doing just fine…

Actually, I think I’ve been in a moderate depressive episode for eight or nine months. Everything just… stopped. Life has been a crawling along of one semi-disaster after another, just barely responding to one crisis before another one swallows me whole, letting things fall apart in the hopes that something else will come back together.

This is normal for me. I know when it’s coming, but every time I’m somehow surprised and also mad at myself for letting it happen. Maybe someday I’ll be able to move through these seasons more gracefully.

Here’s the important part: I never, ever quit.

Not when it’s scary. Not when it’s hard. I slow down, but I don’t stop.

I’ve been thinking a lot about decay lately. There is no passivity in life, not really. If you’re not on top of it, it’s on top of you, weighing you down like nothing will ever be good again. Decay is its own form of life, always striving to make the most of whatever resources it has available to it.

I’m at a weird crossroads. I’m at that point in my life where I have everything I need but nothing I want, and then I feel guilty for not being appreciative of what I have and not thinking positively about all of the work I’ve already done and how it’s paid off. I’ve gotten almost everything I’ve ever wanted in my life, but there’s one thing I can’t name and can’t touch and it’s this nebulous, amorphous need to touch some part of the universe that means something to me before I die.

I’m at that point in my life where everyone is having babies and all of our parents (if they started late) or grandparents (if they started early) are dying and time feels real, mortality feels real, we’re all so young but we only have a few years left. Life–real life, mortal life–feels so much more real now.

I don’t know how to explain. I’m so tired of feeling like every single feeling I have needs to be explained before I’m allowed to have it.

Duality. Crossroads. Change. Growth. Ascension.

I feel… maybe not guilt, but something in that neighborhood. Embarrassed, certainly. I think I made a $600 mistake. No one but me will ever know about it, but I still have to think about it, and that’s the haunting thing. Other people make worse mistakes. People make hundred-thousand-dollar mistakes. People make someone-lost-their-dream-house mistakes. Doctors make mistakes and people die. $600 is nothing.

And it’s not a mistake. It’s a learning curve, which I’m on because…

I never, ever quit.

I don’t know what I’m reaching for, but I think it’s the act of reaching that makes me human.

All my love,

BH ❤