navigation

I've been making it through the winter, like many who work their way through life with depression, moment by moment, day by day.

I'm still here, if you need me.

But I don't think anyone is reading at the moment.

I have an internship I'm doing for 3 months, and I don't expect to be writing during that time.

Will do what I can.

Gracie

Green Eyed Peas

Today has not been such a good day.

In the last 24 hours at least 6 of my most beloved colleagues and friends asked me when I am going to break the radio silence and start writing again. These pages are something of an exercise in consistency -- training myself to show up, as often as I can, while still holding down a day job and maintaining the rest of my health and life.

I have been taught that every part of us has some value. So what possible positive value can come from jealousy?

Jealousy, for me, almost always comes in the form of shame that I haven't accomplished what someone else has. It's an ugly sentiment, disowned almost the moment it arises. So what possible value could it have in my life?

I am so proud of my friends and loved one's success. And, in my own small way, I have even had a hand in shaping the skills and opportunities that made some of those successes possible.

So why would I hurt so when a brilliant, one-time apprentice of mine asks: "What have you written since I've seen you last?"

And another friend asks "Have you gotten around to finishing that novel you and your husband were working on?"

"Which one?"

"Any one would do," he responds.

"Does the world really need one more laborer, if it means your voice is missing from the libraries and bookshelves out there?" Echoes a third friend.

What is my voice, I ask? All voices are valid, and with the advent of the internet, there is such a clamoring for an audience. I will jot down thoughts as best I can, while I work our way out of debt from my last creative adventure.

People will find me, if they need me.

I'm still here for you, dear reader.

A little worn thin. A little rough around the edges. A little tired and a little thwarted.

But I am gathering my strength.

I am waiting and watching to see where my point of view may be needed.

Right now we just collectively elected the best possible candidate that's run for president in decades, perhaps centuries.

I think I can take time to heal, and not try to force myself down the world's throat.

I have learned that much in my quiet years.

Anything worth saying, will, eventually, be worth hearing.

"This is my letter to the world,
That never wrote to me.
The tender news that nature told
With gentle majesty.
Her message is committed,
to hands I cannot see.
For love of her, sweet countrymen
Judge tenderly of me..."

This is the first bit of poetry that my mother gave me, by Emily Dickinson

I am a very private person, and thought the life of a writer would afford me the opportunity to be both creative, truthful, and private. Sometimes, that has not been the case, and the public side of writing has been very painful to me, and not much related to the work - or to my relationship to you, constant reader.

And so, if you are a follower of my infrequent work - that is all I ask. I am a simple human being, trying to sort out the pieces of my life like any other. I try to be compassionate with my work, and, when I can, with myself.

If you can, and you would give me an appreciation for what I do - I would ask only this:

"Judge tenderly of me..."

Gracious Rants

Some Weeks You Just Work

Hello out there.

If anyone's been checking in regularly, then I apologize for the absence. I have been working very hard to keep my job. Not that I'm in any more danger of losing it than anyone else, just conscious that in these times it's important (to me anyway) to support the team effort as much as possible.

I work at a lovely place with people I genuinely care about. My schedule is mostly sane, so that when they ask me to go the extra mile, not only do I not mind, but I have it in me to give.

One of the lessons of living well with depression seems to be moderation. Monotony, much as I resisted it in my youth, has become my friend. The more I can make my life a habit, the more creative energy I have for problem solving, doing my job and, every so often creating art.

So I have a set of really boring habits that I keep:

Sleep 9 hours a night.

Meditate at least once a day.

Exercise of some kind once a day.

Clean something once a day.

Leave for work early enough to mitigate traffic, or other unexpected events.

Organize my day first thing in the morning.

Leave 2 hours worth of room for the unexpected to happen.

Eat modestly, balanced little meals throughout the day.

No more than one cup of tea or coffee.

Love what I do.

Leave on time, unless there's a deadline.

Allow time to recuperate.

Make time for at least one friend a day.

Underspend.

Eliminate drama.

Emotionally house clean every day.

Be grateful.

They say it takes 21 days to form a habit. Habits are hard for me, so I say it takes as long as it takes. But I have learned to form one habit at a time, and slip it into my routine until it becomes second nature before I form a new one.

Next habit is "Make art."

For today, just keeping the list going is enough. For me, the list is not confining. It's been quite freeing.

It leaves me with a peaceful heart and room to choose what I value in life.

Discipline can have all kinds of harsh connotations, but the stronger one is, the lighter one's load is to carry.

So, if you were going to make yourself strong enough to uphold a particular value, what would you start with.

Just one habit.

Try it on - and let me know how it works.

The Grace of an Ordinary Day

Today was the sabbath. Day of writing and rest. Cleaning and friends. Love and remembrance. Gratitude and creativity.

I've done simple things for simple joys.

Cleaned the kitchen.

Sat with the cat.

Reviewed a manuscript.

Listened to my husband read a Mary Russel - Sherlock Holmes novel by Laurie King.

I have no great wisdom to impart, except that sometimes taking time to love your life is the best possible medicine to ennui.

Gracie

Country Boys Can Survive

I've been reviewing the outtakes from W., and if I needed something to depress me, it was the idea that this man essentially meant well. I certain the people who voted for him thought he did.

When I lived in the North, we had a certain superior attitude to southerners, which I quickly outgrew following my grandmother's roots to Kentucky just after college. Sure, I was educated (translate: know it all). Sure, I was well read (translate: rude enough to speak about things that my neighbors were unfamiliar with.) My grandmother, with her 8th grade education, was extremely well read. And she knew better.

I didn't know a damn thing.

Because I didn't know how to live.

I didn't know how to love, how to trust. Whom to trust. How to tell when someone is telling me the truth or feeding me line. How to stand by people come hell or high water.

There are things more important - vastly more important - than being smart.

Character has far more survival value than simple brains. Because someone with brains can mislead you. It's far more important to know if you can trust someone than to know if they are smart.

And someone who is smart and trustworthy -- that's rare mettle. It takes the ability to step out of your own brain and see something truly from all points of view.

"You're enemy is never a villain in his own eyes," is attributed to Heinlein, but Caesar made a practice of making his enemies his friends. It gave him the capacity to unite nations.

I have hope for the future as I have never had before.

The values that the "intelligentsia" of my parents generation, and the hopes and dreams that my generation gave up for a rationalized cynicism is now being replaced by a bold new generation that cares for their community and their children, their neighbors and the world, their pocketbooks and their time with family and friends.

There is an emergence of the best of what America has to offer coming from our young people, if we listen.

In the North I learned how to think on a grand scale. In the south I learned how to live with my neighbors.

Bless us, if our children, despite our polarized examples, may have learned to do both.

We may be in for hard times ahead -- but I think we have the capacity in us to survive, even thrive.

Should we choose to listen to and side with the best in all of us.

All of us.

Together.

Please Vote.

Whom ever you choose.

And the one request I would make:

Vote your future, not your fear.

Problems Posting

Well, I'm still here, but my posts don't seem to be.

I'll write more soon.

D-Day

Hello again.

It's been a bit of an uphill climb since we last met here on the page. I have been struggling with my mind which really wants to go down the rabbit hole and take me with it. I've been to see my doctor and have begun the long process of charting my mood from day to day, along with possible triggering events and the possible relationship.

About a month ago all the conditions of my life were the same and I felt pretty good about it all.

Now I don't feel so good.

David calls it weather. It tends to happen every fall.

So I am "fighting it out on the beaches", just now, which is my own personal mantra for forcing my way through what seems impossible to do.

I set my jaw. (It turns out that gritting my teeth gives me headaches.) Straighten my shoulders, and push my way into whatever is coming next. The next phone call. The next chore. The next exercise. The next action that must be taken to break the depression cycle.

For many years I have come to rely on a voice or two on the other end of the phone to get me started, but we both know the routine, and I try to lean on my friends these days as little as possible.

Full face into the wind, into the rain - if that's what it takes.

Day one of my personal front line attack.

I went to work, threw up all over myself on the way, came back, changed clothes, and went back to work.

I did my job.

I finished my job for the day.

I called a friend. I called my brother.

I cleaned the kitchen. I cleaned the living room.

I got the laundry ready.

I made a date with my husband for dinner.

Is she really depressed, you may be asking yourself?

I assure you, I want nothing more than to put a bullet in my head.

But I have promised not to.

So I am forcing myself to do the next thing, and the next, knowing as I do this that being in motion will probably begin to force my mind off it's one track.

If you have ever been here, I promise you, the way back starts with one step.

Part of the reason it seems so terribly dark, is that we are turned away from the light.

I don't argue with the darkness. I simply, forcefully, do things I care about, in trust that it will make a difference.

These are my marching orders.

Caring may be a feeling, but it is also an action. So while I may not feel like I care, I will take the actions I know I would take when the caring feeling is present.

If this seems too much to bear, do one thing. It's a muscle. Move slowly, gracefully, awkwardly - however you can. But take that first step.

And let me know what happens.

I, in turn, will let you know how it goes from here.