The Dull Lens

By Wendy Lee

July 26, 2016

I swear, I was wholly in “the zone.”  It was the most peaceful, calm, exquisite place I have ever been.  I was alive.  I was experiencing life as the gift it is, and for the first time, ever.  Happy wasn’t a big enough adjective to describe how I was feeling.  It was contentment.  It was bliss.

It was when the drives across the desert would become beautiful paintings with colors and textures so lovely I marveled at all of the times I had missed it, just driving by in obliviousness.  With just the slightest bit of haze, I could see the depth and variety of all of the surrounding mountains, which otherwise appeared flat like two dimensional photographs.  The ranges of volcanic rock, sediment, various minerals, and weathering created such visual wonder that all I could utter each time was, “Wow, beautiful!”

Sometimes, the desert floor was lush with vegetation due to the heavy rains, something unexpected in the desert. The beds of Joshua trees, the most remarkable and seemingly useless of desert plants, rising in formation at the passes of the high desert.

Even the solar plant, something I have driven by at least 50 times, provided fascination because the atmospheric conditions sometimes made the towers look like giant camping lanterns lighting the desert in the middle of the day.  It was so ridiculous that I couldn’t help but be captivated by it.

It was my morning walks where I was intrigued by the wildlife that scampered about in the darkness of dawn.  The coyotes and rabbits, predator and prey.  It was the curious feel of the air on a summer morning, stale and warm in one area but a rush of cool, moist air in another.  Where did that cool air come from?  It was probably just the overwatered grass in the park creating its own climate system.

It was the brightness I felt when seeing a friend.  It was the joy of hearing my favorite music, singing off-key, and dancing to the music from my favorite band.  It was the feeling of love from the abundance of goodness surrounding me.  It was the complete satisfaction of doing a good job.  It was the feeling of elation from a compliment.  It was fulfillment in helping others.

It was my passions woken up.  It was my curiosity in motion.  I was a sponge, absorbing everything I could.  I was drinking life in with all its alluring appeal.  I was open and vulnerable and sharing my raw experiences in the simple attempt to help a few others through their own struggles.  I was writing, a lot.  I was immersed in the passions of others, caught up in their excitement.

It was the pleasure of sharing a little bit of history with twenty strangers on my tour, and seeing the eyes light up from the stories I shared.

Oh, and the hikes and exploring of state and national parks.  I simply could not get enough.

From my observations, even in my glorious contentment, I could sense that many, if not most, were merely going about the motions of life.  Some were happy, some were just letting life happen, some were living in desperation.  But for me?  I was flourishing, and completely living life on purpose.  It was spiritual.  My actions were aligned to my values.  And I was having so much fun, the most fun I had ever had in my life.

And then it is gone.

Just like that.

Stolen in a moment, or most likely many, many moments when I just wasn’t paying attention.  I was distracted.

It snuck up on me, as it often does, but the pain felt this time is more sharp, more acute.  It’s not like I haven’t been here before, but knowing how extraordinary it was when I was in “the zone” makes the darkness even more excruciating.  The brightness, the highs and even the lows, have been dulled such that I seem to be experiencing life by looking through a dirty window.

I fell.

I fell hard.

It hurts.

If I am pragmatic about it, I am sure I can view this is a time of great learning.  What is it here to teach me?  How will I grow?  What will I become as a result?  Who are these magnificent teachers and what lessons are they bearing for me?

I am not reasonable, at least not right now.  All I want to do is give it the middle finger.  F.U.  Haven’t I learned enough lessons already?  Haven’t I grown considerably?  Haven’t I finally opened up to the world, and shed the granite shell that surrounded my heart?  Haven’t I become vulnerable?  Haven’t I risked everything to start over?  I am just not up for another fall, certainly not right now.

Depression.

It is the funhouse mirror that distorts all of life around it.  You can’t see the truth.  You convince yourself that the image you see in the mirror is the one the world sees.

Depression is described in many ways, from constant sadness to loss of interest to inability to function to inability to get out of bed.  As with most of life, though, while trying to apply a stereotype to someone might be a useful clinical construct, it has little practicality when trying to understand an individual.  Each of our experiences are different.  I am unique.   And if I had a dollar for every time I have heard that I am unique…   Throw a bucket of anxiety on top of that and you have an unpredictable mess.

Oh, I know how I got here.  Even though it snuck up on me, I can look back now and see exactly what happened.  I can almost draw you a map.  It won’t be a pretty drawing, and you will have to go through the bad parts of town, but you will see the path I took rather accidentally.

So I have done what I always do, I have withdrawn.  I am a master at it.

It is so easy for me to withdraw, and I can do it in a way so that nobody even notices.  As long as I seem perpetually busy (and I am mostly busy), and as long as I keep the Facebook posts going, no one notices that what I have actually done is withdraw from the very things that bring me the most enjoyment.  It is the huge illusion, a remarkable hiding place, one of great familiarity and comfort.

Except when it isn’t.

Not this time.

For I am simply tired of the monotonous, lifeless feeling of depression.  It is something that has plagued me almost the entirety of my life.  It is something I have hidden and been ashamed of.  It is toxic, and it feeds on itself, creating a giant, boring pile of…well, you get the picture.

And it is mean.  It is a bully.  It makes me fearful.  It takes away my self-worth.

Except this time.

I didn’t exactly expect to have another big fall after such a great rise.  But here I am.

I just need to do the work.

The first thing I need to do is let go of something I have clung to dearly.  It is simply a notion, an expectation of what my life would be.  It is just time to let that go, and to realize that there is a different path for me, one where I think I can do the greatest good and bring the most value to the world.  I honestly have too much love in my heart not to share it.  I have too much helping that I need to do to be sidelined, paralyzed.

I need to let it go.

I will let it go.

And then I will do the work.

It is hard work.  It is painfully hard work.  It tries my very soul.  I have to bulldoze my way forward through some treacherous territory, but I have plotted the course and know just what to do.  It does involve asking for a little help.  It does involve a lot of time in the wilderness.  It does involve a lot of writing.  It involves exercise and eating well and sleeping better.  It involves volunteering.  It involves re-awakening my passions.  It involves reconnecting.  All the while, I have to go through the dark alleys of my thoughts.  But I can certainly navigate my way through there.  After all, I have pretty much memorized the scenery and obstacles.  Plus, I have brushed up on my defensive driving skills.

Don’t despair for me.  It is frustrating, for sure, and a drain on family and friends.  That is why I often choose to just withdraw.  I just don’t want to involve anyone else in the drama that goes on in my head.  I will say, however, that despite the setback I actually like myself well enough.  I think I am a pretty okay sort of person.  I am a good soul.  I have so much love to share that I can hardly contain it sometimes.  In addition, I can recite the lines to Airplane! and Monty Python and the Holy Grail.  As Stuart Smalley would say, “I am good enough, I am smart enough, and doggone it, people like me!”  Of course, he is just a fictional character so what does he know?

So what is the point of sharing all of this, and being completely vulnerable and exposed?  Damn, it is scary.  The point is to put a face to depression.  It is a very real thing, and it can be the dull lens for which some of us with depression see the world at times.  There is no shame in it anymore, though.  As Brené Brown says, “shame cannot survive being spoken.”  I refuse to let depression and anxiety rob me of that pretty remarkable person I had become, the one with the simple dharma to help others in as many ways as I am able.  I need to be the light.

It is far better to see the world through a clear lens of enchantment and curiosity than through the dull lens of depression and anxiety.

So, if you will excuse me, I have some really hard work to attend to.

With love,

Wendy