check-in

Maybe things just get hard at this point in the winter.  The cold gets old.  Maybe I've been here for just the right amount of time to get bored, or comfortable--I can never tell the difference.  Maybe it's hormones.  Maybe I'm in a rut.  Maybe I'm not sleeping enough, or eating right, or exercising properly.  Maybe I'm just stressed out.

Whatever it is, I've been feeling weird lately, a little bit delicate, volatile.  Always tired.  On edge.  And, alternatively, flatline, like things I should be really happy about just show as a little blip on the radar, and I don't get sad about things very often.  I haven't been reacting, really, until suddenly in the past few days, which is maybe why I noticed it.

This is just what I feel like doing right now.

No.  To be honest, I noticed it a few weeks ago, right before I had a lunch-break-phone-date with a friend who, like me, monitors for signs of depression.  She said she needed to talk and said she's been worried about the fatigue, weird cravings, lack of motivation, and failure to be impressed or riled up by anything.  All the things that tend to send us both into a red-flag frenzy.  What we have both learned to do is broadcast, and we have learned where to broadcast, to judge whether these red flags are reasonable responses to the current situation, or whether we are overreacting to the point of not connecting with our mainstays.  Most of the time, we both go through dips at around the same time, so we are easy reference points for each other.  And a few weeks ago, we both dipped.  Must be the winter, we thought.  We need some sun, a change of pace, some vitamin D.

I think my mom might have noticed it, too, because she checks in with me in a different way when I am being distant.  It's really cute, how she seems to approach me delicately, as if I am a hungry predator and she is about to throw me a bone.  The bone, in this case, is usually a kiss on the head or a shoulder pat, and an "Are you OK?"  Her voice gets softer, too, and less matter-of-fact.  She is great at being a mom.

I think she noticed also because she said something the other night that has been sticking with me like the honey  water on my E-brake.  (Don't ask...)  I think I was talking to my parents about intellectual exercise, in the context of colleges, or something like that.  About how choosing a certain college both reflects and shapes who you are as a person.  And about how refreshing it is, once you've left that, to go back to it and have the opportunity to talk the talk again.

So my mom says, "Well your learning curve, with your job and everything, is really steep right now."

WHOA.  I somehow managed to think that this learning curve had plateaued, that I am totally in the groove right now.  PLEASE.  Remember how long it took me to get into the groove at St. Olaf?  In Amsterdam?  Granted, the curve gets a little smoother the more curves I climb, but it's still steep, and I'm still climbing.

And thinking that a curve has plateaued when it really hasn't is the key ingredient in the recipe for feeling inadequate, exhausted, depressed, anxious, stressed, whatever.  Feeling like you should be in control when really, you would be a little superhuman if you had it all figured out by now, is the first step into the pit of disaster.

Yes, OK, I'm being a little dramatic here.  But this is my check-in.  This is where I officially hold myself accountable.  I got some sun today, and I hereby vow not to start expecting unrealistic things from myself, like having everything on lockdown.  The transition isn't over.  I'm letting you off the hook, self.  And I'm letting YOU off the hook too, readers.  Give yourself a little break for a second.  Or a minute, or a day.  Whatever.  But REALLY, take a break.  Don't just fake it.  I am the QUEEN of giving myself fake breaks.

Here's what pulls me up: After my post the other day where I was cranky and commiserating, I just got FLOODED with comments, private messages, text messages, emails, phone calls, telepathic sympathy cards, whatever.  I am stunned once again at the capacity of human beings to love and care for each other, our capacity to give time and energy and empathy to another person in need.  I don't care WHY we do this, whether we are selfishly motivated or whatever, because the point is that it HELPS.  It helps us to connect with other people.  When we commiserate, the mutual sharing of pain and sorrow often helps to soothe us; and when we share our struggles with someone who is not quite struggling as much as we are, they often reach out a hand to pull us out of the well.  And even if we ignore it at first, we know that it's there.

This is something that amazes me about people, about human society, and about community.  Continually amazes me.  That we have the ability to care.