Now, you see, you're running as fast as you can
and still you're in the same place. If you really
want to get somewhere, you must run twice as fast.
Her advice is insane, of course, and it's not surprising that I don't respond. Getting that kind of life advice is worse than no advice at all. Leads to apathy, or even worse, avolition.
I know what you're thinking; it was a new word for me, too, when my therapist, Dr. Coast, first used it. I misunderstood her to say avocation and thought she was talking about my blogging.
For those disinclined to sprint to WebMD: avolition refers to a total lack of motivation that makes it hard to accomplish anything. Apathy can keep me from publishing a blog post. Avolition can keep me from getting out of bed. The difference is meaningful, particularly to the blog.
Solutions come when you aren't searching.
Over the years, I've found several ways of keeping my head above the clouds when the storms of depression, anxiety, and grief come roaring in from offshore. I don't want you to think I've discovered any secrets; all my coping tools are well-known. They include walking in sunshine, singing along with favorite recording artists, sometimes to the considerable distress of nearby wildlife, and laughter. This very blog is one of my outlets for laughter; it's the reason I launched The Circular Journey in the first place.
One thing I particularly like is reading authors who share funny stories about their own mental health struggles. Looking for the giggles in life's absurdities seems to be a common practice among people with mood disorders. We are, as a group, an excellent company.
During one of Amy's recent tirades, I remembered a book I'd started months earlier but abandoned because it featured taxidermy distantly and unnecessarily. Taxidermy is one of three subjects I avoid in popular entertainment.
But I was desperate for reading fodder, so, taxidermy be damned, I decided. I started reading the book. There was no bookmark to tell me where I'd left off, so I decided to read a little of each chapter until I found something familiar, then move on. I began reading each chapter, and soon realized I was in new territory, or so I believed. I was enjoying the book immensely and wondering why on earth I'd ever put it down.
Then I reached a story near the end. It was the author's account of how she routinely watches movies, thinking she's never seen them, only to realize at the climax that she has, in fact, seen them before.
As I read that story, I experienced that feeling called déjà vu. I realized I'd read that chapter before. In fact, I'd read the entire book. Every word of it.
Amazingly, I had just experienced, in real time, the precise phenomenon the author was describing, while reading her very description of it.
I'll bet the Japanese have a word for that. They have a word for everything. Must be all the leisure time created by zazen meditation.
It's all predictable until it isn't.
Now that I think about it, perhaps I should give that multiple-worlds theory another look. If there are entangled particles of mine floating around in a parallel dimension, I'd at least like to know if that version of me finished the book the first time.
And so there you have it--again. It may not be the best life, but it's mine. And as I navigate the quantum fields of whimsy that make up my days, I have no better option than to look for all the laughter I can find in the folly.
And so rather than wrestle with avolition, I raise a glass to the laughter that sparkles like sunlight on the sea in those interstitial spaces, where the moments don't quite touch and anything, apparently, anything can happen twice.
For those disinclined to sprint to WebMD: avolition refers to a total lack of motivation that makes it hard to accomplish anything. Apathy can keep me from publishing a blog post. Avolition can keep me from getting out of bed. The difference is meaningful, particularly to the blog.
Solutions come when you aren't searching.
Over the years, I've found several ways of keeping my head above the clouds when the storms of depression, anxiety, and grief come roaring in from offshore. I don't want you to think I've discovered any secrets; all my coping tools are well-known. They include walking in sunshine, singing along with favorite recording artists, sometimes to the considerable distress of nearby wildlife, and laughter. This very blog is one of my outlets for laughter; it's the reason I launched The Circular Journey in the first place.
One thing I particularly like is reading authors who share funny stories about their own mental health struggles. Looking for the giggles in life's absurdities seems to be a common practice among people with mood disorders. We are, as a group, an excellent company.
During one of Amy's recent tirades, I remembered a book I'd started months earlier but abandoned because it featured taxidermy distantly and unnecessarily. Taxidermy is one of three subjects I avoid in popular entertainment.
But I was desperate for reading fodder, so, taxidermy be damned, I decided. I started reading the book. There was no bookmark to tell me where I'd left off, so I decided to read a little of each chapter until I found something familiar, then move on. I began reading each chapter, and soon realized I was in new territory, or so I believed. I was enjoying the book immensely and wondering why on earth I'd ever put it down.
Then I reached a story near the end. It was the author's account of how she routinely watches movies, thinking she's never seen them, only to realize at the climax that she has, in fact, seen them before.
As I read that story, I experienced that feeling called déjà vu. I realized I'd read that chapter before. In fact, I'd read the entire book. Every word of it.
Amazingly, I had just experienced, in real time, the precise phenomenon the author was describing, while reading her very description of it.
I'll bet the Japanese have a word for that. They have a word for everything. Must be all the leisure time created by zazen meditation.
It's all predictable until it isn't.
Now that I think about it, perhaps I should give that multiple-worlds theory another look. If there are entangled particles of mine floating around in a parallel dimension, I'd at least like to know if that version of me finished the book the first time.
And so there you have it--again. It may not be the best life, but it's mine. And as I navigate the quantum fields of whimsy that make up my days, I have no better option than to look for all the laughter I can find in the folly.
And so rather than wrestle with avolition, I raise a glass to the laughter that sparkles like sunlight on the sea in those interstitial spaces, where the moments don't quite touch and anything, apparently, anything can happen twice.
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