The Lovely Shirley

I awake each morning with the alarm at 4:00 AM. At the same time, regular as clockwork, a rooster crows from somewhere in a distant field behind my house. I love this hour of the morning, before the sunrise, when most of the world is still sleeping.

This is usually my morning ritual: shower and shave; dress; pack a bagged lunch for work; make coffee; meditate for about half an hour; brush my teeth; then out the door to work at the hospital.

Prior to all of that, however, I indulge in a smaller but not insignificant ritual. Upon waking I walk to the living room and spend a few moments contemplating a portrait of Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman that hangs there. It is a sepia toned still from Casablanca. In it, a smiling Ingrid Bergman sits cradled in Bogart's embrace, her head upon his chest, his lips barely grazing her brow.

The picture holds special significance for me, not because it is a scene captured from one of my favorite films, but because its presentation to me marks the exact moment that I fell in love with Shirley Williams. Equally important, it illustrates one of the reasons why I fell in love with her and why my love grows every day.

I met Shirley on a blind date arranged by our mutual friend, Suzi Tuzinski (http://suzituzi.blogspot.com/). Including this one, I have been on exactly two blind dates in my 45 years, and the first was an unmitigated disaster. Needless to say I was less than hopeful of a pleasant outcome. My philosophy going into this thing was, "Have no expectations. But you have been shut in, alone, for far too long, Gary. It will do you good to get out and have a little fun. The worst thing that can happen is that you come away from this having made a new friend."

On January 24th, 2010, we were to meet, along with Suzi and her husband Andy, at Dugan's Pub in Luzerne. Casual atmosphere, drinks, conversation. Very light. No pressure. I had never been to the pub, but I later learned that Shirley, Suzi, and Andy were old friends of the owner; this afforded Shirley a slight degree of comfort (and security) that I lacked. I briefly considered backing out (so did she I later learned), but I had given my word that I would be there. Both of us were coming out of painful breakups of long-term relationships, and neither of us wanted to be hurt again. Neither of us was thrilled with the prospect of re-entering the dating scene in our mid-40s. All of my fears were allayed the moment Shirley walked into the room.

Prior to the date, when Suzi first suggested that she might have a friend that she would like me to meet, I had asked what she was like. "She is petite, blonde, great personality .. she looks like a Dallas Cowboy's cheerleader."

Suzi's description, while accurate fell short. Shirley was absolutely radiant in a black sweater and Tommy Hilfiger jeans; a halo of blonde curls framed an angelic face and a smile so brilliant it could have come from a toothpaste ad. More though, I was drawn to her eyes, the color of dark, sweet chocolate.

My jaw was, I am quite sure, literally hanging open. At just over five feet tall, she could have knocked me over with a feather. I know I must have introduced myself because she shook my hand and responded, "Hello, Gary. I am Shirley. It's nice to meet you", but, honestly, I cannot recall actually saying anything; in my mind all that registered was meaningless gibberish ... "buhbuhbuhbuh."

Dinner was a blur of laughter, nerves, and conversation. Afterward we all said our good-byes; Shirley and I exchanged a few pleasantries, commented how nice it was to meet each each other, said good-night and headed to our cars. But as I unlocked my door, I hesitated. Thoughts began to churn; I had had a good time getting to know Shirley; she was not only beautiful, she was intelligent, fascinating, funny, and a genuinely nice person.; neither of us was currently involved with anyone. "Why not?" I thought. "What have you got to lose?" So I screwed up the courage and approached her as she was getting into her car. "Look," I said, all dry-mouthed and nervous as hell. "I really enjoyed meeting you. But I have been out of the game for so long I don't even know how it's played anymore, so I'll come right out and ask: could I call you sometime?"

"Yes," she said. "Or email." I laughed a bit at that, and email it was. Email was safe; one could make contact at one's own leisure, without pressure or immediacy and still maintain a comfortable distance ... perfect for two wounded hearts.

I bid her goodnight, attempting an awkward hug. She responded with a slight, non-committal "lean-in" and the date was over.

That was January. A month or two of email exchanges in which we asked and answered dozens of "getting to know you" questions about each other were followed by phone calls (although it did take her FOREVER to add my number to her contact list), then, finally, an honest-to-goodnes, face-to-face date.

As I now stand in my living room, looking at Bogey's Rick Blaine embracing Bergman's Ilsa Laszlo, I am struck by the changes in our lives and the depths of emotions that have developed over these last seven months. It has been only three or four months since I first said "I love you" to Shirley, words I never thought would ever pass my lips again.

The portrait of Bogart and Bergman came about as a result of a conversation that was mostly small-talk (or so I thought) ... in fact, I don't even recall if we were specifically talking about favorite movies. It was a moment in passing. Weeks later, Shirley came to my apartment for dinner. She said she had a surprise for me, and the moment she pulled the picture from the bag I felt something deep inside of me ... shift. I was stunned. She had picked up and acted on one small fragment of a conversation that I had dismissed as insignificant.

She had listened to me.

More important, she had heard.

With that realization, at that exact moment, I fell. My heart filled and I fell completely in love with Shirley May Williams. Each day, I continue to fall a little further.

Every morning I spend a quiet moment with Rick and Ilsa, honoring that moment, loving Shirley.

"Here's looking at you, kid."

Life Changes ... So There!

Over the past several months I have come to understand that "mindfulness", defined in the Buddhist tradition as "meditatively and without judgement paying attention to the present moment", also means (at least for me) "meditatively and without judgement paying attention to what has come before." That is, not to be harnessed by the past, crippled by it, but simply to observe it, acknowledge it, at best learn from it, and at worst simply move on. Paying mindful attention to one's past is something of a conundrum: how can one be mindful of the past and still remain fully present?

The key, I believe, lays in the aspect of being non-judgemental, passively observing your own history. The problem for most of us arises when we allow ourselves to become emotionally attached -- either positively or negatively -- to these past events, situations, or behaviors.

You might ask: how can I not be emotionally attached to these things? Only when we come to realize that past events (1) have no inherent power other than that we grant it, (2) have no control over us other than that we allow, (3) do not define who we are can we view them without passion or attachment and see them for what they are -- a series of former Nows. We did what we did, said, what we said, thought what we thought, and behaved in a manner that we felt best served us at that time. But the past is no more; so to continue to be tied irrevocably to the emotions of the past is to become its prisoner, and to deny the very essence of who we are.

The point? Every life changes every day; every night we die to the old and we are reborn to the new each morning. To be hamstrung by past situations, no matter how grand or infinitesimal, no matter what they are, makes no sense. We make excuse after excuse (disguised as rational reasons, of course) to justify our position: "I am the way I am because: my parents abused me ... I was raped ... I was picked on in school ... my husband/wife left me ... I came from a poor neighborhod ..." on and on, ad infinitum, ad nauseum. The fact is, those are things that happened to you; they are not who you are. Who you are transcends circumstances and events, unles you alone choose otherwise. That is important: we choose who we are.

Allow me to pause briefly and say several things: (1) I am not trivializing the significance of any past event, especially those of a traumatic nature; God knows there have been enough of those in my own life. They are important in that they provide a reference point, a central focus from which to choose -- yes, choose -- to either become paralyzed or to build and say, "This will never happen again." (2) even in the absence of huge, life-altering traumatic events, many people take events that are far smaller in scale and conciously or unconciously blow them up, attaching far greater importance than they deserve. They use them to justify present behavior, or to elicit sympathy from others. This is a manifestation of the ego, not one's authentic self, (3) again ... what happens to you does not by default define who you are.

Some lives change in ways that are smooth and subtle, in a manner not easily discernable to the casual observer. Others -- like, oh, my own, for instance -- are more volcanic, undergoing protracted periods of great upheaval and turmoil before settling into mere chaos. Mildly stated, my life -- especially over the last decade -- might best and only half joking described as "convulsive." The highlights, in no particular order, include: divorce, multiple career changes, personal and family health issues, a business failure, financial hardships, a long bout with depression, threats of suicide, the breakup of a long-term relationship, a return to school in my mid-40s, graduating with an Associate's Degree in Medical assisting, more schooling and the decision to pursue my Registered Nurse degree, and finally finding new love with the Lovely Shirley (yes, that Shirley ... she of the blind date, lo, those many months ago -- more on that next time -- see the post "Sailing the Wind"). With so many ups and downs life, then, has been anything but dull. There is enough "negativity" (if I am being judgemental about it; otherwise "negativity" isn't negative, it just Is) in my past to hold me emotionally hostage for the rest of my life ... were I to allow it. And honestly there have been occasions when I have done just that.

This is my life. It is no different from any other life in that we all have a story, a past. As I have explored mindfulness and meditation and have begun to learn to live more in the present, I have been able, with greater frequency, to let go of the ego's desperate clinging to those emotional traps.

Letting go of the past is like being freed from shackles; being fully in the present moment is like breathing pure, sweet, fresh air.

Love After Love

I came across a recitation of this poem while listening to a lecture by John Kabat-Zinn, author, philosopher, mindfulness educator, and Director of the Stress Reduction Clinic in Worcester, Massachussetts.

It was written by The Hon. Derek Alton Walcott, OCC (born January 23, 1930), a Caribbean poet, playwright, writer and visual artist who was born in Castries, Saint Lucia and who was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1992.

The poem nicely sums up (at least to me) how many of us wander away from our true, authentic selves, only to come back home at the end (whatever that end may be).


Love after Love

The time will come
when, with elation,
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror,
and each will smile at the other’s welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.


~ Derek Walcott ~

Found on the Web

A Spiritual Journey

And the world cannot be discovered by a journey of miles,
no matter how long,
but only by a spiritual journey,
a journey of one inch,
very arduous and humbling and joyful,
by which we arrive at the ground at our feet,
and learn to be at home.

~ Wendell Berry ~

(Collected Poems)

Sailing the Wind

"I didn't pick the wind; that was imposed by a power far greater than myself. But I had to sail the wind -- against it, with it, sideways to it; I had to wait it out with the patience of Job when it didn't blow -- if I wanted to move myself from where I was to where I wanted to go." -- Richard Bode, First You Have to Row a Little Boat

I've allowed this blog to slip in recent weeks while dealing with the emotional aftermath of losing my relationship with Theo. I haven't felt much like writing, although my head was fairly bursting with thoughts. I needed private time to bring closure to that chapter.

Theo and I were together for just about 10 mostly good years until circumstances (touched upon in an earlier post) parted us. I spent the past 18 months attempting to rectify the damage. I transformed my entire life; moved out on my own; got a new job; went back to school; established new goals; worked my way toward a career in health care; established new priorities of what was and was not important; and took up daily meditation to combat depression. With the exception of moving out of the house we had shared -- which wasn't my idea, but in hindsight proved not only necessary, but hugely beneficial -- I did these things mostly for myself, to rebuild a shattered life. But, if I am being honest, I also did them in part to prove to Theo that I could stand independently, to be the man that she needed me to be; an equal, a partner in the truest sense of the word.

I loved her, and no matter what the future holds, or what direction my life may take, part of me always will. At one time I considered her my soulmate and remained convinced that despite all that had transpired we would be together again. I did not date, did not meet anyone. I worked on my life.

My efforts were for nothing. Just after the start of the New Year I informed Theo of the progress I had attained and suggested a reconciliation; not all at once, but slowly; dating. For reasons of her own -- too long and unnecessary to my point to go into here -- she said no.

In the space of a breath, my world collapsed; my hopes vanished. It was like being gut-punched. In the space of a breath, I felt hollow, as if I had wasted an entire year and a half of my life, time that I would never recover. I felt stupid for doing so, all the while knowing that I shouldn't; I had only done what I believed to be correct at the time.

The death of a love is sometimes worse than physical death. In physical death the body is gone, commited to the earth or to ash, and we are left with our memories. When a deep, abiding love dies, though, we are left with a living, breathing daily reminder of what might have been. The wound in the heart never fully closes. We bear witness to the other person growing, loving, moving on without us. In this case, the effect was doubled; Theo and I were so close -- even after the initial separation -- that not only had I lost the possibility of reconciling with my girlfriend, but I had lost my friend as well.

I did not ask for this wind, but the choice was abundantly clear: sail with it, or resist it and be torn apart. It took more than a few days to wrap my head around certain harsh realities, to realize that no matter how desperately I wished things were different, they never again would be.

It isn't ever easy to cope with an unexpected loss, but one can never really stand still; in life, one either moves forward or slides back. Life simply doesn't give a shit whether you like or dislike the situation you are in -- only you do. Life doesn't give a shit whether you experience joy or pain, whether you are happy or miserable -- only you do. Life just "is."

With any such loss there remain many questions: "Where did it go?", "What exactly became of the 'us' we once spoke of?", "What was 'us'?", "How do you let go?"

That last question, especially, burrowed deep and squirming into my head. How does one erase, reduce, or replace ten years shared with another? The answer is: You don't; trying to do that is like resisting the wind.

And so I took a few days to cry, to hurt, to be with myself, to think, to breathe, and ultimately to begin letting go. I'd like to think that Theo and I could still be friends. But that is not up to me. It may happen one day. Or it may not. And that is OK.

Life goes on. This past Sunday I had dinner with my dear friend Suzi Tuzinski (see her blog http://suzituzi.blogspot.com/) and her husband Andy; they introduced me to their friend Shirley. I didn't think I was ready to meet anyone new, and I was such a nervous wreck that I almost backed out at the last minute. I am glad I didn't. I have no idea what is yet to come, but Shirley is a wonderful and interesting woman. And the worst that could happen is that I make a new friend.

I am learning to sail the wind.

The Deepest Hurt

After loving her for nearly 11 years, I have lost Theo.

Despite all that has happened, all that we have been through together I thought the relationship could be saved.

I was wrong.

A long time ago, a friend of mine said that every loss brings us something even as it takes away, but I will be goddamned if I can determine the lesson from this. All I know right now is that there is a hole in the center of my life that will never be filled. Nothing has ever hurt like this. I won't go into detail because the wound is still raw, and I can't seem to find the words anyway.

How do you turn off an emotion that was built over a decade? How do you move on?

An Amazing Woman

This is my daughter, SheilBea. The older she gets the more amazed I am by her. I have a hard time, sometimes, seeing her as anything other than "daddy's little girl." And while I hope she will always be that ... I know she is so much more. She is a beautiful person where it truly counts the most: in her heart.

This girl has such a good solid head on her shoulders, far moreso than I did at her age. She is focused and disciplined in her approach to whatever she pursues -- from cheerleading to photography to community involvement. I wish I could say she gets those qualities from me, since they were the bedrock of the Martial Arts I once taught ... but truth is she is definitely her own person, and is far less limited than I was at her age.

She wants to be a professional photographer with her own studio in New York City. Knowing her abilities as I do, I have no doubt that is exactly what she will be.

Truth is, she isn't my little girl anymore; she is a woman who I admire greatly.

Group homes don't allow time off for holidays; so, knowing I was scheduled to work 3PM-11PM on both Christmas Eve and 16 hours on Christmas Day, I was thoroughly prepared to endure a completely shitty holiday.

As it turned out, however, SheilBea had planned a little surprise for me that afternoon. She brought me a gourmet lunch from Seasons restaurant, and my Christmas gifts -- a box of salt water taffy; a Spider-Man puffy magnet; a Spider-Man blanket that she made herself; assorted homemade baked goods, cookies, brownies, and Chinese Chews (one of my favorites); and an "Emotions of Chuck Norris" t-shirt. But, most touching of all, she brought me a small Christmas tree and all the decorations, including lights, ornaments, ribbons & candy canes. I don't usually decorate, but she said she "wanted to decorate a tree with Daddy."

Can I honestly tell you how much I was moved by that simple, singular gesture?

So that's exactly how we spent the afternoon: eating a wonderful lunch, decorating the tree, laughing, and opening a few gifts. All of those things, however, paled in comparison to the time I got to spend with the most amazing young woman I know: my daughter.

SheilBea, words will never do justice to the love I feel for you. Thank you so much for being who you are, and for being the best daughter I could ever hope for.

A Song for You Far Away

Life is full of loss ... and that loss comes in many forms. We lose loved ones to death and commit them to memory, cherishing the time we shared.

Just as powerful is the disappearance or dissolution of a deep and abiding friendship; that can be as profoundly moving as any death, the remaining void just as empty. Even though we wish them the very best on their own life journey, their absence from our days is as sincerely and intensely felt as any wound.

Though we all mourn, how we deal with loss is important. Do we agonize and become paralyzed? Or do we learn, grow, and move on? Each of us deals differently.

I had never heard this James Taylor song before ... but it just kind of appeared out of nowhere today and fell perfectly into place and I'm glad it did ... fits with a few things that are on my mind tonight. This is for you my friend ...

A Note to a Dear Friend

"A friend who is far away is sometimes much nearer than one who is at hand. Is not the mountain far more awe-inspiring and more clearly visible to one passing through the valley than to those who inhabit the mountain?" -- Kahlil Gibran

Where are you now? I wonder. What are you doing at this very moment? Could it be that you, too, are looking out your window at the cold, steady, November rain and thinking of me as I am of you?

Dare I hope?

How is it that two disparate souls with so much in common, with so many similar thoughts, ideas, and emotions -- yet with differences enough to intrigue and attract -- can wander aimlessly through most of their lives, each blissfully unaware of the other? And yet how can these same souls then converge for only the briefest of time, as fleeting as a meteor streaking through the dome of night, each leaving such an indelible impression on the other?

Do you even know what you have come to mean to me? I hesitate to call you "friend" because the label, as mere as it is, cannot hope to contain the definition in my heart. Of you, my dear friend, I can say only this: your presence in my life has left me profoundly changed for the better. For what more could I possibly ask?

"Once in a lifetime" ... it is a phrase that has become time-worn; yet it fits when describing the kinship I feel with you, my good, dear friend. You have no idea of the enormity of the gift that you have given me -- the gift of simply knowing you.

You once said that your goal was to make me forget a certain longstanding pain. While I fear that I may never forget, you succeeded in taking away the sting.

"Are you still there? Of course you are ... I can hear you echoing through the corridors of my heart." – Me

You never lose the closest friends. They are always there, whether in sun or in shadow, whether in fog or in rain; they are only but a breath away. All you ever need do is reach out and they are there.

A walk along the streets of summer. Late night conversations until you drifted into fitful sleep. Your laughter. My laughter. How good it felt to laugh again ... like stepping into the sun after a long winter. These are my memories of you.

Life is much fuller for having known you, and far, far emptier in your absence.

“Sometimes being a friend means mastering the art of timing. There is a time for silence. A time to let go and allow people to hurl themselves into their own destiny. And a time to prepare to pick up the pieces when it's all over.” --Gloria Naylor

In your time of need, I am here. I will support you, unconditionally, in whatever you choose to do. I am a shoulder to lean on; an ear to listen; or simply a comforting memory if you become lost. I am here for how long and in whatever capacity you need. Day by day, every day.

My only wish is for your happiness, for you to find your destination at the end of whatever road you travel. For you to finally reach that space where you can say, “Here I am. I am home.”

For who you are … for what you have done … for all that you have given … for everything that you mean, I thank you from the bottom of this wounded heart.

The pinot grigio awaits your glass.

"Don't be dismayed at goodbyes. A farewell is necessary before you can meet again. And meeting again, after moments or lifetime, is certain for those who are friends." -- Richard Bach

Right Now ...

What is the future but an illusion? What is the past but a shadow? The former is unknowable; the latter is unchangeable.

All we have is the present. Now. This exact moment.

A friend of mine once said that we live in a world that is so chaotic, so hectic, so concerned with motion and hell-bent on moving forward, and so speculative about what might happen that we ignore what is happening; that there is never a Now. Most of us live so much in the future that Now is merely a stepping stone to next. We overlook the bounty of what we have in favor of what we desire. We microwave in minutes meals that once took our grandmothers an afternoon to prepare; not because we wish to enjoy the food sooner, but because the faster we eat, the faster we can move on to the next thing. The paradox is that when that "next" arrives, it becomes "now" and we barrel through it as well. It is a pursuit that never ends.

For me, there is but a single truth that I need to know about my future: someday, hopefully far off on that distant horizon, I will die.

Until that time, the only matter of consequence is what I choose to do with each successive Now.

Meditation

Eyes close. Breath rises and falls in an easy, surf-like rhythm. One by one, muscles loosen and relax. Internal voices slowly recede into silence. The mind calms and lifts, riding on ever deepening breaths. Stress melts. Heart and Spirit expand, moving outward and upward into the Universe, until all that remains is peace.

This is meditation.

This is also the process by which I was finally able to reclaim a semblance of control over the train wreck that was my former life. That quality -- control -- is the single most significant factor in my ongoing recovery. It is a terible feeling when one percieves that they have no control over their own life.

There is a common perception in the West that in order to find purpose, meaning, or value in life we must look beyond ourselves. While there may be merit in that, I subscribe to a somewhat more Eastern point of view in that we must first recognize that we are purposeful ... meaningful ... and valuable in and of ourselves, without need for external validation, simply because we are. In my opinion, the Western view tends to remove us from events and situations, placing us apart and in the position of a spectator; it is almost victim-like in its perspective of control: things happen to us.

For me, though, the Eastern approach makes more sense: things do not happen to us; they happen through us. We are an inseperable part of the flow. Initially, I had a difficult time grasping -- let alone accepting -- that concept; years of blaming circumstances and other people for all the ills in my life had left me highly resistant to the idea that I alone was responsible for who and what I had become.

I know so many people who, like I once did, push off their career failures on the boss or co-worker who is out to get them ... blame their divorce, seperation, or relationship break up totally on their partner ... reason that their drug or alcohol addiction is because of stress ... fault society for their criminal record ... and blame their generally shitty state of affairs on anyone or anything but themselves.

Yes, of course, forces outside of ourselves are always acting upon us, but these forces NEVER cause our behaviour -- we do.

"When you become a warrior you learn to meditate in every action." -- Nick Nolte as Socrates, from the film adaptation of Dan Millman's book, Peaceful Warrior

Meditation brought me out of spectatorship and, by directing my attention inward, placed me in the moment, clarified my personal responsibility for my life. At first, this was a daunting realization -- no, it was terrifying -- because it removed the convenience of blaming someone else. Once I surmounted that hurdle, however, I felt an incredible sense of liberation; no longer did I give my power away; I alone -- no one else -- was in control. That was enlightening. But not entirely correct.

"You don't surrender your dreams, Dan. You surrender the one thing you never had and you never will: control. Accept that you don't control what will happen to you." -- Nick Nolte as Socrates from the film adaptation of Dan Millman's book, Peaceful Warrior

Ultimately control is an illusion; we can no more control what happens to us than we can control the rising and setting of the sun. The only thing that we can control is what we do about it in this moment. That acceptance is where the real power lays. And daily meditative practice was the gateway through which it entered my life.

My meditation is dictated by any number of factors -- my mood, my goals, the time of day, location, even the weather. There are as many meditations, and as many methods of meditating as there are people who meditate. I regularly practice several types, among them:

MINDFULNESS -- I particularly like the definition put forth by John Kabat-Zinn, founder of the Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction program at the University of Massachussetts Medical Center. He said,

"Mindfulness means paying attention in a particular way; on purpose, in the present moment, and non-judgementally."

Beautiful ... in the present moment ... after all, all we really have is right now. Why waste it? And yet, all of us are guilty of it at times. Our lives are complex; our times are materialistic, ambitious, ego-driven, and outer-directed. We have forgotten how to see, how to listen, to be in touch with our own heart, our own Spirit, and the flow of life. No matter what we are doing -- from work, to school, to making love with our partner -- our minds are constantly being pulled in a thousand different directions, and we are disconnected from the Now.

Mindfulness is a concious, purposeful direction of our awareness to whatever we are experiencing at the moment -- whether it is simply breathing, a particular emotion, a meal that we are eating, a conversation, an argument, sex, anything. Therefore, mindfullness does not have to be constrained to a formal meditation session. Because it requires no equipment, no uniform, no special conditions, any activity done mindfully -- that is aware without judgement -- becomes a meditation unto itself.

For example, if you find yourself caught in the rain, instead of cursing your luck or the weather (about which you can do nothing anyway) take a moment to feel the rain ... to feel each individual drop on your face ... to hear its sound as it strikes the ground ... to smell it around you. Just stop. Let go of whatever distracting thoughts crowd your busy mind, turn your face to the sky and, simply ... let it rain.

You can do this if you are washing the dishes ... watching television ... preparing a meal ... doing your taxes ... or sitting in a room alone.

"All of humanity's problems stem from man's inability to sit quietly in a room alone." -- Pascal

Mindfulness has been one of the most significant methods for me in overcoming and managing depression. Now, when it hits, instead of allowing one negative thought to spiral into another, until they threaten to crush me under their weight, I simply ... let it rain. I am aware of the thoughts, the emotions; I feel them but form no attachment to them. They come into my head, I acknowledge their presence, and I let them go, like passing strangers on the street. Like drops of rain, they slide away; and like rain, the depression passes. The depression will always be there, but being mindful makes it bearable.

CANDLE -- I sit in a dark or semi-darkened room on a comfortable cushion, chair, or folded blanket on the floor. Any candle will do but I prefer the long tapered kind. I start by lighting the candle (duh). Then I settle into a comfortable posture and, closing my eyes, take several slow, deep breaths to clear the mind and, starting at the top of my head and moving downward, focus on relaxing every muscle group one by one. After several minutes, and upon starting to enter a state of deep relaxation, I slowly open my eyes to focus on the the candle flame. The "goal", such as it is, of the meditation is to follow the flickering of the candle flame, to project into the flame, all the while following my breath and releasing any errant thoughts that come to mind.

SITTING -- I prefer solitude when sitting in meditation, but it can be done virtually anywhere, at any time. For that reason, this is the easiest and most convenient meditation for me to perform. I have even meditated in a classroom full of students during between-class breaks at school. I begin by assuming the most comfortable posture possible -- if I am alone, half-lotus; back straight but relaxed; the backs of my hands resting lightly on my knees; or kneeling in a "Zen posture", with a seiza, pillow, or cushion tucked under my butt; back straight; head slightly bowed; tongue resting against the roof of the mouth; hands folded in my lap; the fingers of the right hand restling on the fingers of my left; thumbs lightly touching and forming an "O". If I am in public -- as in the aforementioned classroom -- I sit upright in my chair, back straight, head bowed, hands in the "Zen position" described above. I close my eyes, breathing deeply, evenly, and slowly, relaxing each muscle group as before. As I relax, I enter the second phase of the meditation: this is the deeper, almost trance-like aspect of the exercise. I count breaths throughout, beginning "1" on the first inhale; hold briefly; "1" again on the exhale; and repeat throughout the meditation. With each breath my mind goes deeper and deeper. Thoughts come and I allow them to go, keeping my focus always on my breath. The goal is to clear the mind of all distractions ... all thoughts ... to simply breathe and to be.

So there you have it, my practice of meditation. It is not orthodox, written in stone, or derived from any particular discipline. But it works. And it has kept me sane and off prescription medications for about the last year.

I would like to hear your stories ... of your meditative practices ... of how you cope with depression ... your perceptions of this blog and what it offers ... of how you use mindfullness in your lives ... and just of your feelings on life in general.

Until then, be mindful of yourselves, and of others.

Soul Mates

“People can leave each other, cross continents, sever ties. But if they are meant to be together, then time and distance dissolve, and they are reunited.” -- Yitta Halberstam & Judith Leventhal, Small Miracles

Once, long ago, a lifetime, or yesterday, an ancient voice whispered, “I am your Soul Mate.”

We are born with a hole in our heart in the shape of our one significant other, our Soul Mate. Love is truly all that matters; it is the final piece in the puzzle that is our life, without which we remain incomplete. We spend the majority of our lives searching – consciously or unconsciously – for the One who fills that hole completely and seamlessly. They are out there. Sometimes our orbits come close, within a whisper of contact, almost there, yet gaps remain; other times we remain lifetimes apart. The search is often long and difficult, carrying us over unfamiliar and sometimes rocky terrain in our own heart. We grow weary of the games, of dancing around the edges, of the search itself and so we compromise, settling for the one who closest fills the hole instead of waiting for the One. We do this because we are lonely, or impatient, or simply because it is easier; and it is easier because we convince ourselves over time that, having chased after smoke and shadow for so long, if we haven’t found our Soul Mate yet perhaps we never will. We would do anything, including stopping short of our One True Love, to avoid the despair of being alone.

And yet, in my heart, I believe that our Soul Mates are out there, waiting. Or could they be engaged in a search of their own … looking for us? Some of us may be lucky: we find that elusive Other with whom our very souls are aligned for eternity. Still, others among us are deceived, though perhaps not deliberately: we may find someone we genuinely care for, even love, and yet there may remain a grain of doubt and we go on asking, “Is this the One? Is this the love of my lifetime?” And so again, we settle for what we feel may be the closest we may ever come to our ideal; we settle for comfort, safety, routine, and partial love instead of inviting risk and passionately pursuing the all abiding, life-encompassing Love that we so richly deserve and that awaits us, hidden just around some corner. We luxuriate in the familiar because it is familiar. Within our hearts continues to beat a distant longing, an age-old knowing that not only must there be more but that without doubt there is more and that it is real. For any question there is also an answer; when you find your Soul Mate doubt vanishes; there is only an ancient knowledge that there are many levels, many shadings of love. And while you may love the one you are with … well, lowercase “love” is not the Love that stirs to the deepest part of ourselves, and to love is not the same as to be in Love. With our Soul Mate we are more fully ourselves than at any other time in our life because they are quite literally the missing piece of ourselves. We are at last complete. They fit the shape of our heart. The truth is that the heart is never wrong, and it sees clearly that which is invisible to the eye; it understands more assuredly than the brain. Every step … every passing moment … every doomed relationship … or failed marriage has inexorably drawn us closer and closer to this one person … and in turn, lead them to us. A grand design, it leads to this: Apart, the two are but mere fractions; together, each filling the other’s heart, they cease to be simply two, apart, becoming One. Forever joined in Spirit and Soul. Inseparable. Even if they are driven apart by distance or circumstance, there beats in the heart of the one the soul of the other.

In a feeling that approaches the Spiritual, we are aware at our core, maybe even down to the atoms that make up our bodies, that that missing element of ourselves, our Soul Mate is most certainly out there. Funny thing, though, the harder we look the more difficult it seems they are to find. The paradox: we search by letting go, we draw nearer by releasing, we find by not looking. And they find us when and maybe where we least expect.

It is with our Soul Mate that we truly reveal – perhaps for the first or only time – who we really are, the best and worst parts of ourselves, honestly, with no veneer. Together, we are able to weather the fiercest storms of life, yet whose absence causes storms within. Only with our Soul Mate can we feel … experience … know … live True, life-changing Love.

Soul Mates are forever bound, a fragile spider web weaving throughout separate existences, leading one to the other … eternal … each a dream, a hope in the shape of the other’s heart … destined.

“When Love beckons to you, follow him, though his voice may shatter your dreams.” – Anonymous

“When Love is strong and runs deep, it pulsates with an energy that cannot be stopped, not even by death’s grip. When two souls are connected and then separated, the separation may seem final, but in truth the relationship transcends time. Love, like a river, flows eternal and it embraces all who swim in its waters.” -- Yitta Halberstam & Judith Leventhal, Small Miracles

“Death cannot stop true love; all it can do is delay it a little while.” – Westly to Princess Buttercup, The Princess Bride

More of the Music I've Been Listening To ...

Beth Nielsen Chapman ... I wish the sound on this was a bit cleaner. I was introduced to BNC's music several years ago ... This is from her best album, "Sand & Water"

What I'm Currently Listening To

I've been in kind of a mellow mood ... maybe it's all that meditation ... LOL ...

Mary Chapin Carpenter




John Berry (had the pleasure of hearing this song performed live when he played the Luzerne County Fair)



Mary Chapin Carpenter again ..



MCC again ... (wish I could have found a clearer version)


MCC once more ... (not so mellow, but I love the philosophy!)

A Bunch of Things I Really Like

Want to know me a little better? (Of course you do, how silly of me to ask). Here are a few things that might give you a bit of insight into my personality and life. Then again, maybe not ... It's almost 1:30AM as I'm writing this and I'm kind of tired, so maybe it's just all meaningless babble. Regardless, I am passionate to one degree or another about each of the points that follow.

** SheilBea, my daughter (it would be kinda weird if I didn't like her wouldn't it?)

** The sound of my daughter's laughter, especially when she is watching the movie, "Mama Mia" (yes, I've seen it; I'm comfortable enough in my manhood to risk expulsion from the Man Club and admit it. And you know what? It was excellent!)

** Teaching & training Martial Arts (Korean Tang Soo Do, 3rd degree Black Belt; American Kenpo Karate, 1st degree Black Belt; CDT, Tactical Master Instructor; experience, but no official rank in Brazilian Jiu-jitsu, capoeira, Aikido, judo. Training was eye-opening and made me look at myself in a whole new light. Teaching was the most profoundly life changing experience of my life. )

** Meditation (various forms, but with a heavy emphasis on mindfulness; probably the best thing I ever did to maintain my sanity in the midst of chaos)

** Spider-Man (movies, comics, cartoons, the whole shooting match ... since I was a kid)

** The scent of Sandalwood (soothing, relaxing, clean, and exotic)

** Coffee (flavored isn't bad, but I prefer plain, unflavored brews from all over the world)

** Beer (Guinness is my all-time favorite {God is a Guinness drinker, so I've been told} and microbrews and regional varieties over mass-produced swill like Budweiser or -- worst of the worst -- Coor's Light)

** Autumn (As much as I like summer, I think I'm more of a Spring and Fall kinda guy. I love the change of seasons, the crunch of dried leaves underfoot, and the slight hint of woodsmoke on the crisp October air. For the absolute best description of why I love Fall, I refer you to the prologue of Ray Bradbury's amazing classic novel, "Something Wicked This Way Comes.")

** Nature photography (I don't have the time for this I once did, but when I was younger I was quite prolific. I sold several compositions but was never in it for the money. It was a way of connecting with the natural world.)

** Pumpkin pie (Homemade is best, of course, but I will eat any kind I can get my hands on ... even Tastykake!)

** Creme brulee (my favorite dessert ever ... want me to do something -- anything -- for you? All you have to do is ply me with this!)

** Crisp, freshly ironed white dress shirts (especially with jeans or khakis)

** Khaki pants with lots of pockets

** Halloween (Maybe it's the time of the year, but this holiday -- and particularly its history -- has always held a creepy appeal to me)

** Fresh sheets (nothing like 'em ... cool cotton on a summer's night and warm flannel in the winter)

** Candles

** Being a student (one of the greatest joys in life is learning. I once heard advice that said, "Do not go to bed tonight as stupid as you were when you woke up this morning." Those words have had a profound effect on me and even at my age I find school to be, for the most part, an exhilarating experience)

** Rum (most varieties, but I am especially partial to the darker West Indian, Puerto Rican, and Barbados overproofs)

** Spiders (I have two tarantulas -- a Chilean Rose Hair and a Brazilian Chocolate -- & I'm working on a third)

** Sleeping with the windows open in the Fall (the early Fall ... not like the ridiculous, arctic weather we're having now)

** Facebook

** Blogging (There is freedom in this medium)

** Reading (Just about any genre. Favorite authors: Stephen King; Terry Brooks, The Shannara series of fantasy novels; , Nicholas Evans, The Horse Whisperer and others, Nicholas Sparks {yes, I am truly a sap}; Andrew Marks, Falling Bodies, Micheal Grant Jaffe, Dance Real Slow; Ben Sherwood, The Man Who Ate the 747 ... and so many more ...)

** Movies of all kinds (see my profile for exactly how wide the range)

** Shaving (no really ... I find it to be very soothing and it relaxes me, almost like meditation)

** The sound and smell of laundry in the dryer (call me crazy but there is something very relaxing and "homey" about this)

** Wicker furniture (even I don't know where this one came from)

** Walking in the evening (especially on a warm summer night down by the lake or down my road)

** UFC & WEC (I don't watch sports as a general rule, but I cannot get enough of Ultimate Fighting Championship and World Extreme Cagefighting)

** Travel (anywhere from down the street to a foreign land ... I like meeting new people, seeing new places and learning the history of both ... I have a long list of places I want to visit)

** Stargazing (I don't do it now as often as I did when I was younger, but I still take time when I get home from work to look up at the night sky and marvel at the vastness. There is nothing like a dark night full of stars to put one's problems into their proper perspective)

** Chuck Norris (the Martial Arts connection aside, and ignoring all the tongue-in-cheek "Chuck Norris Facts" that are found on the Internet, the man is a personal hero of mine for his efforts to educate at-risk children, and for the adversity that he overcame early in his life. He is a living embodiment of what it means to not only wear a Black Belt but to BE a Black Belt; in many ways I aspire to the example he has set)

** Ghosts (I am endlessly fascinated by books, movies, and documentaries centering on the supernatural and paranormal. Is it real? I have no idea, but it certainly does make one wonder about what exactly we don't know about our world)

So there ya go ... almost everything you NEVER wanted to know about me, but never thought to ask. I'm sure I have forgotten a few things, -- and for that I apologize -- but as I said it's really late and my brain is fried. If any of you who know me can add anything to the list, feel free; I'd definitely love to know your opinions.

My Birthday

On Monday, October 5th, I turned 45 years old. For the reasons detailed in the last three posts, I consider that something of a milestone. Honestly, I never thought I would make it out of my thirties.

For the most part, my life is good, and I feel pretty good, in many ways better than I have in a long time.

I celebrated my birthday a day early, on Sunday the 4th, since Monday I had school from 8AM til 2:30PM and worked from 3:00PM til 11:00PM. My daughter SheilBea arrived at my house late on Saturday night, so that made for a good start to the weekend. She is a teenager now and her schedule is full with academics, cheerleading, coaching, and social events. We don't spend as much time together as we once did -- or nearly as much as I would prefer -- but I understand that she is growing up so I cherish the moments we do have; it's quality rather than quantity these days. The hardest part of being a divorced, single father has always been the time I have forfeited with my daughter; it is time that I can never recover. We are close, my SheilBea and me, and for that I am grateful. At the very least, we talk by phone nearly every day.

SheilBea brought me a birthday present: the 2-disc, widescreen special edition DVD (she knows me so well)of "X-Men Origins: Wolverine." I am a huge comic book and movie fan ... and while Spider-Man has really been my guy since I was old enough to know what comic books were, I am a fan of most things Marvel. SheilBea, on the other hand, is a fan of Hugh Jackman ... and not necessarily for his talent as an actor. How the hell did my baby girl get old enough to notice things like Hugh Jackman's butt? Wasn't it just yesterday that I was changing her diapers? Where did the time go?

That night we watched the movie together, until she got too tired to stay awake. Earlier in the day she had accompanied the junior girls cheerleading squad that she coaches to a competition in Wayne county. Last year, before she took over coaching responsibilities, the team had received a very respectable "Honorable Mention"; this year under her guidance, however, they brought home three trophies! She was as proud of "her girls" as I am of mine.

After she went to bed, I stayed up for awhile, studied a bit for school, washed a few dishes and watched another movie ("Redbelt") until I, too, finally nodded off around 2:00AM.

The next day started with a trip to the store with Theo to pick up a few things for my birthday dinner. Even though she and I are no longer involved -- at least for now :-) -- we remain best friends. She is an incredible cook -- no exaggeration, she could be a professional --and every year on my birthday for as long as we were together she would cook the meal of my choice. Some years were gourmet surprises, others were homestyle foods. This year I opted for ribs. Normally, during the week, I eat a very healthy diet -- alot of salads, heavy on the vegetables, low in saturated fats, and only rarely red meat. I usually allow myself one day each weekend as a "free day" -- a day to eat whatever I want without guilt. Well whattya know! My birthday celebration fell on a weekend! So we did ribs on the grill with sides of asparagus and spaghetti squash (both buttered!!) and a thick, rich peanut butter pie instead of a traditional cake. I am a sucker for peanut butter so I made sure to not only leave plenty of room for a big piece, but to take any leftovers home with me!

All in all it was a very good day. I got to spend it with the people I love the most -- SheilBea, Theo, Molly & Colleen -- had a terrific dinner, and got a really cool gift.

Why, then, after all of that, do I feel so goddamned old? 45 isn't old ... is it?

Into The Mouth of Darkness, Pt. 3

"In our most desperate hour, we await the shining beacon ... What we fail to see is that sometimes, though, all that is required to vanquish the darkness is the light of a single candle. It's flame may be feeble, it may flicker and tremble, it may even be temporarily extinguished but as long as a spark remains and it is nurtured, it will guide the way home as surely as if it were the sun."

Regarding the first two posts in this confessional series: That was then; this is now. Even though the most serious of those events transpired just a few short years ago, it seems as if I have lived a lifetime between then and now. I have come a long way from those dark days and I hope I have grown as a result of the experience; I believe that I have. It has been a hugely difficult and intensely personal journey to say the least, one that is ongoing ... and one for which I am, strangely, almost thankful. I say that because I have learned so much about myself and my loved ones; I have awakened to new possibilities; and I have learned valuable, if not heartbreaking lessons ... lessons that were pointed out to me previously but which, in the depths of my despair and now much to my regret, I ignored.

Is the depression gone? Cured? No, of course not; as my counselor Jerry said, it will be with me for the rest of my life. As much as I may have initially resisted that notion, as much as I still dislike it, it is an indisputable fact and I have come to realize that living with something does not automatically mean living under its control. I am not a slave to my condition. It is simply one more of the total sum of parts that make up who I am, no more or less impoprtant than the color of my hair or how tall I am.The depression and anxiety hasn't the debilitating power over me that it once did; I have not vanquished it completely, but for the most part I have managed it into submission. That "mouth of darkness" yawns open now and again and sometimes it shows teeth; the difference now is that instead of popping a Klonopin or other chemical remedy I choose differently.

It was not easy getting to this point, and at the risk of sounding egotistical, I am proud of myself for overcoming the challenge. I say this not to impress anyone, but to impress upon you that no matter how deep the depression it can be surmounted. I was on the verge of completely giving up -- of killing myself, to put it bluntly -- so I know how bleak life can get; I am not saying that recovery will be effortless and undemanding; quite the opposite, in fact. It will be a daily struggle at first ... you will feel like giving up at times ... you will slide back ... you will not see immediate results ... but you will make it through -- and be better for it -- if you approach it with resolve. No one -- no doctor, therapist or loved one -- is going to do it for you either. Years of depression and anxiety will not be exiled in a matter of days or even months, but I am living proof that a semblance of normalcy can be recovered from the brink.

Recovery came, in part, as a result of a few years of one on one counseling, a brief stint in group, and what the doctors universally believed to be the best therapy: round after round of medication -- Lexapro, Wellbutrin, Celexa, Klonopin, Xanax, Cymbalta and others. Michael Jackson may have been the only human being with more prescription drugs in his system than me.

I will not deny that the drugs helped, each to varying degrees; I was not as depressed. I also was not as coherent, focused, outgoing, aware, active, in the present moment, or as alive as I needed to be. It was as if the drugs had taken me outside of myself, if that makes sense. I was a robot, automatically going through the motions of daily living with no real motivation to do or be anything. Besides the lethargy, there were other side effects as well: nightmares (when I could actually sleep), suicidal thoughts (because I apparently didn't have enough of those already), and sexual side effects. They lasted long enough, or occured frequently enough that they fit the old cliche of the "treatment being worse than the disease." It felt like going from one end of the spectrum to the other.

Make no mistake, I am not completely disparaging the use of medication, nor advising anyone against taking that approach; drugs have different effects on different people. Some people with whom I have spoken, have found medication to be their salvation. The most important thing is to seek professional help, to talk to someone, if only as a starting point.

However, after a time, it came as something of an epiphany to me that more than ever my recovery was ultimately in my own hands. My counselor made me abundantly aware that he couldn't cure me, that any recovery I hoped to achieve depended entirely on my thoughts, choices and behaviors. And he was right ...

I began to explore alternate routes to wellness -- herbs like St. John's Wort, vitamins, healthy activities, and reframing my thoughts ("reprogramming the computer" in my counselor's words). Losing my relationship with Theo and moving out on my own (more than any other event) was the wake up call that served notice that, better late than never, I needed to change and change now.

And as it turned out the most effective solution was right in front of me all along.

Through 26 years of training in various traditional and eclectic Martial Arts from diverse cultural backgrounds I had been educated in the philosophy of an undeniable mind-body connection as well as introduced to the fundamentals of meditation. In the depths of my depression I had somehow abandonded everything I had learned; I did this without even thinking of it. It wasn't until after I began experiencing the side effects of the antidepressants that I began to investigate further. I discovered that, for me, daily meditation was far more effective than any chemical I had taken.

I looked into and experimented with various meditative disciplines, eventually settling on one that focuses primarily on mindfulness (being entirely present and ongoing attention to whatever arises moment to moment), although I incorporate elements of others as well ... including Zen meditation (the discipline of just "being"), lovingkindness (attuning oneself with the positive energy of the Universe), and even Transcendental Meditation.

The effect of this practice has been enormous. It has succeeded on a scale I neither imagined nor dared hope. I am where I should have been all along and for the first time in years I look at life with a renewed hope ... I feel an sense of peace and purpose ... I have a pretty good idea of where I want to be and where my life is going ...but perhaps most significantly, I no longer take ANY form of prescription medication; I have been off of them for a good long time.

I want to pause right here and say two important things: (1) I don't propose that this approach is a cure-all or that it will work for everyone; but it certainly couldn't hurt to add it to your existing arsenal. The worst that could happen is that you find a bit of inner bliss and get really, really relaxed; and (2) I am not advising that anyone who is severely depressed just completely abandon their medication. Quite the contrary: it wasn't until the meds enabled me to gain a bit of stability that I began to investigate alternatives; in other words, I worked my way up to this point. ALWAYS consult your physician or caregiver before stopping any form of treatment.

Having said that, let me now say this: Meditation is now a habit; I practice every single day. It is something to which I am now committed for life. It is not time consuming -- I sometimes sit in meditation for as little as ten minutes or as long as half an hour or more. It is not addicting like some chemicals; it has no harmful side effects; it can be done anywhere; it requires no special equiptment.

Most importantly ... the benefits far outweigh the minimal expenditure of time/ effort. And because I have changed, my life has changed. Sure ... the depression still rears its ugly head on occasion ... there are still days that I feel down ... days when I don't want to get out of bed ... days when life overwhelms me ... but now I am the master. And THAT is one of the best feelings in the world.

Finally, the practice of daily meditation has put things in perspective, let me see what truly IS, rather than the negative illusions thrown up by my mind ... and, that, as much as anything else, is the true essence of Mindfulness.

Note: If you have read my story and can identify with it or if you are depressed and would like to discuss this further, or simply feel the need to talk, I am only an email away. I know that sometimes all we need is a sympathetic ear, someone to whom we can tell our story -- even anonymously -- without fear of judgement ... I have been there.

Into the Mouth of Darkness, Part 2

"Mysteriously and in ways that are totally remote from natural experience, the gray drizzle of horror induced by depression takes on the quality of physical pain." -- William Stryon

Those were dark times. Desperate times. Even though they took place several years ago, they are still hard to think about let alone blog about for all the world to see. And yet, I feel as if I need to write about them ... to come clean and finally purge myself, as much as possible, of whatever power those memories hold over me. I never would have considered myself to be one of "those people" who would contemplate taking their own life (my avowed belief was that suicide is for the weak)... and yet here I was, entertaining those very ideas, even taking the first tentative steps toward making them reality ...

If by revealing all of this about myself -- and believe me, it took forever to find the balls to finally put all of this into words, because even though I know better, I am still embarrassed to admit much of it -- one person who may be experiencing the same thing stops for a moment, pauses, and reconsiders, I will be happy. It was hard enough getting my own life in order, I harbor no delusions of changing the world. One person, that's all I ask.

Though compressed here for reasons of space, it is important to understand that the events I have described thus far, both in this and the last post -- and all of the problems they caused -- carried on, unabated, for years. With the notion of ending my life playing in my mind, daily existence was like being smothered under a heavy, hot, wet blanket; I carried it around with me all day, every day. It was made bleaker still, if that was at all possible, because a devestating anxiety compounded the depression. It is neither exaggeration nor overly dramatic to say that I was straitjacketed by this combination. I once described the feeling as like "having snakes squirming in my head."

Does that make sense? I don't know. But that's how it felt.

Every decision, trivial or complex, was an intractable ritual of fear, doubt, self-loathing and questioning that only served to deepen the depression; an endless loop from which there appeared no escape. I lived with this nightmare mess for nearly three decades prior to a formal diagnosis. That length of time is important because it was unnecessary, given power by my own stubbornness. It was profoundly embarrassing to admit, both to myself and others, that I could not handle this on my own, that I could not bear up under the crushing pressure in my own head. I could not just "snap out of it." There were periods now not only of uncontrollable outbursts of anger, but an unstoppable flood of tears. I would start to cry for no readily apparent reason; I would cry almost non-stop for several days and that would only deepen my personal shame -- I was a man, after all; and men do not cry, especially over nothing. I was a Martial Artist, a fighter; I was supposed to be stronger than this. This was my ego, vanity; and as my thoughts tumbled deeper and deeper into darkness I knew that it was eventually going to kill me.

There is a commercial on television for the drug Cymbalta that asks this question: "Who does depression hurt?" Their answer: "Everyone."

Certainly everyone around me suffered; even if they did not recognize the problem for what it was or know the reasons, my friends, family, co-workers, and loved ones bore the brunt of my black moods, my emotional distance, my disconnection, and my outbursts. In fact, looking back now from this safe perspective, I can clearly see the wide swath of destruction, like the detritus after a tornado, left by my behaviors and actions.

At one stage of my life I had so many things that so many people desire -- a wife and beautiful daughter, a nice home, a career that I loved -- that an outsider might justifiably question what reason I had to be depressed. Whether the cause was emotional, biochemical, psychological, or all of the above I destroyed nearly all of my good fortune. That which I did not destroy was irrevocably changed ... forever.

"If we can accept whatever hand we've been dealt, no matter how unwelcome, the way to proceed eventually becomes clear." -- Phil Jackson, NBA coach

To shorten an already lengthy story, partial salvation appeared after I breached the wall of shame and entered therapy. I had no money thanks to my collapsed business and, since I had been self-employed, no health insurance. So I entered a program through the local Community Counseling Center. I owe my therapist, Jerry, a huge debt of thanks -- not for curing me, because I am not cured; but because as hard as it was at times, as much as I resisted, he made it OK to talk. He certainly didn't take any shit from me; and I gave plenty, believe me. In session I spent a long time talking to Jerry (twice a week at first, then once a week, then every two weeks as I made progress, followed by a period of group sessions) ... talking about my feelings ... about the embarrassment of being there ... about the effects on everyone around me ... of wanting to kill myself ... discovering the roots of the depression and anxiety and its triggers ... owning responsibility for the damage I had caused ... learning methods of coping.

I was obstinate, however, and my stubborness and resistance got the best of me; I attended therapy for as long as I felt necessary, then quit, only to find myself retreating into old patterns. With the old patterns came the old results. I eventually returned, however, with a renewed goal of achieving a sense of inner peace. I wish I could say that that was the end of the story ... that I found the balance I needed, but I cannot say that because it isn't true. What those endless counseling sessions did, though, was to show me that there was an end to the journey. It may not have been the final destination that I so desperately desired but it was a far cry from the chaos I had put myself and others through. Jerry told me, "There is no cure for this. You've likely had this since childhood and it's going to be with you for good. You cannot 'cure' it. Now you can either let that reality push you back down into the shit, or you can get off your ass and manage it."

I chose to master the depression rather than be it's slave.

Even so, the fallout from depressive behaviors is long lasting and had been building over the years , and despite a new regimen of talk therapy and medication, it was too late to save a relationship with a woman whom I regarded as my Soulmate and whom I hoped to one day marry. Even now, I love her like no other, and love her daughters as my own.

It took that final, catastrophic loss -- and it was (and still is) catatstrophic in my mind and carried its own temporary spiral back into negative behaviors, and a visit to the ER -- to finally awaken me to a brand new approach to life and living. It is still a source of great regret that it required something of that magnitude to finally shake me into awareness. We, as a species, have arrived at a point in our history in which we can send a message around the entire world in the time it takes to take a breath, but it still sometimes takes an eternity to penetrate that last quarter inch of bone into our brain.

But, as after a forest fire, new life rises from the ashes of destruction ...

Into the Mouth of Darkness, Part 1

This post is going to be long, and followed by a second installment. Please bear with me. What I am about to tell you is deeply personal and true. Any ommissions or errors in content or the timeline are the fault of my own memory ...

"In depression, faith in deliverance, in ultimate restoration, is absent. The pain is unrelenting, and what makes the condition intolerable is the foreknowledge that no remedy will come -- not in a day, an hour, a month, or a minute. It is hopelessness even more than pain that crushes the soul." -- William Stryon

" ... crushes the soul ..." -- People casually toss around the term 'depression' as if it were as insignificant as a headache. They become 'depressed' if they miss their favorite TV show ...or if the boyfriend/ girlfriend doesn't call ... or if the mini-mart is out of their brand of cigarettes ... or if they receive a less than stellar grade in school. They mean no real harm by this, of course; it's just a turn of phrase, but it nonetheless unintentionally minimizes the plight of those who are caught in the cold grip of true depression. Until one has experienced it firsthand, it is difficult at best to appreciate, much less, explain, the deep and traumatizing effects of clinical depression.

Depression of a protracted and deep-seated nature is a malignant cancer of the mind and the will. It devours from within. I know this because I speak (and write) from personal experience. Several years ago I was diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder. And while it has been estimated that between 20 to 25% of people over the age of 18 may suffer at least one episode in their lives, mine has shadowed me for years.

Until now, this has been, with few exceptions, unknown to even those closest to me. I have lived under this condition since at least my late childhood, early teen years.

"Who I am hates who I have been." -- Anonymous

Until several years ago, when my internal chaos finally reached critical mass, my depression remained undiagnosed. I knew something was wrong; I just didn't know what. I knew I didn't feel the way I should feel, yet I did nothing. For all of those years, until well into adulthood, it permeated every aspect of my life and even shaped my identity. Its threads ran through every relationship with other people, my family life, my career, my marriage; it colored every behavior and decision, dominated every action. At its lowest ebb, it had been a mild undercurrent of melancholy and at its worst it was completely paralyzing, taking away the desire to care about anyone or anything. And I paid the price for allowing that.

"You see only the outside ... I live what is within." -- Anonymous

Friends and family knew nothing about what was happening inside of me. I did not talk about it. I did not present the classic, stereotypical face of depression; I did not mope or cry. They saw only what I wanted them to see, what I allowed. But it was a mask, one that I wore so well for so many years that it became virtually indistinguishable from my own face. I wore that mask all throughout high school, through various jobs, throughout an entire nine-year marriage, as well as a subsequent nearly decade-long relationship.

Sooner or later living that kind of existence exacts a toll. Depression does more than seriously affect your mood; that is just the tip of the proverbial iceberg. A clinical depression is an incapacitating mental and emotional illness, affecting your ability to perform any task, no matter how mundane or complex, that requires even a shred of concentration. Marriage, work, personal relationships ... all suffered or fell by the wayside.

"Depression is not just sobbing and crying and giving vent, it is plain and simple reduction of feeling ... People who keep a stiff upper lip find that it is damn hard to smile." -- Judith Guest

Really, it is only hard to smile and mean it. The false smile becomes a mask, worn when needed, removed in private. In reality, I felt almost nothing about anyone or anything ... almost. What I did feel was overwhelming self-loathing. One of the durable, yet misguided ideas about clinical depression is that you can lift it up simply by convincing a depressed person that life is good and worth living. But when the darkness is as deeply entrenched in the mind as it was in mine that is a patently ridiculous notion.

I was in my late 30s, my life in complete ruins -- mentally, emotionally, financially, spiritually, -- before I finally sought help. Why had I waited so long? Why had I subjected myself to the better part of a life of misery? Why had I allowed this illness to so completely overwhelm and engulf me to the point it had? The answer isn't easy to face: I didn't want anyone to see my weakness. As a teacher of Martial Arts, I stood before my classes on a daily basis and taught my students -- especially children -- how to be strong and in control. I was neither. I saw myself as a sham. The content of the message I was imparting to my students was valid; but my practice of it was not.

"That's the thing about depression: Most people can survive almost anything, as long as they see the end in sight. But depression is so insidious, and it compounds daily, that it is impossible to ever see the end. The fog is like a cage without a key." -- Elizabeth Wurtzel, Prozac Nation

That IS the thing: I was so imprisoned in this fog, paralyzed not only by the depression but by my fear of its discovery by others, my mental energy throttled back to near-zero, that I merely went through the motions with my students ... hell, with the whole world for that matter ... that I just didn't care; I was drained, sapped of everything vital. I. DID. NOT. CARE.

I recall two specific incidents that at last put me on a different path ... but before I tell them, let me clarify something. Yes, depression killed feeling; but at the same time it was as if I was imploding, drawing far down deep into myself, smaller and smaller until I could go no further. When that happened, when I felt so isolated and insignificant and worthless an explosion occurred. I cannot explain it any better than that. The direct opposite of what I had described above: every emotion; every thought and feeling coalescing into one mind bursting eruption -- it boiled to the surface and I did cry ... I did rage ... I did strike out ... there is a price to be paid, I think, for the submission of our soul, for the damping down of our feelings and these explosions were the cost. For every action in the universe, it is said, there is an equal and opposite reaction. This was mine.

The first incident which I will relate happened only six or seven years ago and was one of these explosions: My girlfriend (and, at the time, fiancé) and I went for a walk after dinner one night; we did this frequently, usually following the same route and enjoying the time together. It was late summer, the weather pleasant, and the night warm even as the sun began to set. We lived on a side road near the largest natural lake in Northeast PA. Despite the weather and environment the conversation soon turned serious; we had been having difficulties in our relationship, brought about primarily from a failing business that I owned. I was pouring my heart and soul into the business in order to make a better life for us (at least that was my argument) but no matter what I did I met with dead ends and failure. The business was sending us into financial ruin yet I refused to give it up; it was driving a wedge deep into our relationship, yet I desperately tried to convince her (or myself, really) that success was only just around the corner. But that was the same old tune I had been singing for years with nothing to show for it. This, of course, is only a thumbnail sketch of the situation; it had been building to this point for years. I refused to see her side; insisting that I could do this for us ...for our future. But she bluntly told me that if things did not change, she doubted we had a future. The words hit me like a hammer, and then everything literally went black inside of my head and behind my eyes.

I honestly don't remember everything about that day ... I do remember feeling as if an avalanche was happening in my head, as if a vital part of myself and my reality had suddenly come loose and was going ... where? I don't know. I do remember falling to the side of the road on which we were walking, screaming, crying, feeling as if I was exploding into a million pieces. Was this what it was like to lose your mind? I do remember screaming about how much I hated myself, how much I wish I could just die, how much better off everyone would be if I were no longer around. I cannot fully explain in words the intensity of this breakdown. Until that moment, I had never felt anything like it. I would feel it only once more a few years later under much different circumstances (but that, as they say, is another story for another time).

I barely remember anything after that ... only vaguely recall making it back to the house ... what else I do remember I don't want to talk about. I knew then, at that moment that I was in need of serious help, that I could no longer carry this weight on my own. And if I didn't get some sort of help I would not live to see any future.

There was one other incident that occurred around the same general time but was much quieter in its execution. With one exception I have never spoken of it publicly until now. In order to make ends meet, I had taken a job managing a store at the local mall. It paid what, for me, was an astronomical sum. This was is in addition to trying to keep my business afloat. Two jobs, twice as much stress, frequent hours alone, too many thoughts racing through my head, caught in an endless loop. Until one night, at the close of business, I found myself in the back room of the store with the blade of a knife pressed firmly against my own throat. One small move, I told myself, one cut was all it would take to make years of pain disappear. And as I pressed that blade into the soft tissue of my throat I was ready to do it, without hesitation ... and I kid you not when I tell you that at that moment the phone rang and it was my daughter. Her voice ... the picture of her face in my mind ... is the only thing that stopped me from making a huge, terrible mistake. The conversation that followed was not significant in anything other than its timing; had it come only five minutes later ... who knows?

It was the combination of those two situations that told me I needed massive change. It was going to be a long, hard road back and it would turn out that there would be casualties along the way ...