It is a melancholy morning.
I’m not sure if the weather is affecting my mood, as the various shades of grey float overhead and the street is filled in a sort of half-light. The green looks green, but all the other hues seem dulled with this canopy of neutral sky where I want the blue to be.
There are days when I think that I simply wake in a mood and the universe follows suit. That isn’t a delusion of grandeur marking manic episodes, it is just an observation that life is tied in intriguing ways with our environments. And I don’t know if my mood is tied to my surroundings or my surroundings are tied to my mood at times. Granted, I understand that I don’t control the weather. It is less of a fact than a statement of how life feels today.
Close. Dreary. And a bit sad.
So, of course a melancholy girl throws on Adele 25 the moment Spotify loads on her computer. Who better to nurse a mood like this than Adele?
And the first song is Hello. And it hits me in a way I don’t expect. It is totally about relationships most days—or at least that is how my psyche interprets it most days. But today it feels like a signpost of my difference. Today it feels like that song is meant for me to holler across the chasm between me and others. Today it demarcates my life from the life of the “normal” person in my society.
Today I feel outside of the lines that are drawn to boundary the “good” from the “bad”. Today I feel like all of the weight of my situation and my life and my history and my overactive mind and my grief is loaded upon my shoulders. And I don’t see others carrying that weight. And it makes me feel not just different, but “wrong” somehow. Atypical. Anomalous. Weird.
At times, I think that others must have this weight too, and maybe they are just better at disguising it. Maybe their shoulders are a bit broader and stronger. Maybe the weight is distributed in ways that make carrying it easier.
But I am a woman living alone in one of the most challenged neighborhoods in the City of Big Shoulders. I should be able to carry most anything. And I know from experience that I am an expert at covering over the winces and stumbles that the world’s weight can bring about. I’m so good at it that people believe I am faking or crying out for attention when the winces and stumbles show up, instead of understanding that I am always covering up my suffering and pain.
And I also have this sense that the reason I feel so melancholy today is that I am getting closer and closer to my goals of being mindful in every moment. I’m letting myself feel whatever comes, and then letting it pass without having to grasp and cling to those feelings. This morning I woke in a mood that left me longing and saddened and apart. But I don’t need to cling to that mood. And I don’t need to cover up that mood. It can just stand. It can just be. It can just happen.
There is much in my life that has been heavy. There is much in my day that might be heavy. There are clouds in the sky that seem heavy. And in some ways my heart is heavy.
With good reason.
My daughter is feeling uncertain about her future. Someone I care for is dealing with his mother’s cancer diagnosis. Old friends are slowly saying goodbye to their tiny boy before he is removed from life support. Destruction and death are touching almost every inch of this little blue planet. Need has become the hallmark of my life. Loss is deeply felt. Struggle lives up and down each block in my neighborhood. I look down upon it right now, with the boarding up of yet another building and the remnants of last night’s celebrations covering the empty lots. And there is this all-consuming feeling that I am alone in knowing the expanse of all of this.
There is a feeling that I know pain in ways that others do not or cannot. There is a feeling that I have been through the most, the hardest, the most devastating. There is a feeling that my empathy is too great, and my heart is too tender, and I feel too much.
But I also wouldn’t change that. I wouldn’t change any of that.
If I had the option to not be abused, to not live on the run, to not marry an asshole, to not be a single parent, to not dance for money, to not fight my way through evictions and repossession and shit credit, and to instead have all the good things in life, I wouldn’t choose it.
There is something beautiful about being melancholy. There is something beautiful about having deeply felt pain and struggle. There is something beautiful about my difference and my distance from the general public. There is something beautiful about being able to know this pain and this struggle and to keep on going. There is something beautiful about my life and my history and my challenges and my neighborhood and my loss and my burdens. Even if those things weight me, and make the day feel grey, they are still beautiful.
The other day I texted a friend whose brother is going through some challenges, just to check in and see how things were going or if there was any way I could help. And at one point in our exchange, I texted, “Everything eventually resolves, right?”
It wasn’t actually a question. It was rhetorical. And it was true.
Everything eventually resolves.
There is weight. There is struggle. There is sadness. There is loss. There is death, destruction, and damage. There is pain. And there is the promise that this too shall pass.
Nothing lasts forever. My melancholy mood might lift with the return of the sun, or with a text from a friend, or with the morning tomorrow. It might hold on for weeks. But at some point, melancholy will no longer be my mood. It will change. It will resolve.
And being mindful helps me to know and to understand and to accept that it will resolve. It allows me to feel it, but not live inside of it. There is a way to approach our feelings that acknowledges them, lets them be felt, and then releases them when they do not serve us well. There is a way to hold on to the promise that things will resolve, and that this feeling isn’t the whole of our situation, or our circumstance, or our being. It is only a feeling. And feelings come and go.
So, while I still feel like I am shouting an echoing hello across a chasm to the “normal” in my society, and while I still feel immense weight upon my shoulders, and while I still work through struggle that most never experience, I am at peace with my melancholy mood. It has come. It will go. And I don’t need to hang on to it when it isn’t serving me well. It isn’t going to be weighting me for long. It is not here to stay. It will resolve.
Adele’s album, however, will stay. It is already saved in my Spotify account. And I know that playing it tomorrow might yield completely different feelings than it offered today. Because life develops, changes, keeps moving, comes in waves, and offers us feelings anew. We just need to let it. We only need to acknowledge, accept, and release what comes.
Let life resolve.