The Echoes of Their Kindness: Gratitude's Anchor to a Heavy Heart
It's not an antidote, but gratitude is a balm to the plagues of a beleaguered spirit
Some days, nothing feels good. Nothing seems valuable; a twisted unconscious sense of nihilism creeps in between the Penny Saver and the Costco Connection. Junk mail, slowly becoming the bulk of all parcels my domicile is privileged to receive. Other than tax notices, bills, and detailed letters from Olive Garden explaining why I cannot return to any of their remaining California locations.
Most instances are easily conquerable. Sometimes by recognition and diffusion, and other times by buying things I can’t afford, like a Mountain House sugar daddy desperately trying to keep his sneaky link from going public before his fintech startup does. Here’s looking at you, Robinhood. GameStop never forgets.
If only millions of retail investors were as interested in HODL’ing MY STOCK, maybe then I’d think I’m valuable enough to slip out from under some of the harder days.
Diamond hands.
I am by no means an extreme case. Many people have it much worse. It still feels pretty unmanageable at times.
A few weeks ago, it got so bad that it went from a dull apathetic throb to a consistent mental spike. The condition contorted my face in a sort of resting disgust with zero idea of what I was missing or needed to repair myself. I tried to recenter on the now, find something blue, find something metal, take note. Breathe. Standard methods wouldn’t work. The only thing that killed it was a nap.
I don’t nap. I don’t sleep enough either. I get it. Probably sleep deprivation.
I have a good job, a house, and a lot of nearby family and friends. By many people’s measure, I am doing well. That doesn’t help. The cognitive dissonance of these two competing thoughts drives me nuts:
I am reasonably successful in my life. Some people have nothing and suffer horrific lives.
I have some pretty bad days.
Clearly, it would seem to follow that I should suck it up, count my lucky stars, and get back to work. If only it were that easy. It just doesn’t work that way.
At work and in my daily endeavors, I struggle to realize the reward for my efforts. I miss the manageable and structured nature of my younger life, where I was more constantly supported and given feedback. I could accurately intuit my progress. Since the early days of my career, something I should be proud of, the days have begun to blend. I’ve been working for nearly 10 years, but sometimes I can remember 6 years ago about as well as 6 days. I miss the richness of living in those moments. I’m not sure I gave them the respect that they deserved when they happened.
I should remember walking the neighborhood with grandma and grandpa.
Playing Command and Conquer with Dad and my brother.
Playing board games at the coffee shop in Old World with my best friend. The same one who moved over 400 miles to save my stupid ass from Motel 6’s and gas station meals when we started our careers together.
I should remember not being neuro-normal enough for honors programs, but blowing through AP Calculus and playing gin in the back while the teacher blasted Quadrophenia. I should never forget who I played gin with.
I have to honor and respect my impossibly brave wife (girlfriend at the time) for agreeing to move 400 miles away from her family with me when I left my first job. She had known me for about 6 months. I can’t say I would have been brave enough to do the same then.
I should remember the people who stuck their necks out for me to get over the finish line at school.
Jim and Dana, I am forever thankful to you for taking me in and giving me a safe space to learn and live in my painfully difficult senior year. It’s even more important to me to recognize I appreciate you both, given how things ended. I was a dumb kid, and it only took a little bit longer for me to realize it.
Evan, your approach to education was the thing that made everything click. It influences how I mentor and work with teams today. You set the bar so impossibly high, but gave so much of yourself to make it possible. You left later than many of us stayed awake. My license examination successes are largely in your debt as well. You and your amazing family were the best possible hosts. I sincerely hope to catch up with you again someday.
John. You taught a class for just 2 people, so that we might graduate on time. It pains me to never express my gratitude to you in person. May your soul find eternal peace, and those you reside with now be in awe of the selflessness and voracity with which you lived your Earthly life. Not much of a eulogy, but something should be said. John was one of the best people I have ever met. I hope to be like him when I am older.
Without these people, even my best efforts would have been in vain. I owe them so much, and most of them will never be repaid. Maybe these things are best left to the morning mirror, as I comb my receding hairline and ponder the scales of human ephemerality in the wrinkles forming in the corners of my eyes.
Fundamentally, I think that there is a certain accountability in sharing your thoughts with the world. Reconciling this reckoning with gratitude felt fitting this evening. It kind of balances the scales and grounds me, helps me through the bouts of melancholy as they arise. When that doesn’t work, I turn outward and think about my friends and family; I remember there are people I love out there working through their lives with the same value and intention that I live mine. Many of those people sacrificed so I could make it.
I stand on the shoulders of people who deserve far more respect than I do. Giants, if you will. My burden and quest is to live up to your examples.
So maybe I wrote this for the “normal” ones, though not entirely. High enough functioning to fly under the radar, but encumbered enough to suffer without the same understanding. Strong enough to stand on your own, but not without the outrageous sacrifice of many selfless people. It doesn’t have to make sense. It doesn’t have to be caused by someone or something around us. Others aren’t necessarily to blame.
Hopefully, if you read this and feel the same way, you will understand you aren’t nearly as alone as you might feel. The pangs of regret, failures, setbacks, and most importantly, gratitude.
It might just be human.
If you are struggling, do not be ashamed to reach out to someone, professional or otherwise, and ask for help. If you are truly lucky, you will get a shot to return the favor someday, when you are called upon.
P.S.: to Trevor and the other Decathlon participants from Mesa, I am sorry I blew the super quiz and pushed my own confusion on the team. It wasn’t a trick question, I was on crack, and I screwed you all out of a big W. Someone else should have gone. Yeah, I get it. It was middle school. Still, brains are weird. Couldn’t shake it. Good luck with your lives.