Look outside, what do you see? Nothing but good feelings.

I struggle with the dark passenger. It's true. Even on the best days. But I was raised in Los Angeles in the 70s, a time when booze was lemonade, ashtrays were in airplanes, and getting roasted by the sun was far out. I knew I was moody. But we never talked about mental health when we passed the potatoes. I loved climbing on rocks and running real fast, but I didn’t realize that both of those things helped me avoid confrontation, you know, with people. I never really contemplated why I was an introvert. In fact, introvert? Not in my vocabulary. I didn't know what an alcoholic was. Cancer? I'm a kid, I am invincible. We didn't talk about why people died. They were just no longer around. I didn't comprehend that being alone was the happiest part of my life. The other parts were terrifying.

I'm not the best friend. Not the best son. Not the best coworker. Not the best partner. But I somehow manage to find my way. It's as though I have an extra compassionate gene, like the hugest C gene ever. That's what I tell myself anyhow. I justify being not the best on one hand with being the absolute best on the other. And I rely on this compassion to offset the melancholy.

It's taken me decades to deconstruct the dark side. Yes, therapy might have been quicker, but in my yoot, sports were better. I still love sports but I also love reading and pattern recognition and awareness. I've learned to self-medicate with herbs and a yoga mat. Nothing has really changed in regards to my good feelings. They are extraordinary. And nothing has changed with the darkness. I can name it now and I am prepared. I prepare with a knowing that love is always on the other side.

Look outside what do you see?

⌘