On Mood and Isolation
Actually two separate essays lumped under one title.
I have discovered that my mood is largely dependent upon the amount of victories and failures I have in a given time frame. Whether an event is considered a victory or a failure and the magnitude thereof is wholly dependent upon my attitude. I haven't quite discovered everything that affects my attitude, but it is primarily affected by fatigue. When these conditions conspire against me, it results in an extremely poor day.
It is a well-known truth that if one starts the day off with the attitude of, and this is the best way to describe it, "Can I just not today? Can everything stop so I can just not at all today?" then the day will not be a pleasant one. Oddly enough, on days such as these, it appears as if the week decided to withhold all of its misfortunes and tragedies to dump them all at once atop your head. It's one miserable event after the other, one is tempted to see, with no chance of respite or repose.
On one such day, I was filled with a particular type of lassitude that only accompanies a day spent doing marvelous things that require large amounts of intense concentration and effort. By the end of my school day, I was one minor mishap away from giving up on the day and just spending the remaining hours lying on a bed in a dark room, listening to soft music and refusing to think or care about anything.
Luckily, I had the chance to stab people with swords -- which, by the way, does wonders for your mood -- but the question still remains: "How does one deal with that?" You could give up on the day and find a dark corner to lay down in and stop caring about anything for a while (and I have no doubts on the effectiveness of that treatment), but that remedy is not always available, nor desirable, to everyone, and neither is stabbing people with swords. My personal advice to anyone going through that kind of day, or week, or month, is to step aside (lock yourself in a quiet room, take a drive or a walk, climb a tree) and just breathe deeply for a moment. After you are slightly more calm, take a minute or two to consider everything that has gone right.
"But what if nothing has gone right?" you may find yourself asking. Well, you're hopefully wearing some sort of underpants right now, and I'm confident you were able to place them on right-way-forward. You were able to find a quiet moment, even if it's fleeting. It's as simple as that. The world around you hasn't collapsed into a fiery pit of boiling lava, nor is the sky above you shattering into a million pieces and falling on your head (if it is, I offer my sincerest condolences).
Perspective. Drive out the bad with the good. It makes a difference.
It is a well-known truth that if one starts the day off with the attitude of, and this is the best way to describe it, "Can I just not today? Can everything stop so I can just not at all today?" then the day will not be a pleasant one. Oddly enough, on days such as these, it appears as if the week decided to withhold all of its misfortunes and tragedies to dump them all at once atop your head. It's one miserable event after the other, one is tempted to see, with no chance of respite or repose.
On one such day, I was filled with a particular type of lassitude that only accompanies a day spent doing marvelous things that require large amounts of intense concentration and effort. By the end of my school day, I was one minor mishap away from giving up on the day and just spending the remaining hours lying on a bed in a dark room, listening to soft music and refusing to think or care about anything.
Luckily, I had the chance to stab people with swords -- which, by the way, does wonders for your mood -- but the question still remains: "How does one deal with that?" You could give up on the day and find a dark corner to lay down in and stop caring about anything for a while (and I have no doubts on the effectiveness of that treatment), but that remedy is not always available, nor desirable, to everyone, and neither is stabbing people with swords. My personal advice to anyone going through that kind of day, or week, or month, is to step aside (lock yourself in a quiet room, take a drive or a walk, climb a tree) and just breathe deeply for a moment. After you are slightly more calm, take a minute or two to consider everything that has gone right.
"But what if nothing has gone right?" you may find yourself asking. Well, you're hopefully wearing some sort of underpants right now, and I'm confident you were able to place them on right-way-forward. You were able to find a quiet moment, even if it's fleeting. It's as simple as that. The world around you hasn't collapsed into a fiery pit of boiling lava, nor is the sky above you shattering into a million pieces and falling on your head (if it is, I offer my sincerest condolences).
Perspective. Drive out the bad with the good. It makes a difference.
I've finally understood why so many hermits are crazy. "Well, yeah, you'd have to be crazy to be a hermit," you may be muttering under your breath. Perhaps. But there is more to it than that.
By December 30th, my house was practically devoid of life. We had had my siblings (and their spouses, and a little puppy, and a baby) visiting from college over Christmas Break, but they had to return back to their respective lives. The result was the house felt emptier than ever and a very quiet, lonely New Year. Normally, my house is full of nine people partying and playing board games like Monopoly or Risk, but plans fell through. By nine o' clock, half the household was asleep. By ten, all but me.
I was sitting alone on a coach with a blanket over me, eating an obscene amount of goodies, watching the Twilight Zone, and waiting for midnight so I could go to sleep. I remember thinking if someone would text me at that moment, asking if they could spend New Year's Eve at my house, my entire year would have been made. I had this thought several times as I was munching on banana bread or slurping down punch. Alas, it didn't happen, so I spent New Years alone.
The next few days were as lonely if not lonelier. I spent them basically moping about something that I had hoped would happen, but didn't, or trying not to think too much about anything. Of course, when night came and it was time to close my weary eyes and drift into the realms of sleep, I could not stop thinking. A lot of thinking can do wonders, but when it is only thought and no discussion or conversation, strange moods and ideas can mutate from it.
I'm reminded of a certain Episode of The Twilight Zone. In it, a pilot had been isolated for an experiment. It had been so long since he had heard or seen anybody else that he imagined himself in an empty town. He imagined himself running around, trying to find some sign of people, but to no avail. All that time to think left his brain starved, hungering for human contact, for a voice other than his own.
I suffered a lesser form of this the first few days of January, but I didn't figure out my affliction until later. I felt an emptiness and a longing, but I didn't know for what. It wasn't until I was in the midst of some friends, laughing, joking, and talking, that I realized this was what I had been missing. This was what I needed.
I don't flatter myself by pretending to be a talented conversationalist; heck, I'm not even a very sociable person. However, there's something ingrained deep inside us, a desire for another person. We need each other merely for the sake of sanity. There's something about friends that helps fill a gap inside ourselves we can't seem to fill. There's something about another person's voice that makes us feel relieved. It's as if the presence of people remind us we aren't outsiders on this giant hurling rock in the vast emptiness of space.
It reminds us we aren't alone. There are billions of people who can sympathize or empathize with you. No matter which paths you've taken, there are footprints of those who went before you. It's not possible to be isolated if you just open up, and let yourself free.
By December 30th, my house was practically devoid of life. We had had my siblings (and their spouses, and a little puppy, and a baby) visiting from college over Christmas Break, but they had to return back to their respective lives. The result was the house felt emptier than ever and a very quiet, lonely New Year. Normally, my house is full of nine people partying and playing board games like Monopoly or Risk, but plans fell through. By nine o' clock, half the household was asleep. By ten, all but me.
I was sitting alone on a coach with a blanket over me, eating an obscene amount of goodies, watching the Twilight Zone, and waiting for midnight so I could go to sleep. I remember thinking if someone would text me at that moment, asking if they could spend New Year's Eve at my house, my entire year would have been made. I had this thought several times as I was munching on banana bread or slurping down punch. Alas, it didn't happen, so I spent New Years alone.
The next few days were as lonely if not lonelier. I spent them basically moping about something that I had hoped would happen, but didn't, or trying not to think too much about anything. Of course, when night came and it was time to close my weary eyes and drift into the realms of sleep, I could not stop thinking. A lot of thinking can do wonders, but when it is only thought and no discussion or conversation, strange moods and ideas can mutate from it.
I'm reminded of a certain Episode of The Twilight Zone. In it, a pilot had been isolated for an experiment. It had been so long since he had heard or seen anybody else that he imagined himself in an empty town. He imagined himself running around, trying to find some sign of people, but to no avail. All that time to think left his brain starved, hungering for human contact, for a voice other than his own.
I suffered a lesser form of this the first few days of January, but I didn't figure out my affliction until later. I felt an emptiness and a longing, but I didn't know for what. It wasn't until I was in the midst of some friends, laughing, joking, and talking, that I realized this was what I had been missing. This was what I needed.
I don't flatter myself by pretending to be a talented conversationalist; heck, I'm not even a very sociable person. However, there's something ingrained deep inside us, a desire for another person. We need each other merely for the sake of sanity. There's something about friends that helps fill a gap inside ourselves we can't seem to fill. There's something about another person's voice that makes us feel relieved. It's as if the presence of people remind us we aren't outsiders on this giant hurling rock in the vast emptiness of space.
It reminds us we aren't alone. There are billions of people who can sympathize or empathize with you. No matter which paths you've taken, there are footprints of those who went before you. It's not possible to be isolated if you just open up, and let yourself free.
1/27/14