More than five years have passed since I posted in this blog, but that’s okay because I say, “Yes!” to being an inconsistent persistent writer. This statement makes for a good transition to the subject of this post: saying “yes.”
This time last year, I fell into a pit of despair—a state that isn’t constant, yet one I regularly spiral down into. Following is what I wrote during that period over a year ago in December 2024:
I’ve wanted to blame my nihilism on my dad Richard. He is a reliable trigger for it, but I suspect that nihilism is part of my character. A close friend once humorously suggested she was born in the depressive position. I would adapt that to say I was born in the nihilist position.
When I’ve fallen into the pit of despair, I pass the time thinking about how I could die. During preparation for a routine surgery last year, an irregular heartbeat showed up on my electrocardiogram. My hopes soared that a cardiac condition could result in my death, whether or not I underwent surgery. However, I soon realized the irregularity wasn’t all that serious, and my entreaties to that organ to just quit were in vain. I had been expecting the cardiologist to tell me I’d need to address this heart defect with medication, to which I’d retort, “Me and my heart have a deal: it can quit any time it wants to, and I won’t interfere.” This is the sort of silliness I waste my time and energy on when I’m in the pit of despair.
I know I’m in a serious slump when I think about my two cats, Langston and Michele, and I don’t care if I abandon them. In the past week, both have demonstrated ill health. Although I was extra diligent and solicitous in caring for them, when it became apparent that my extra care wasn’t helping, I shut down. Panic and despair gave way to apathy and powerlessness. Not having control of the outcome made me want to have nothing to do with the process at all. How disgusting!
I’m aware there are actions of self-care and psychodynamic exercises I could do to improve my outlook. But the fact is, I really don’t want to change myself. I don’t want to do the work or make any effort to address the source of the despair. I just want to get out of my flesh prison. I want to get out of this world, with all of its ugliness and its beauty too. I don’t want anything I don’t already have.
I learned that the colder it is, the faster a body dies from hypothermia: several hours at 50 degrees and about 30 minutes at sub-zero temperatures, and that water cools the body 25% faster than air.
I spent two days in this mindset. On the third day, I watched a documentary about a woman fighting cancer, who treated survival as a creative act. She said she wanted to feel the terrible things, the beautiful things, and to be open to it all. She inspired me.
I began to wonder: What if I said “yes” to everything? What if I was open to everything? This might be a good project for the year 2024. It wouldn’t mean doing everything; it would mean being receptive to whatever presents itself to me. It would mean controlling my response to things, rather than trying to control outcomes—many of which can’t be controlled.
I thought of Lily, a small black two-year-old cat at the rescue where I volunteer. Lily has cerebellar hypoplasia—a sort of cerebral palsy that disables her ability to control her back end. Also, she is mostly blind, and yet she says “yes” to everything.
Here are some of the things I said “yes” to in 2024:
• Say yes to possibly finding a different surgeon to do my hip replacement surgery, or possibly not getting a hip replacement at all.
• Say yes to phone calls at 12:45 a.m. on Christmas Eve from doctors consulting me about my dad’s POLST.
• Say yes to my client’s dog Pepper choosing a longer walk than I planned for.
• Say yes to the unpredictability of Pepper coming to my apartment with me for a small gathering of friends.
• Say yes to Langston’s sadness.
• Say yes to Michele’s fragility.
• Say yes to the fear of visiting my dad.
• Say yes to lunch with John and his dad, even if they can’t commit to a place or time.
• Say yes to the mountain of work it will take to analyze and edit a client’s writing and respond in a productive and encouraging manner.
In January, my husband embarked on a year-long project to discuss Stoic philosophy as practiced by the Greeks and Romans. One goal of the zoom meeting was to discuss the viability and potential implementation of this philosophy in contemporary life. There is an aspect of Stoicism in this project of saying yes to everything, so I participated in the weekly discussions. For me, the most useful takeaway from Stoicism is discerning those things we can control from those we cannot. The project of saying yes to everything morphed into a project for recognizing when I’m trying to control things beyond my control or becoming too attached to a specific outcome. Say yes to the realization that writing about my life and experiences might interest readers if I were willing to revise and shape that work—and admit that I probably won’t commit to it.
• Say yes to the full moon on Christmas night.
• Say yes.
• Say yes to mediocrity.
• Say yes to Langston being grumpy with me.
• Say yes to Michele eating more dry food than wet food, which exacerbates her kidney issues.
• Say yes to letting go of my dad Richard.
• Say yes to the work of continuing to manage my dad’s medical care.
• Say yes to death.
• Say yes to Langston choosing to spend time with my father-in-law rather than me.
• Say yes to being silly and sad about it.
• Say yes to writing about my left hand, even though the writing isn’t interesting and goes nowhere.
• Say yes to greeting my father-in-law with enthusiasm, even when I’m feeling down.
• Say yes to small talk, even when it’s absolutely boring me, because social congress is important.
• Say yes to Langston and Michele being unhappy about traveling with me and John.
• Say yes to forgetting: people’s names, whether their parents are living or dead, whether I’ve seen this or that movie, the emotional abuse my father inflicted, and everything else.
Say yes.
Words... Press On 