Hi there. It’s been awhile. I don’t really have a good explanation for why it’s been so long, so let’s skip over all that and just dive in.
Today, in my apartment during the snowstorm, I came across an essay called “How To Do Enough.” It’s a truly lovely thing and will make you feel a little bit better about what you can do. Yes, even now. Yes, despite everything.
However, this is the paragraph that made me start full-on crying. I’ve spent a lot of time this weekend with tears in my eyes, but only twice have I truly cried. This was one.
“This is such a weird story, but: in late 2021 I had a full-on nervous breakdown. The brownstone directly across the street from me had a red door and, since it was Christmas, the occupant had hung a big wreath on it. I spent a lot of time staring out the window at that door. It was such a cheerful color of red, and such a lovely wreath, and it was this tiny bit of color when the entire world felt grey. You’ve done things that have impacted people in ways you’ll never know. Anything that makes the world more beautiful can be a message of hope for someone who might need it very badly.”
It made me think of a moment back in May 2023. Things were, on paper, going great for me. I’d moved back to Connecticut. I’d gotten into my top-choice law school with a scholarship. I was going to Italy in a few days, a dream destination, for a pre-law school vacation. I had friends who loved (and still love) me and a great job that was giving me a nest egg for law school. I had a cute little townhouse-style apartment in Meriden, cheaper than my DC apartment, I was sharing with my precious little dog Molly. I was developing a relationship with a great therapist, almost as good as my DBT specialist in DC who quite possibly saved my life.
And I was in a depression haze, wondering how I could possibly enjoy Italy.
I got in the car to pick up something for dinner, but instead of going home after, I ate in the parking lot and then I just drove, and drove, and drove. Just headed east on back roads, across the Arrigoni bridge and through the middle of nowhere eastern Connecticut. I couldn’t possibly tell you why.
I ended up having to stop for gas. I think it was in Woodstock, but I’m not entirely sure. Somewhere in the Quiet Corner. I cried a little in the gas station parking lot and then realized I’d eventually have to get myself home. So I texted my sister that I was having a hard time and asked for ideas on traveling with depression. I filled up my gas tank. I went in to the convenience store for a Diet Coke. I don’t remember exactly what the cashier’s tic was, maybe throat-clearing, but I do remember her telling me she had Tourette’s, kind of apologizing for it, and I felt so terribly sad for her - not that she had it, but that she felt she had to feel bad about it. And then I went back to the car and told Google Maps to point me toward I-84 and eventually back to home.
Shortly after I got on the highway, I noticed the moon. It was nearly a full moon, still rising but high enough you could see it above the trees. So bright on that clear night. It reminded me of a song I loved when I was in high school. I had the thought that the moon would stay with me the entire drive home. That I could keep looking at it as long as I wanted to. So I did, on that drive home that took about an hour.
I couldn’t explain why and I still can’t fully, but the moon was my anchor that night.
The next night, I drove again after trying to have fun, to do something to distract myself, and it not working. It was later than the night before, so I went on a shorter drive. I went to the East Haven town beach, which is one of the closest beaches to where I live and has some nice benches. I put that song I was thinking of the night before on a playlist and listened to it as I drove. I parked my car at the beach around 11:30 at night, went to sit down on a bench, and looked up at the moon again and listened to the ocean waves. The moon was still just about full, a little higher up in the sky. There were a few clouds that night, just enough to scatter the light a bit without blocking it. It helped.
The moon didn’t cure my depression; that’s not how wayward brain chemistry works. It was just something to hold on to in the dark, which I so desperately needed.
Right now my depression, which is cyclical, is in one of its better-behaved periods. And there are so many things big and small to be happy about. My precious nephew Sawyer was born less than 3 weeks ago and I love him beyond measure. I’ve just started my last semester of law school. I have a part-time job at the law firm where I’ll be working full-time after the bar exam and I love both the people and the work. One of my closest friends since childhood moved back to CT this fall and I get to see him regularly now after not living in the same place full-time for 16 years. There’s hockey and college basketball on all the time, and I decided I was going to splurge on ESPN+ again after taking stock of my finances and realizing I could indulge a little for the sake of getting Capitals games that aren’t on national TV. I became obsessed with Heated Rivalry, which is the sweetest, sexiest, saddest, funniest thing I’ve watched in a long time. (I haven’t yet read the books, but I ordered them this weekend.) I get a snow day tomorrow and I’m in my cozy apartment with candles, an electric fireplace, a heated blanket, and my little dog.
However, the heaviness of recent events can feel a lot like depression. I felt it when ICE murdered Renee Good the day after my nephew was born. She had a glove box full of stuffies for her 6-year-old in the car where she was killed in front of her wife. Her last words to the ICE agent were “I’m not mad at you.” I felt it again yesterday when more agents from that force, sent by our federal government not to keep the Twin Cities safe but to occupy and terrorize them, shot Alex Pretti nine times and killed him. He was an ICU nurse at the VA. His last words were “Are you okay?” to a woman standing next to him who had just been pepper sprayed.
It’s so easy to feel helpless in these moments. To spend hours upon hours staring at the news and social media, learning nothing new or useful but marinating in the sadness. To rage impotently at the people who could stop this but won’t. To sink into despair at how far we’ve fallen. I’ve had to fight that tendency hard, and not always successfully, this weekend.
I can’t physically go look at the moon right now because of the snowstorm, nor is it a good idea to go for a drive, so I’m writing this instead. Maybe it will help someone, or maybe it’s just for me. But while I’m here, after several years to reflect, this is what I’ve gotten out of staring at the moon on those much warmer nights.
First, and I’ve said this before about depression and suicidal ideation but it often bears repeating, all the problems don’t have to be fixed for things to get better. That applies to the state of the world as well as my, and your, own mental wellness. Every bit of suffering that can be prevented, every bit of safety and comfort and joy that can be brought, is a victory. A light in the darkness, much like the moon.
Second, it reminds me that I know how to take care of myself. I’ve been suicidal before. That night, even crying alone in a gas station parking lot, I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt I didn’t want to end things. I was in a bad way, but I could find a way to make things better. I could look at the moon the whole way home.
In this context, I’m remembering that it’s not just me taking care of myself, but communities taking care of each other. Minneapolis has been an inspiration in how the community has come together to protect each other. People go around bringing groceries and picking up laundry for their neighbors who are afraid that if they leave their homes, they’ll be kidnapped and detained by ICE - even if they have a legal right to be here - because of their skin color. Other people track the cars ICE uses, follow them around to observe them, share the info on Signal chats even when ICE tries to threaten them. People blow whistles and sound car alarms to warn their neighbors that they need to go hide. People buy hand warmers and hot drinks for their neighbors standing guard in the bitter cold. People go on a general strike and show up to protest in -20 degree weather to show ICE that they’re not afraid. I saw a video last night of a vigil/rally in Boston, the other thing that has made me fully cry this weekend. At that rally, they all chanted together “We’re not cold, we’re not afraid! Minny taught us to be brave!”
You beautiful brave people of Minnesota, you inspire us all. I’m filled with white hot fury that a single one of you has to go through this. It’s so deeply unfair. And yet you bear that unfairness with grace, compassion, and ingenuity beyond our wildest imaginations.
The essay I linked above reminds me that we all have a part to play in creating that community. We can take care of each other. If ICE comes for us like they’re coming for Minneapolis, we can learn from our fellow Americans in the Twin Cities how to resist. We can make things a little bit better, a little more just, for each other.
Most of my post titles are song lyrics. I don’t usually explain where they’re from, but today I want to. It’s a song by The Hush Sound called “You Are The Moon.” It’s the same song I thought of and added to my playlist back then. In case you’d like to listen to it, here it is:
Stay soft, stay brave. I love you all.