Transition

So July (as you know, if you've been reading my blogs), was a bit of a fog. I remember bits and pieces of it. August was my recoup time. Getting your body and mind to overcome the effects of depression (and whatever else it was in July/June/late May), is never an easy task.

But right now, September, seems to be a time for transition and reflection. I don't know why I keep having flash backs to my youth, but I do. Memories are floating into my mind. Little clips and images from a disconnected film reel that is my life.

Like a moment in Olympia were I was sitting at our table and I was watching my Mom make jam. She had dark hair then, with lots of wavy bouncy curls. Just a glimpse and the memory of thinking I was excited.

Or a time out with my Dad. We either lived in Tumwater or Olympia (and now that I'm older I realize these two places are closely connected), we were out in the forest--probably not to far from the city--and there was a tree trunk, hiding behind it was a porcupine my Dad was pointing to.

I remember the holy tree in our yard. The hollow inside that was used by my sister and her friend as a secret fort, I wasn't allowed in.

I remember playing red light green light, as my friends and I raced to get to the Red Subaru my parents had parked in the driveway (interesting note: that car took my family on over 10 years of family trips, and transported two rabbits from Logan to Vernal Utah).

I remember a trip to the Seattle Zoo with my Dad. Hanging out in a tree, brown bag lunch with the class, and falling asleep in my Dad's lap on the bus ride home.

There are more memories, all very early, all streaming back to me in vivid color this September. Maybe my mind is trying to let me know I have always been in transition. That no matter the time or my age, I was always progressing, seeing things a new, and moving forward to experience all the things people have to share with me. And now I want to share with people too. (Though I doubt I would have been willing to share that lollipop. And who thought the red socks matched the purple dress?)

Dusk to Twilight

The conductor steps upon the podium, raises the baton, and taps upon the music stand to get the orchestra's attention. Only the conductor finds as each musician turns, they have the conductors face. More than this each player is the conductor, and the violins, violas, cellos, and basses have all been playing out of tune, off timing, and with no lead.

I bring this image up because it was what came to mind when I began to get my sanity back.

For those of you who know me, you know I haven't quite been myself. I however only recognized my personality had changed last month. I placed my mood on a few events, but the reality was that depression had been creeping in on me for a few months without my knowledge.

My depression hit a high low a few weeks ago, when I found myself on my evening walk, crying in uncontrollable sobs for reasons I couldn't fathom.  I forced myself to a bench and sat, reflecting. I realized I had been wearing many faces, all the same, and yet each playing to different tunes. They were out of sync. And my focus was waning. So of course--me being me--I decided to document it.

When I arrived home and went to bed, I realized I wasn't conducting my life. I was instead allowing the orchestra to play without my lead. It was time to take my baton and get all the musicians attention and lead myself on the song that is my life.

Somehow, this idea awoke the changes I have made, which have thankfully allowed the light to turn back on, focus has been regained, and you will find me dancing, instead of crying, upon my evening walks. But of course--me being me--I keep documenting myself and that bench mark. It reminds me that no matter how heavy the depression, I am the conductor.




Currently walking to the songs:

How it Ends-- DeVotchka

553 W Elm Street, Logan Illinois Snow-- Max Richter

Living Room-- Tegan&Sara

Dog Days Are Over-- Florence & The Machine