We were up on the balcony at the Schnitz in Portland the other evening. A woman sitting behind us dropped her cane and it hit my husband right on the top of his head.
“Oh! I am sorry!”
“It’s okay.”
“No, really, I am so sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“But are you sure you’re okay? I can’t believe I did that!” She could not stop apologizing.
My husband turned full around. “Hello, I’m Gary.” He grinned.
Soon they knew one another’s history and we all chatted away.
There is some empirical evidence that talking to others, particularly the habit of reaching out to people we meet casually—the person waiting in line in front of us, the man watering his lawn, the woman having coffee at the next table—is a reliable predictor of longevity. It’s certainly no cure for what ails us, but it focuses us away from our pain in the same way the I was taught to focus away from labor pains.
Talking to other people is a challenge during depression, but if we already have the habit and refuse to let go, such casual conversation can be a distraction from our sadness.
Depression IS sadness, but on a level and for a length of time that there is no end in sight. This belief that depression is not often caused by circumstances flies in the face of all evidence. It is not a literal “epidemic” but a failure of our culture to provide meaning and purpose. We fail to eat, sleep, communicate, work, and live meaningful lives and then we wonder . . .
Undoubtedly, suicide is sometimes the result of illness. It is always the result of unbearable circumstances, it is always the result of overwhelming sadness. Like the current “epidemic” of opioid abuse, suicide is about loss.
Sometimes the loss is entirely personal and unknowable. Increasingly, the loss is widespread and a failure of our culture to sustain the human soul.
For most of human history, human interaction was primarily cooperative.
For most of human history, communication was between people, not machines.
For most of human history, people ate what they could find or grow themselves.
For most of human history, we slept more than we do today.
For most of human history, we sat quietly for regularly periods of time. We attended to the seasons, to the darkness and light, to shifts of other living things because this attention was necessary to survival.
Despite growing awareness of the dangers of depression, acknowledgement of suicide, and drug and talk therapy, suicide rates continue to grow.
I have heard depression compared to diabetes, in that we would not expect a person ill with diabetes to thrive only on good intentions. A symptom of diabetes is increased thirst. A glass of water addresses their immediate need but not the problem. The “epidemic” of depression and suicide will not be cured with anti-depressants or even with talk therapy. It will only be repaired by addressing the cause, which is the result of a failed culture, not broken brains.
Wiser people than me have insisted that suicide is not a cry for help. But maybe it is a cry for help in the way we live. Maybe it is a symptom of illness not of the person but of an increasingly unsatisfying, unsustainable, and unbearable way of life.
Maybe I can’t do a thing about any of that. But I can greet others. I can trade stories. As long as I can participate, I will.
Hello! My name is Jan, and you are . . .
IMPERFECT PATIENCE 