Reckoning

Things have changed for me. I'm writing this post from a quieter place than I have in the past. When I started this blog, I was spilling over with things to say and explore in the realm of mental health. I'm glad I recognized and honored that need, and I'm proud of the work I've done here. But I'm in a different place now.

I'll say this, for starters: I am not in a "bad" place. I've been in "bad" places before, and I can say with certainty that this is not one of them. Things are different, though. It's hard to explain, but something imperceptible within myself, something as-yet unnamed somewhere within my psyche -- call it intuition, call it wisdom, call it my soul -- has awakened; and with that awakening, if you will, has come the knowledge, and the conviction, that I have entered a new stage of life.

I detect that it is time for me to attend more fully to living in this world, if that makes sense. I've been very focused on, and immersed in, very heady and nuanced matters for a long, long time. It feels as though I've been wandering through a forest, if you will; I've been wandering through a deep, sometimes dark, often beautiful, and mysteriously nuanced forest for the past 15 or so years, by my calculations. And quite suddenly, I'm in more of a grove, and there's a path that leads out of the grove. 

Put another way, it feels as though I've completed a necessary task. I succeeded perfectly, in that I experienced exactly what I was called upon to experience. Every misstep, every banal moment of avoidance or idle silliness, and every tragedy, torment, and triumph was completely necessary. I experienced exactly what I must have experienced in order to bring me to this present moment, which, I trust, is precisely where I need to be. And you know what? Even if I'm wrong about that last point -- if I'm horribly off course -- then there isn't anything I can do about what's happened up 'till now. If nothing else, then, I've learned what it feels like to truly accept, which, I suspect, is no small feat.

I can't help but feel some sadness at this inflection point. It is the sadness of mourning. I have lost much, and have been obliged to thoroughly reorient my life on a number of occasions. Now, let me say, very clearly, that I chose those things. My sadness is not the sadness of one who believes oneself to be a victim of circumstance: no. I chose my life's meandering path, and participated fully (or, at times, incompletely) in it. I own that; but that does not preclude me from feeling sadness, nor does that strip me of my right to feel sadness. 

I digress.

What's next? I don't know. What I do know is that it's time for the rubber to hit the road, so to speak. It's time for me to apply all the lessons I've learned, and all the skills I've gleaned, bit by bit, and step by step. My Spidey Sense tells me I'm in a good place: I feel a day-to-day consonance that I have only fleetingly felt before. 

The other day, I recorded some of my thoughts for my personal benefit, as I am wont to do. I spontaneously spat out a metaphor that rung true to me at the time, and that reoccurs to me now: if one's inner world is a symphony, it is incumbent upon one to assemble the external pieces of the orchestra that will play in the same key as one's symphony. That is to say that I must choose, where I may choose, circumstances that reflect, and are in harmony with, my inner life. The circumstances I assemble will, in turn, influence and modulate the symphony of my heart, mind, and soul. In this manner, then, do I dance with life.

That all being said, this point of inflection transcends any circumstantial flotsam and jetsam (not to make light of circumstances). Far, far below the surface, and far, far below the depths, and far, far above the stars, is a quiet, conscious sanctuary, the scope and might and simple beauty of which I have only begun to grasp. What I have perceived, however, is that the nature of this place, in part, is in its constancy: it is ever-present. It abides all. It transcends any circumstance. It is my touchstone. It is my wisdom, my self-knowledge, my clarity. It is my sanctuary. 

And so, as I journey forth into the world as never before -- more fully cloaked, and more fully vulnerable -- do I simultaneously deepen my roots within myself.

Response to Facebook's Question

Facebook asks me, "What have you been up to?" which I find to be most apt at this time. Well, Facebook, I've been working in a new job, and I've been going about the business of opening a new chapter of my life. It's an as-yet undefined chapter, but that's okay. I do know that there's been a shift in my consciousness, and that I detect within me a strong, even concrete, sense that my task now is to integrate all I have pondered, learned, and preached into my daily life. In other words, I am now to go about the business of living. I am frightened and uncertain, but I am open and willing and ready.

Reading My Journal

Over the past few days, I've read through some of the older entries in my personal journal. It's been interesting for me, because while I certainly have memories from that period of time, my journal entries afford me a clearer peek into the machinations of my inner life. After all, throughout our lives, each of us negotiates external and internal experiences; and the details and nuances of our inner lives, given their rich and mostly private natures, are all too often obscured in our memories by the wheres, whens, and whos.

Some of the things I read were shocking to me, given the developments of my life in the time that's passed since I wrote them. In several instances, for example, I could clearly "see" the origins of certain events and avenues of personal growth which have since manifested. In some cases, it was uncomfortable to revisit old concerns and troubles -- not to merely recall, but to reoccupy them, if only for a moment. And it was truly ponderous, having stepped back into my past, to lift my eyes from the pages and return to the present -- to traverse, in the blink of an eye, personal realities separated by years. 

I found myself wishing I could somehow reach out to my younger self. I wanted to tell him that it's okay to be confused and upset about certain things, and to not have the answers to certain questions. I wanted to tell him that "this, too, shall pass." I wanted to tell him that I know now that every experience in life, painful or sublime, is part of life's Story, and that we can and do integrate every experience into the fabric of that Story -- and that it is beautiful and good and wondrous. 

None of that is to say my life is now perfect, by the way. I still have problems and confusions and frustrations and foibles, and all the rest of the "negative" stuff that comes with the territory of being alive. But what I know now, in a much richer, more integrated way, is that my life has been, and continues to be, a gift. That's the undercurrent now. And what a gift to recognize that, and to have come to a place where I can affirm that. What a gift to be here now, writing these words.

I think we all need to be reminded of these things sometimes. That life unfolds ever onward, with or without our approval. That we will always have problems, perhaps, but that the nature of our problems is temporary. That, despite the fact we don't always perceive it, we can, and do, change (as do the shapes of our lives). That our cynicism, which would have us believe certain things about our nature, and the way life will unfold, is very possibly wrong. That each of our lives is comprised of a series of intertwining stories, which are inextricably linked to other people's stories -- and that none of us knows for certain whether any given event is at the beginning, middle, or end (or all three).

Thank you for reading today.

Releasing the Grip of Anxiety: Acceptance & Compassion

I want to write about anxiety. First of all, everyone feels anxious periodically. It's part of caring about things, and it's part of being human. Like other emotional experiences, anxiety provides us with important feedback in a given situation. It's adaptive, it's necessary to our well-being, it's valuable, and it's good. There's nothing wrong with anxiety in and of itself.

Some of us, though, experience anxiety to a disruptive, invasive, and even debilitating extent. And of course, this can be an occasional experience, or a persistent one, or one that waxes and wanes, or one that eventually disappears altogether, etc. There's a lot of variation with it.

Anyway, how do we differentiate between normal/healthy anxiety and problematic anxiety? My view, in general terms, is that anxiety (or any experience, really) is an issue when it persistently, invasively interferes with one's ability to function in a personally satisfying way.

(Incidentally, my view is pretty common among mental health professionals, and it more or less jives with how the various mental health "disorders" are defined by the DSM-IV-TR, which is the clinical reference guide used by mental health professionals in the USA [and some other parts of the world].)

There are many so-called Anxiety Disorders in the DSM, and for brevity's sake, I will not discuss them all here. And besides, that's enough about the problem of anxiety -- let's move into a discussion of ideas and solutions.

I think anxiety's roots are in avoidance. That is NOT to say I think it is a person's "fault" for having a problem with anxiety -- not at all!! Here's the thing: I think we all want to feel good. So when something really bad happens to a person, they do the best they can to move on with their life. And sometimes that entails developing new sets of beliefs about themselves, and about life in general; and sometimes it also entails compartmentalizing or otherwise pushing aside one's thoughts and feelings.

That all makes sense, especially in view of our intuitive desire to feel good. "Avoidance," then, in this case, is about avoiding that which causes suffering. The problem, though, is that it doesn't really work -- at least, not when it comes to the often messy reality of our inner lives. That's what I meant when I posted this image a few weeks ago:

What disruptive anxiety "says" to me, then, is that the sufferer probably has some inner "stuff" they need to approach and consider in order to truly move on. In other words, one's past must be accepted and released before one can truly occupy the present in happiness and health.

I'll be straight-up with you: The process of approaching one's "stuff" is usually pretty scary and uncomfortable; and that can seem a little counter-intuitive, of course, seeing as how the ultimate goal is achieving a greater measure of peace. 

The thing is, that's okay. Sometimes, that which seems paradoxical conceals a deeper truth. 

Take it slow. Whether you choose to undertake the process on your own, or with another person's assistance (i.e., a counselor), make sure you're in a safe, secure place in which you feel as free as possible to express anything that comes up. Also, set an expectation for yourself that it won't necessarily be a linear, quick-fix process -- and setting that expectation is important, by the way, because it invokes the keys to release: Acceptance and Compassion.

I'm going to go out on a limb and say that self-directed Acceptance and Compassion are ALWAYS harbingers of positive things to come in terms of peace, happiness, well-being, clarity, balance, and achievement. 

Here's the beautiful thing: we don't necessarily have to like something in order to accept it; and we don't necessarily have to agree with someone's actions in order to show them compassion. 

In other words, it's okay to say, "Wow, that thing that happened was really unpleasant. It was really painful. I really wish it hadn't happened." You can retain that basic attitude and still, at the end of the day, augment it with acceptance: "But it did happen. It happened. I survived it, and I'm sitting here right now."

We all have aspects of ourselves which we don't like. We've all done things we regret. We've all done things which, even today, make us feel sad and guilty to ponder. We've all done things in violation of our senses of right and wrong. And we've all had bad things done to us.

While that stuff isn't great, it doesn't mean we deserve to forever languish under the burden of displaced torment.

I firmly believe that we are all worthy of happiness and peace -- which means that we are worthy of acceptance, worthy of compassion, and worthy of forgiveness. 

After all, none of us is perfect. Let me repeat that (in all caps): NONE OF US IS PERFECT. (You might not like it, but you have to accept it.) What that means, in part, is that we periodically make big mistakes. Sometimes we screw up and hurt other people; sometimes other people screw up and hurt us.

The only thing to do is practice acceptance and compassion.

And it starts with us. It starts with each of us giving those things to ourselves, first and foremost. It starts with each of us being the kindest, most loving friend to ourselves that we can imagine. 

You, Dear Reader, are worth it. I know it in my bones. 

Thank you for reading this post. I hope you have an awesome day. 

Leaving Hell

I've made several prolonged trips to Hell. Each visit was quite terrible in its own way, and I realize, as a result, just what a vast, dynamic place Hell really is. My tour bus took me from solitary wastelands to crowded peaks, and everywhere in between. (I hope you realize I'm not speaking literally.)

Hell is the capital-w Worst, it really is. It seems to have an ability to customize itself to fit precisely the vulnerabilities of each of its visitors. It is such a torturous, despairing place, and there are some -- many -- who don't make it out alive.

I made it out alive, obviously. And I've been determined, in recent years, to make efforts which might help others who are going through their own versions of Hell, whatever that looks like. Hence, this blog, for example.

If you've been following along here in recent times, you'll have noticed I've created a number of what I call "snapshots" -- images, with several lines of pointed or inspirational text superimposed thereon. Snapshots like the ones I've been creating are nothing new, of course, and anyone who spends any time whatsoever online -- whether on Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, Reddit, etc. -- is familiar with the medium. I had mixed feelings about creating them at first, because I'm a bit of a traditionalist in that I think there is real value in taking the time to sit down, read a document in its entirety, and derive meaning.

I realized two things, however, that changed my mind and helped me take the plunge into single-shot media. First, I realized it is quite natural for people to want a distilled, simple, readily accessed message -- especially on the Internet. Time is of the essence today more than ever, it seems; and content-browsing online, furthermore, usually lends itself to short bursts of attention. I know that's true for me, most of the time. Second, I remembered that it was a series of very choice quotes, and extractions from larger bodies of text, which helped rescue me from the depths of my own version of Hell.

Since we're all different, not every story, quote, image, axiom, etc. is going to resonate equally among us. And something which resonates powerfully with a person one day may not have the same impact a day or two later.

That's beside the point.

The point is in the willingness to seek and consider new ways of life -- from a new way of looking at the world all the way on up to major lifestyle changes. I'll repeat: it's in the willingness to seek and consider new ways of life -- of being.

Those who seek will find. That I can promise you. It may not be what was originally sought after (or it may); but the journey will provide. The journey will provide the tools and lessons that a person needs in order to get where they want and need to go in life. It's what all the great stories are about, and it's what all the great religions are about. Life is our teacher; we must only be willing to listen.

I'll start to wrap up this post with a few quotes which have been especially helpful to me (one of which is my own):

"It is never too late to be what you might have been." -- George Eliot
"You are never too old to set another goal or dream another dream." -- C. S. Lewis
"Life beats down and crushes the soul, and art reminds you that you have one." -- Stella Adler
"Go confidently in the direction of your dreams!" -- Henry David Thoreau
"The cure for grief is motion." -- Elbert Hubbard
"If you want to conquer fear, don't sit home and think about it. Go out and get busy." -- Dale Carnegie

And a metaphor I developed which has proven useful on a few occasions:

"If you leave your car in the garage, it won't ever get dented or wrecked; you'll be protecting it, and you'll be protecting yourself from those headaches. That is true. But you also won't ever get anywhere. Take a chance: give primacy to your desire to get where you want to go, and take the car out of the garage." -- Yours Truly

These are but a few of the many which have helped me over the years. I encourage you to seek, collect, and create your own. Develop some metaphors -- they're amazing teachers. Maybe create a file for them on your computer (that's what I did), or a folder to keep in your desk, for quick reference.

There is an ocean of wisdom available to us, and it can be accessed just about anywhere. Anything we see, do, and experience can teach us, if only we let it -- even Hell.

"Always Stay in Your Own Movie"

"Always stay in your own movie," a statement uttered by the late Ken Kesey, is one of my favorites. Like all good nuggets of wisdom, it's a gift that keeps on giving: it's continuously instructive; it can be applied to any number of situations; and it speaks to many aspects of our personhood.

What does it mean to you?

To me, it means a lot. It reminds me that I, and I alone, am responsible for my actions. It's empowering: it reminds me that I choose my actions, whether I'm aware of it or not. It's scary: it reminds me that I am the captain of my own ship, so to speak, and am ultimately the only person in charge of my life's direction. If I'm not satisfied with something, the onus is on me, and no one else, to change it.

Most of all, perhaps, it reminds me to be mindful of the degree to which I am ensnared by other people's actions and opinions.

I recently posted a Carl Jung quote on Facebook that said, "Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to a deeper understanding of ourselves." I've worked and spoken with quite a few people whose chief complaints include "other people" being annoying, ungrateful, shallow, self-centered, etc. You probably see it, too. There are memes all over the Internet, humorous enough, which echo the sentiment, "Other People Are The Worst."

LOL.

I agree that other people can be very annoying (haha), for a million different reasons. But I think such annoyances are also, as Mr. Jung implied, an important opportunity to turn one's focus back on oneself, and get curious about the annoyance. (This isn't always necessary, of course, because annoyance is usually just a fleeting experience. But if it's persistent, or if it compounds into frustration and anger and preoccupation, well, that's a lot of energy to be giving to something.) Get specific with yourself: "What is it exactly that is frustrating about this, as opposed to something I can just ignore or leave alone? Why is it exactly that I'm having a hard time just letting it be?"

I've posed these (and similar) questions to my clients, my acquaintances, and myself, and the responses have invariably opened up new and interesting avenues of discussion. A common theme among the responses, however, has been a heightened sense of Justice, i.e., what is Fair and Unfair.

"It isn't fair..."
"I can't believe..."
"Why would she say that..."
"How could he do that..."
"What was I supposed to do..?"
"People always take advantage of me..."
"People are so ungrateful..."

Et cetera.

Okay, folks, it's "tough love" time. I may lose some readers over this, but that's okay. I'm going to say this, because it's not anything I haven't had said to me -- and because it's true:

Most of the time, no one can do anything to you, or make you feel anything, without your permission. Most of the time, you are a willing participant in the experiences of your life. 

For some people, those words will feel empowering. For others, those words will feel like an attack.

Listen, I am not discounting the fact that horrible things can and do happen to us. They do. What I AM saying, though, is that many of us become all-too-easily attached to the Victim Mentality. The Victim Mentality represents a kind of fatalism, because at its core are the assumptions, "my life is hard; people always treat me badly; bad things always happen to me; I never got the opportunity to do what I wanted to do; there is no way I can now live my life the way I want to..." Again, 'et cetera.'

The Victim Mentality is a thief. It steals your ability to perceive your own power.

Victim Mentality statements are nothing more than a systematic giving away of power. I'm here to assert there is always a choice. If something is lousy in your life, you can change it. I don't know how, because I don't know you, and I don't know your life. But what I DO know is this:

You have the power to walk away from anything that hurts you, diminishes you, or otherwise makes you unhappy. You have the power to make manifest what you want. 

All it takes is a willingness to accept the responsibility implicit in these statements, and the determination to take back the reigns of your life from the Victim Mentality.

A thought

Change

I took a trip home to upstate New York this past week to visit with family and friends. It was great to see everyone, truly. But it was an unfamiliar experience for me, too, because I've never lived as far from home as I do now, and I haven't ever gone as long as I did, furthermore, without coming home for a visit. In that regard, it was an unexpectedly strange experience: things were familiar, but I wasn't. And it wasn't a major shift I perceived within myself, either; it was subtle, as if a sea captain had changed the ship's course a mere degree or two.

Awareness of the role I've played in relation to my family and friends kept occurring to me during my visit, which led me, in turn, to consider more generally the nature of self in relation to the external world, and the roles we assume in all our social interactions. (Not coincidentally, a book entitled, The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life by Erving Goffman is coming up on my reading list.) I also found that I was revisiting what I learned in graduate school about Murray Bowen's Family Systems Theory (click here to learn about it from his organization -- it's very interesting stuff).

I digress.

What I found during my visit was that I was able to sort of measure my personal change based on the subtle dissonances I perceived in my cognition and emotional processing while in (temporary) relation to my surroundings back home. Actually, I don't think I measured it as much as I simply perceived it. Old habits of mind, imperceptibly shed since moving to Colorado, felt unfamiliar. I was caught off guard by them, too, because I hadn't even realized I was shedding them.

It dawns on me now that this post is about change, plain and simple. I'm changing, and my trip home helped illustrate the fact.

You know what? That's a validating thought, and I think it's pretty damn cool. Change can be difficult to contend with, you know? It requires, by definition, that something be altered, and most of us tend to like our familiarity. Moreover, it seems to me that this little realization of mine is in keeping with the nature of life, which is, after all, a continual process of things changing. To build walls against change is natural, I suppose, but change must be yielded to, sooner or later. Huh.

I'm grateful to be getting out my own way, and letting myself be moved, consciously, by life.

Clearing the Air

I really enjoy working on this blog. I love writing and networking, and I'm even learning a little about managing a website. It's exciting to be creating something I find really interesting, and it's been incredibly gratifying to get readers' support and feedback. So, thanks.

I don't know exactly what this blog is evolving into, but I do know I owe it to myself, and to anyone who reads its content, for it to be as "top-notch" as possible. I need to always have an eye on progress. And if you're going to be reading my work, I think you ought to know as much as possible about my motives, and about my "chops," so to speak; therefore, there's something I want to share with you that might give you a better sense of why I'm doing this, and where, moreover, I'm coming from.

Here goes:

I've been interested in human psychology for a very long time, which is not in and of itself an especially notable thing. No, what's notable (to me, anyway) about my interest in psychology is that it's been driven in large part by a desire to, well, help myself. You see, I've gone through some really hard times from a mental health perspective. I'm sure I'll divulge more about that in future posts, but suffice to say I've experienced my own little slices of hell -- some of which were situational, some of which were part of normal stages of human development, and others which were, well, difficult to tidily explain.

The hell-slices which were difficult to explain were life-changing, and a lot of destruction arose from them; but, in retrospect, the destruction in each case was utterly necessary to my journey, or to my personal creation story, if you will. Each episode of destruction carried within it the seeds of growth and renewal, and so I'm grateful for them. (Incidentally, I tongue-in-cheek dub an aspect of myself "my inner Shiva the Destroyer" for these very reasons.)

It doesn't mean these episodes of destruction weren't truly hellish. Some of them left me so wretched, disconnected, and confused that I nearly lost my life.

I want you, my readers, to know these things about me, because I think they're relevant to this blog. I also am finding a certain catharsis in discussing them so publicly. You see, my desire to stand up on a soapbox and spread the word about mental health springs out of my own, very personal experiences. I know what it's like to feel abject misery. I know what it's like to feel like I'm utterly out of control. I know what it's like to feel as if I'm going crazy. Shit, I have gone crazy, in my own little way. And you want to know what really sucks about it, and what ignites my passion to do this? Much of it could have been offset if my loved ones and I had known more about mental health -- and I'm not unique in that regard: much of the mental health-related suffering that others experience today could be mitigated with a little less ignorance, and a little dose of education.

You know what else? I'm really fortunate: I made it through. That brings me to my last points for now -- and don't mess with me on this, because I know what I'm talking about:

1) There is always hope: even if you feel hopeless, even if you can't entertain the thought of it, and even if you can't see it. Always. 2) There is always something we can learn from our experiences, however horrible they may be. Stay curious about your life; and if you aren't curious, get curious. 3) If you're going through hell, always find a way to let the hurt out which you feel in your heart and mind, whether it's via talking to a friend, writing in a journal, singing in a band, taking a walk, playing with a puppy, or meditating alone in a room. Better out than in: release it.

We must free ourselves from the shackles of ignorance and shame about mental health. We all think; we all feel. We all experience this life, so let's be curious about it, then. Let's acknowledge that pain and unbalance exist within us all! Let's give each other the space to reach out in times of need, understanding that we are all, periodically, in need; and, similarly, let's extend our hand to help another up in our own unique way. That's what I'm trying to do here.

Thanks for reading. 

A bit about me.

When I look back on my life, and I look now at my motivations for writing this blog, I don't really arrive at a particular conclusion, although identifying one would be convenient for the sake of story-telling. No, this life is on-going, and although what's happened in my past will forever stay in my past, I suspect my relationship to those happenings will continue to change. (As it should be, I think.)

I've always felt, way deep down, that I have something to say, something to contribute, something to give. These sensibilities have driven me throughout my life, from the private machinations of my heart and mind all the way up through the decisions I've made along the way. Objectively, I think I've done a moderately good job of recognizing and honoring those intuitions to date. Subjectively, however, I am extremely dissatisfied with myself. And that, Dear Reader, is both my blessing and my bane.

On the one hand, my inner restlessness, when channelled into a pursuit or activity or interaction I love, runs like a locomotive at full bore: screaming down the tracks, and pulling the load with might, precision, efficiency, and exuberance. On the other hand, though...on the other hand. Sometimes I can't enjoy things when I know I should be enjoying them. I treat my desires and passions like belligerent schoolchildren in need of harsh discipline. I become confused, mired in self-doubt and despair. The locomotive, once vital, is relegated to the shadows, where it leads my thoughts into circular punishment on some lonesome, wind-whipped moonscape.

And all I have, inevitably, is my faculty of something to say, something to contribute, something to give. My life was kind of a breeze until I turned 17 or so, when the Shadow Train Ferris Wheel started cranking into motion. At the time, it was tame enough, and I was busy enough with being a senior in high school, that I could get away without paying it too much mind. But as I made my way through ages 18 and 19, it became impossible to ignore. I had become a different person. Things I never had to think about were suddenly, yeah, impossible. My mind, heart, and moods had become Mr. Hyde, and the Nathan Gismot of old had become a shell -- a shell who, Thank God, held on just tight enough to fight the fuck back, and to not give in.

I survived. But it cost me. It cost me in lost time in school -- it took me an extra year and a half to graduate. It cost me thousands of dollars extra in student loan debt. It cost me precious, age-appropriate life span development. It cost me a lot of clarity and confidence.

I'm reasonably sure that, in some ways, I'll bear the scars, and be healing from these (and other) wounds for the rest of my life. Maybe not -- I'm no fatalist. I say that, though, because I do know that the Shadow Train Ferris Wheel experience -- and the number of similar, if less severe, manifestations of it since that time -- utterly changed the course of my life. It's been tempting at times to indulge in that Siren Song, "What If?" You know, "what if this hadn't happened?" I know things would be a lot different, and while I have a few ideas of what things would look like, it's impossible to say for sure. Maybe there's a Nate in some parallel universe somewhere who can tell you about it.

Anyway, I think I've done pretty damn well, all things considered. I've hit some personally important milestones, including earning a Master's degree last May. My survival through several stops in hell -- largely unexpressed to others at the times I experienced them, for better and worse -- have revealed a mettle and toughness and courageousness and tenacity and resourcefulness and intelligence that I NEVER thought I had in me when I was young. Indeed, I have to remind myself, or be reminded, of those qualities sometimes, almost as if I still can't quite believe it. Sometimes I kind of picture all that stuff now as being like a blacksmith's fire, and that I was the sword or the wheel or the yoke which the blacksmith's hammer had to forge into form. Think for a second about what a blacksmith has to do to take a piece of iron and turn it into something almost completely new. It was painful and terrible, because I was being beaten; it was painful and terrible, because I was being utterly transformed. But, like the iron that becomes a wagon wheel, I am still elementally ME.

And here I am. I still find myself hesitating when I wish I wouldn't, or censoring myself when I want to speak up, or holding myself back out of fear. Bit by bit, though, I'm chipping away at the dam. Bit by bit, I'm scaling the wall. And in moments like this, when I'm high enough up, taking a breather and surveying the landscape, I can appreciate the wall, because it's forcing me to become a truer version of myself. I can appreciate it for making me fight, and becoming leaner, wiser, more efficient, more learned. Better-able to pick myself up when I trip. Better-able to drive that locomotive, and enjoy the ride that is this lifetime.

Touchstone: "A Christmas Carol"

"There are many things from which I might have derived good by which I have not profited, I dare say," returned the nephew, "Christmas among the rest. But I am sure I have always thought of Christmas-time, when it has come round-apart from... the veneration due to its sacred name and origin, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that-as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time; the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. And therefore, uncle, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good, and will do me good; and I say, God bless it!"'

--Charles Dickens, "A Christmas Carol"

Whether it's Christmas, Chanukah, Kwanzaa, or another holiday you celebrate at this time of year, I hope it reminds you of the peace, love, and sense of brotherhood which dwells within us all, and unites us as a human family. For me, tonight, I am reminded that we are all connected by an unseen tapestry of love and beauty. I am honored to be part of this human family, and I am grateful to have the facility to say so. May you all have a blessed evening, and may you all enjoy this beautiful life with spirits renewed.