I've had one of my worst bouts of existential myopia over the past two months or so, perhaps it's letting up now. Somehow it took quite a while for all the great gifts I've lately received, from the people I love, to add up; attentions, sincere compliments, professional regard, affection. It's easy to become obsessed with what one doesn't have -- with the state of not-having. Easy to stare hypnotized into that deep black pit of longing, even though somewhere on the edge of consciousness you know that your not-having may be temporary, may not be your fault, may be what's best for you even. Wednesday morning (very early) I seemed finally to lighten up -- felt some hope, renewed energy, enough love in me to want to spread it around. No particular cause for this "new leaf turning" however -- I stayed up until midnight Tuesday running some preliminary numbers on our stewardship campaign at church, and wasn't surprised by the results -- as I predicted, less than we'd like but enough to keep us hopeful. And emailing those numbers to the office somehow felt better than it should have on its own.
I wound up emailing and texting a few people at one, two o'clock in the morning, to wish them an early holiday blessing and to thank them for their presence and friendship. Tried to cheer my coworkers, who have many similar issues to contend with right now; felt a need to embrace those I might have neglected in the midst of depression. And Wednesday was a good day, from beginning to end. For no real reason. Just was.
I was asked why, and why again, by a certain friend. After all, my buzz was pretty pronounced. I tried to explain, but had not much of substance to offer. "Clouds of cardinals," I said. "Flocks of hope." Blessings.