Oh man, I got hit with a case of the winter blues today. I wish I could tell you why, but there was nothing specific to set it off. Even a 5 mile walk by the ocean, in the sun, didn’t make much of a dent. And this is something that usually leaves me totally blissed out.
I’m gonna chalk this one up to my (self-diagnosed) Seasonal Affective Disorder. It’s the best explanation I can think of, as I am, on better days, as happy as I’ve ever been in my life. I suppose it could be estrogen flooding my brain and body, as it will at certain times each month. Makes sense, since, when I was sobbing in the car a little while ago I would not have been able to give you a rational explanation for it. That’s just reeks of an estrogen spike, don’t you think?
Or maybe it was the two tear-jerker movies I saw this week, One Day (terrible), and The Help (surprisingly not so terrible). It could have something to do with the fact that I’m reading Joan Didion’s Blue Nights – her account of losing her 39 year old daughter just two years after her husband died. Maybe the tears I cried as a result of my viewing and reading choices stirred up some sadness still stored, but forgotten, in some cobwebby crawl space in my brain.
|Ratio of broccolini to pasta not to scale|
Don’t worry, I’m ok. One of the benefits of having 38 years experience in this life is understanding that moods come and moods go. Some of this wisdom has been gained through reading a lot about using mindfulness in meditation and in daily life. Many teachings on this subject use the metaphor of clouds passing through the sky to explain what thoughts, feelings and moods are to our minds. The point is not just that thoughts and feelings pass, but that behind them, no matter how bad things are, is a mind capable of clarity and stability.
I like this metaphor. It helps me on days like this.
Another benefit of age and experience? Knowing that a bowl of locally made ravioli with Sicilian olive oil, Fleur de Sel (French sea salt) and cracked pepper has the power to soothe a blue mood. I suggest throwing in a little steamed broccolini for good measure. Buy a half bottle (aka: a split) of good wine so you don’t drink so much that you send weepy text messages to some totally undeserving guy later. (I splurged on a 2007 Keenan Merlot from Napa.)
I also suggest turning on/making a fire and then proceeding to watch the cat curl up in front of it for pointers on how to approach the rest of the night.
|Pumpkin, annoyed by the disturbance|
More Food, Less Pain,