not waiting for anything
For my kids, today is the first day of Thanksgiving break. For me, of course, it's just a weekend--not that weekends are a thing to scoff at. For kids in the western suburbs, today is a surprise early chance to play in the snow. For parents, of course, it makes transporting people to boys scouts feel dangerous and is yet another instance of me not getting boots and coats and mittens prepared in time. In my defense, this is far earlier than anyone expected us to get a foot of snow. (In truth, although it ruins the symmetry of the piece I am trying to write, I am enchanted by the snow, and I'm not the least bit upset by it. It was 60 degrees earlier this week, so the ground isn't frozen solid and this snow will all melt within a week.) This week we are going to visit my in-laws for most of what is my break, and instead of looking forward to that, I'm wanting to cut the visit short by a day or two.
And here we have the essence of why I never really graduated from cognitive therapy. I had gotten to the point where I was beginning to be able to recognize my cognitive distortions. I was beginning to be able to reframe my thoughts and was beginning to feel the positive effects of these new skills. But not only did I never master it, I never even made headway in the crucial art of hoping. At most I could tell my therapist that there was a particular vacation I was looking forward to and hoped my body would allow me to experience, but beyond that, I was unable to express any grand hopes. I just didnt' know. All of the good stuff seemed like it was already behind me. I am, lest this come across as me being still afflicted with major depression, now able to see that it will be interesting and fulfilling to see my children grow up, but that thought sends me into some sort of anxiety too, given that I don't feel like I've done much the last couple of years to help them get there.
My department has a bulletin board that we use for a "guess who it is" sort of game. This quarter, we all submitted something on our bucket lists and are trying to guess who goes with which dream. It's harder than I thought it would be. Once they all went up, I thought about probably six or seven of them, "Oh, yeah. I would like to do that too!" or "Hey, that sounds like something I would like to do." But during the process of writing my entry, I couldn't even make a bucket list. Although I wasn't making the connection with my not-entirely-successful therapy session at the time, I find it a little amusing that ultimately, I said I want to do more of what my therapist thought was a very limited and short-term goal: see more national parks. Not one in particular. Not a certain number. Just, well, I guess I'd like to be outside....
That said, I do not believe I am depressed anymore. The advantage of having felt depression is that one doesn't quickly forget how horrible it is. I feel much better. But apparently I am still not a person filled with grand hopes and dreams for the future. I want to be a better teacher. I want to see more nature. I want my children to grow up to be wonderful people. Maybe I'm not so much hopeless as dull.
Maria claims that it's easier to make your bucket list the older you are. (For the record, though, she isn't that much older than I am. She is in her 40s also.) As I was looking at the list, however, I began to wonder if it's the opposite. Perhaps I've already been ticking items off the bucket list. Someone wants to do a triathlon. Check. Someone wants to ride on an elephant. Check. Someone wants to swim with sharks and someone wants to swim with sharks. I have been scuba diving and seen sharks, and I have swum with not manatees but dolphins. Someone wants to get married and have children. Check. I've been on three continents (I wouldn't mind seeing Asia and Australia too--and more of the ones I've been on, of course.) I've run five marathons. Maybe I was right. Maybe the good stuff IS behind me.
Or maybe it's OK to wait and take life as it comes. Maybe it's OK to not be prepared for the first snowfall every year because then all of life is a surprise. It's not that I don't work towards things. It's not that I don't enjoy little things. I just don't have a lovely vision of the future.
Should I keep working on that?
And here we have the essence of why I never really graduated from cognitive therapy. I had gotten to the point where I was beginning to be able to recognize my cognitive distortions. I was beginning to be able to reframe my thoughts and was beginning to feel the positive effects of these new skills. But not only did I never master it, I never even made headway in the crucial art of hoping. At most I could tell my therapist that there was a particular vacation I was looking forward to and hoped my body would allow me to experience, but beyond that, I was unable to express any grand hopes. I just didnt' know. All of the good stuff seemed like it was already behind me. I am, lest this come across as me being still afflicted with major depression, now able to see that it will be interesting and fulfilling to see my children grow up, but that thought sends me into some sort of anxiety too, given that I don't feel like I've done much the last couple of years to help them get there.
My department has a bulletin board that we use for a "guess who it is" sort of game. This quarter, we all submitted something on our bucket lists and are trying to guess who goes with which dream. It's harder than I thought it would be. Once they all went up, I thought about probably six or seven of them, "Oh, yeah. I would like to do that too!" or "Hey, that sounds like something I would like to do." But during the process of writing my entry, I couldn't even make a bucket list. Although I wasn't making the connection with my not-entirely-successful therapy session at the time, I find it a little amusing that ultimately, I said I want to do more of what my therapist thought was a very limited and short-term goal: see more national parks. Not one in particular. Not a certain number. Just, well, I guess I'd like to be outside....
That said, I do not believe I am depressed anymore. The advantage of having felt depression is that one doesn't quickly forget how horrible it is. I feel much better. But apparently I am still not a person filled with grand hopes and dreams for the future. I want to be a better teacher. I want to see more nature. I want my children to grow up to be wonderful people. Maybe I'm not so much hopeless as dull.
Maria claims that it's easier to make your bucket list the older you are. (For the record, though, she isn't that much older than I am. She is in her 40s also.) As I was looking at the list, however, I began to wonder if it's the opposite. Perhaps I've already been ticking items off the bucket list. Someone wants to do a triathlon. Check. Someone wants to ride on an elephant. Check. Someone wants to swim with sharks and someone wants to swim with sharks. I have been scuba diving and seen sharks, and I have swum with not manatees but dolphins. Someone wants to get married and have children. Check. I've been on three continents (I wouldn't mind seeing Asia and Australia too--and more of the ones I've been on, of course.) I've run five marathons. Maybe I was right. Maybe the good stuff IS behind me.
Or maybe it's OK to wait and take life as it comes. Maybe it's OK to not be prepared for the first snowfall every year because then all of life is a surprise. It's not that I don't work towards things. It's not that I don't enjoy little things. I just don't have a lovely vision of the future.
Should I keep working on that?