sad.
a song to set the scene // way i go by gordi
The moment lasted all but three seconds.
I was passing by a car, and I noticed that it was a Fiat.
A fellow Fiat, mind you.
Now there’s not many of those driving around Alaska.
Even less so in the smack dab middle of January.
But there she was, and during the briefest of encounters, me and the other driver of the Fiat smiled at each other through the window, a little Italian salute.
An understanding, an I see you.
She drove her way, and I drove mine.
But I held close to that experience, long after we went our separate ways.
Because in the smack dab middle of January, I was finally feeling something other than sad.
Not “sad” as in “feeling or showing sorrow”, but SAD as in Seasonal Affective Disorder.
Present in about 10% of Alaskans, which boast some of the highest rates in the world, Seasonal Affective Disorder occurs when “winter’s darkness takes hold, creating high levels of depression, anxiety, lethargy, and hopelessness.”
For me, it best feels like blah.
With these famous Alaskan winters taking up about half of the year, it can be somewhat of a difficult disorder to combat.
On account of the cold. The darkness. The length.
Having lived here for nearly 25 years, I’ve only just started to notice how brutal these side effects can be.
And maybe I’ve always felt them: the depression, the worry, the lack of motivation and spirit to do anything that would make me feel something.
Maybe this is the first time I’ve been able to put a face to a name and not just blame myself for feeling this way.
Like it’s my fault we don’t get enough sunlight.
Spending most of my winters cooped up with Netflix, or sleeping the day away, it’s as if nothing motivates me.
Everything feels like a chore.
Like, nothing is inherently wrong, but at the same time, nothing fills me with joy.
Except, I guess, passing a Fiat on the road.
Don’t get me wrong: I’ve tried all the prescribed solutions.
A daily dose of Vitamin D, happy lights, exercising, indulging in guilty pleasures like shopping, bubble baths, planning trips to faraway places, and even writing down the things that make me happy; but at the end of the day I still end up feeling stuck.
Just blah.
But maybe it’s not things I should try, or buy, or indulge in to make me feel some spark of life.
Maybe it’s as simple as noticing a sensation, a moment, a feeling, an encounter with a Fiat.
I was telling my counselor about feeling s.a.d. and he asked me this:
“Compared to what Elan?"
Oh.
I guess.
Well.
I guess I feel lethargic and lazy, uninspired and indifferent compared to all the things I want to feel: like joy, energy, and motivation.
“But Elan, we can’t always feel those things.”
If we felt joy, energy, and motivation all the time, they would no longer feel special and good. Because in order to experience the entirey of those sensations, we have to know what it feels like in contrast.
And yeah, sometimes that’s lethargy, laziness, feeling uninspired and indifferent.
The circle of life exists as opposites.
Life and death.
Joy and sorrow.
Highs and lows.
Alaska is not for the faint of heart, especially in the winters. She’s harsh, and cruel, and dark. But Alaska shines in the summer. She blesses us with nearly 20 hours of sunlight a day, and the lushest of rivers and mountains. She is the perfect representation of what it means to be alive.
To be alive is to feel it all.
Life, death, joy, sorrow, highs, and lows all exist in perfect harmony, and if I succumb to the perfectly natural side effects of SAD that’s okay.
Because that’s normal.
Sometimes it’s hard for me, to accept that.
I’ll be the first to admit that even as I write this, I struggle with feeling SAD.
But I write with the knowledge that there are brighter days ahead (literally and figuratively).
And if I have to drive around town looking for that Fiat to remind me of that, so be it.
I mean, how hard could it be in the smack dab middle of January?
