I remember many times losing interest in something I once enjoyed. Playing with plastic figures, toy cars, and building blocks. Collecting and trading baseball cards. Roller-blading, bicycling, and wiffle ball. Inventing fantasy worlds and characters. Playing board games, video games, and RPGs. Creating my own games and programming.
None of these activities figured into any sense of life purpose; they were distractions. And my life has been a long succession of them, all compelling until the day they weren’t and I filled my time with some new distraction. But what happens when distractions no longer keep our attention? Or when we are forced to continue activities we’ve outgrown? What if life itself is the game, what’s next?
We learn that depression is a disorder; something to be treated by professionals who understand the condition better than we do. But what if depression is a signal we can not only hear and feel, but act on? What if that signal is telling us that we’re ready to move on; that we’ve outgrown what we’re doing and we’re ready for the next level.
In my life, depression has always arrived as a loss of interest. I usually ignore it and force it below the surface until it re-emerges as long days unable to get out of bed. I’ve lost track of how many times this cycle has repeated itself in my life, but two times in particular stand out. And both, upon review, were opportunities to move to the next level that I took.
As a young 20-year old university student, I was both unrealistically optimistic (a devout dabaist), and thoroughly apprehensive about the university-career-family path. My friends had their heads deep in their books, practicing for careers they either dreamed of or were resigned to, but I couldn’t connect my studies to the life I wanted. I was on the wrong level, and the depression was crushing.
Then one day when I was driving, listening to music, I started crying spontaneously. I had only ever cried when I was physically hurt, and even then reluctantly. I could have ignored it, but I started asking questions, setting off a line of self-examination and leading to a glimpse of something that shook me to my core and changed my life forever. I saw the next level: a chance to live a life of purpose. Not a career at a desk or in a suit, but real purpose. Everything I was doing in my life at the time seemed like child’s play compared to what I saw. It was like my first crush; pizza and video games with my buddies just didn’t matter anymore.
I lived the next level for the first half of my 20s, and it completely twisted and destroyed the life I had been living. One day I was attending university, building software, and going out to bars with friends, and the next I was on the road with a backpack, then living in a remote Himalayan cottage contemplating life. It was the easiest thing I ever did because it was instinctual, but it was also incredibly painful for me and those closest to me.
By moving to India, I gave up everything: friends, family, school, job, possessions, and my American dreams. Quickly — within months. I knew nothing about India and had never traveled outside of North America. But nothing had ever moved me like the prospect of a life lived with purpose, and I gave up everything to embrace that. I basked in this renewed purpose for several years, but somewhere along the way I had to drop back down a level to survive. That re-entry was also painful, but not in the good way, as it precipitated the next great depression in my life.
I moved forward and spent the next decade building a software company. The excitement kept me distracted for awhile, but a resurgence was simmering just under the surface. Within a few years I was withdrawing from my duties and neglecting the company, all the familiar signs. I kept it going, turning it into a 7-figure company, but it didn’t matter. My neglect eventually led to a wholly-avoidable collapse and after a prolonged, painful, and very expensive battle to preserve it, I finally called it quits.
My confidence shattered, I traveled around the world for the next two years looking for the next step, wishing for a swift end to the whole thing. But then I started listening to my pain again, and it led me back to the search for answers and the promise of purpose. Only this time, nearly 40, I brought much more wisdom and experience to the table. The answers came faster, without the fears of a younger man. I embraced them.
We can decide what our depression is to us. It can be a chemical imbalance requiring intervention by a medical professional, or it can be a message we’re ignoring. One decision empowers us, and the other renders us helpless and dependent. To me, depression is a sign that I’m lost, stuck on a level I’m ready to pass. When I embrace that and listen, I can see a better, more meaningful future. I’ve given up hoping that my life will ever be free of depression, but at least I can see how it fits in and can keep me moving forward.
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