Don’t Fear the Spark Within You

INFJs are no stranger to broken hearts. A personality with a strongly held sense of idealism and a thirst for justice and equality living in this world is a personality that will always be a little bit heartbroken.

Underlying our quiet exterior, empathy and agreeable nature is a dangerous passion. Passion is what drives our pursuit of a more perfect world. It gives us something to live for. It keeps us up at night. It is a calling toward self-sacrifice and, if we’re not careful, significant self-neglect. Continue reading

Avoid Regret By Rewriting Your Self-Talk

Ask any good lawyer or photographer what’s most important to their work and the one thing they’ll agree on? Framing.

What we choose to focus on, where we point the audience’s attention is crucial.

No One Asks What Was Left Out of the Picture

You see, there’s always a whole lot more to the story than the one flower that’s in focus or that particular cobblestone walkway. There’s more to any individual than a couple of youthful indiscretions a litigator may play up for the jury.

When a story is told, the audience follows the direction of the lens.  Continue reading

When You Come to a Fork In the Road, Take It

Three months ago I decided to leave my firm job three months from now. The clock is ticking with no new job in sight. I’m afraid. I’m stressed. I’m worried that nothing will work out.

I don’t regret trying firm life. It wasn’t a good match. So be it.

I do, however, regret giving in to my paralyzing fears about quitting. I regret staying much longer than I should have. It took a long time to make peace with not being able to make it work. But it hasn’t been working. It’s never worked.

I’m ready to move on.

But what the hell I am supposed to do with myself now? Continue reading

What’s My Motivation?!

Anhedonia. Defined as the inability to feel pleasure. Personally, a more precise definition is the inability to stop thinking that everything I do is boring and stupid. It’s a pervasive lack of motivation, knowing that even accomplishing a goal won’t be rewarding or fulfilling in the slightest.

I took up knitting, baking, coloring and jewelry-making a few months ago. I got halfway through a scarf, made some lovely drop earrings, completed a couple of pictures and made (and ate) more cookies than is healthy. I was so proud of myself. When I attempt to pick up my needles now I am repulsed by how bored I am almost immediately. I hate them and don’t want to do it. I immediately want to throw the needles down because I’m so angry at them for not making me happy anymore.

Losing motivation is devastating. You don’t know what is wrong with you. Why nothing seems worth doing. Nothing is fulfilling and you hate others for asking you to do stupid, pointless things and not understanding how stupid and pointless those things are. When I get like this I become terrified of what will become of me. I was always a good student, curious and hardworking, unbelievably responsible, a teen with myriad passions and dreams and when I was “on” I was one of the most organized, neat, planned, forward-thinking people I knew. I’m the person people always picked to be the coordinator and plan events in college and law school. I was thorough. I took care of my entire family when my mom was sick. Details? I had ’em covered.

Lately, the anhedonia has taken over with a vengeance. Funny that something that deprives me of the ability to give a damn or feel passion is such a strong, pulsing, growing force. I work up the will to start the laundry, but that’s all the steam I’ve got so I lay down and leave it sitting in the washer. I used to be a neat freak. Now I vacuum once a month. Who am I?

So my new experiment is to completely forget about doing things for pleasure, or waiting for motivation. It’s a fake it ’til you make it game. I’m going to make a list of things that I have to do everyday regardless of whether I feel like it. And just do them. I imagine worst case is that I become even more angry and bored, but at least my life keeps moving forward.

But maybe best case, is it helps me get better. Some achievement sparks something — however small — in me and gives me what I need to keep moving forward.

What do you think? Have you struggled with anhedonia? What have you done to overcome it? Exercise? Medication? Therapy? Just waiting it out? Can I fake it ’til I make it?

What’s It All For?

While struggling with depression, my low days always involve the most misery-making of questions: What’s my motivation? Why am I doing this? What meaning or purpose does any of this have? Why even bother? If it’s not one existential crisis with me, it’s another.

Unfortunately, I don’t have answers. When I am most depressed, I binge on cookies, TV and sleep and do anything not to face these questions. For reasons I cannot articulate, asking these questions and realizing I lack an answer (or worse, that the answer is “there is no reason”) causes me spiritual and physical pain.

When I am well I don’t ask these questions. When I am well, I think less and do more. I get outside of my mind and into the world around me.

When I am not well, doing things that distract me from these questions (even binging on TV) makes me feel better. There is some variation in the quality and lasting result when it comes to distractions from the crisis. Teaching an English class or following my weight lifting routine make me feel better immediately and often continue to help my mood for hours afterward. With TV binges, as soon as the episode ends and the laughter subsides it’s as if the bubble bursts violently and the pain returns. So maybe I should do more engaging things when I am feeling low — to the extent that I can get myself to do them.

My partner has repeatedly suggested I alter my worldview: there is no meaning, but that is OK. I am not ready to commit to that yet. It does have some appeal. Maybe I will find peace when I accept that life lacks intrinsic meaning. That it only has whatever meaning I assign to it. As it stands I experience excruciating pain when I ask the question and then feel that maybe there is meaning for others or even meaning for myself that is as of yet undiscovered by me.

What do you think? Does life have intrinsic meaning? Can we find it or assign meaning on our own? Or does simply accepting the lack of meaning liberate us?