People have a lot of advice about friends these days. The old adage, “Make new friends and keep the old, one is silver, and the other is gold,” is perfectly sound, but it assumes people don’t evolve or grow apart. You may also have friends of convenience or circumstance, and you might question why they are still your friends. Some might advise you not to spend any time with people who don’t provide value or happiness in return. But of course, it’s not that simple.
That was it, the final straw. I thought it couldn’t get any worse, but then there it was—the arrow into my heart. I have no idea how I’m going to go on. I crumple into a fetal position and lose all control. After a time—could have been an hour, could have been several hours—I come back to the world, but it is not the place I left. Nothing is real; it all exists beyond a curtain of pain. I move through the world, but I’m not of it. I try to reenter my life, but my will is gone, and I collapse again. It’s done. I’m done. I have no idea how I’m going to get through this.
Many of us have been there. A catastrophic event that alters our reality and strips away our capacity for joy. How do you move on from that kind of pain? How do you cross the chasm back to the living? You may just want to die—to end the pain. You may even think about ways this might be done. When tragedy happens, it can feel as if your whole world is gone and nothing that’s left in the world could possibly replace it. Everything, from now on, will be inadequate, unwanted, and painful to bear. Everything that remains is only a reminder of what is gone.
Some moments in life are truly special. You experience them as if in a dream, and you keep them in a sacred place in your heart and your memory. Over time, they may become the stuff of personal legend—the experiences that shaped who you are or had an overwhelming emotional impact. These times might include falling in love—and realizing that love is requited. It might be the birth of a child, when everything else becomes a lower priority. It may be a professional breakthrough when your work starts to make a meaningful impact. Whatever it is, the moment in time can be magical, something outside of the realm of the everyday.
I have trouble reading the news these days. I know I have to, and I do, but the overwhelming sense of rage, disappointment, disbelief, and despair takes its toll, and I am mentally and emotionally exhausted. The meaning and fulfillment I get from activities that nourish my soul have diminished during these extraordinary times, which increases my sadness and anger. I soldier on, knowing that these activities do help, and I lean on my belief that the direction of the country will swing again toward compassion and wisdom. But in the meantime, my existential fatigue is something I have to address. Like a medical condition, it’s something I have to take seriously and take steps to mitigate its effects.
One of my favorite places at my house is a sitting area under twin holly trees in our backyard. It’s peaceful, private, and comfortable. I record most of my social media videos there, and it’s a favorite place for my wife and me to sit and chat. This week, it became a much more important place to me. We lost a member of our family on Friday, and he is buried under one of the hollies. At first, I thought Walter’s grave might be upsetting or distracting when I work there. The memories of him are overwhelming, and, as he was in life, he’s impossible to ignore. But yesterday, I filmed there for the first time since his passing, and it was the opposite of distracting. I said hello to him and told him that I missed him. When I was filming, it truly felt like he was there with me—curious about my work. I’m so glad he’s there in that special place.