Congratulations, the Best is Over!

Oh God, to return. To find a way back to yourself, the version of yourself that wanted nothing more than what you have, the version of yourself paralyzed by the fear of living through what you've lived through, the stranger in your story who had just enough hope to make a path for you. But if we could go back, we'd never move forward.

I’m tempted to say that I have a struggle with depression, because that’s the commonly used phrase, but it’s really more of an ongoing partnership than a struggle. Depression just hangs out with me like a lax babysitter who is ambivalent about my bedtime. Depression is a text conversation that ebbs and flows; every once in a while, Depression texts, “Have you seen this meme? It’s going to psychologically wreck you for six months. Brunch soon?” Depression is like Jiminy Cricket riding around on my shoulder, but instead of acting as my conscience, it just mumbles, “You’re bad, things are bad, and nothing will improve.” And at this point I’m just like, “…Okay.” Like, we get it, girl. Thanks!

Even in okay times, there is a subterranean river of melancholy in me, and sometimes a productive afternoon is comprised of using YouTube videos of varying qualities like divining rods.

I can tell something is going wrong for me when I withdraw—I stop caring as much about the things I usually care about, be it keeping up the house or maintaining social connections or even watching the shows I like. But the more insidious thing that happens is that I lose track of my story. I lose track of where I’m going. I stop wanting to go anywhere. I stop thinking about getting to my desired ending, because everything feels like an ending already.

In every office I’ve worked, word of complimentary cake races through the ranks of the cubicle class like it’s a rumor about the Wells Fargo wagon showing up in River City, Iowa. Free break room cake is a blessing, a gift from some benevolent force that asks nothing of you in return. Free break room cake offers you an opportunity to share a portion of some other person’s joy, both literally and figuratively. In a space built on capitalist power structures, free break room cake reminds you that you don’t need to produce anything to be deserving of a little sweetness.

There’s a part of me that believes that getting married is saying, “I don’t know what the best day is going to be, but I can’t wait to find out with you.” It’s also saying, “I’m excited to take turns taking out the garbage for the rest of our lives,” but let’s be a little more romantic here. Let’s be a little more expansive. Let’s take the ceiling off this house and look at the sky. Getting married, in some small way, is a mutual agreement to hope—to hope it will work out until it doesn’t, to hope it won’t hurt too much until it does, to hope that being together is better than being apart, to hope that something beautiful and sustaining will flourish. To make something out of the beauty and the mess. And part of that hope is the belief that the best is waiting out there for us just beyond today’s horizon.

We’re all, I think, in pursuit of a good day. But having the best day of your life? That’s a lot of pressure.

If I'm not heading toward a place where I can feel joy, then hope in the present has nothing to hold on to.

in some small way, is a mutual agreement to hope—to hope it will work out until it doesn’t, to hope it won’t hurt too much until it does, to hope that being together is better than being apart, to hope that something beautiful and sustaining will flourish. To make something out of the beauty and the mess. And part of that hope is the belief that the best is waiting out there for us just beyond today’s horizon.

I like to believe I can go anywhere in this country, but that belief comes with a big asterisk called history.

By the time we moved back to Baltimore, the “Believe” trash cans were long gone and the benches had yet another slogan painted on them. This city has had more eras than Taylor Swift. The slogan that greeted us as we arrived was “Baltimore: the greatest city in America.” And at that point I was like, “Okay, absolutely not.” Babe. This feels like shade. The greatest city? In America?? Better than Chicago? Better than Pawnee, Indiana?! Better than the murder capital of the world, Cabot Cove, Maine? Okay…

Whatever the components of my depression, I’ve never wanted them to define me. I feel that the other parts of me—the part that gets up every day and finds genuine humor in odd places, the part that hungers for community, the part that always strains to reach the end of the story—these are the real parts. So sometimes when I have to acknowledge the dark part, to say that I’m really struggling and ask for help, I feel like I’m talking about the inner workings of a stranger. The sadness is real and it is always around and it is not who I am.

Aren't we all human people walking around with all of our experiences, all of our sadness, and joy, and grief, and hope, and fear barely contained by our skin and our adherence to decorum? I'm not saying I want to walk around feeling all the time publicly, but it seems a waste of life to never go to the depths and see what's there. And what's there is the truth.

Getting married, in some small way, is a mutual agreement to hope—to hope it will work out until it doesn’t, to hope it won’t hurt too much until it does, to hope that being together is better than being apart, to hope that something beautiful and sustaining will flourish. To make something out of the beauty and the mess. And part of that

Often, it feels like so many of us who are considered “other” don’t have narrative or political value beyond the worst parts of our lives. But I know that we are more than that. I know that we can choose to share what is hard or choose to share some piece of our joy and hope, and the work is worthy either way.

I don’t romanticize the city; I have experienced the harsh edge of city living enough times to know that no place is perfect but not enough times to make me a cable news commentator whose beat is “racially coded comments about lawlessness.” A city is a promise to society that is broken more times than it’s upheld. But it’s a promise I believe in with all my heart.

A city is a promise to society that is broken more times than it’s upheld. But it’s a promise I believe in with all my heart.