So continuing with my post from the other day, I decided to continue interviewing my own friends about their perspectives on mental health, self-improvement, coping mechanisms, etc. Today’s subject is a fellow sometimes-writer by the name of Tom!
Enjoy:
1. I know you well enough to know you’ve been through quite a bit. Losing loved ones, having to help take care of others, and so on. To put it simply: What keeps you motivated through stuff like that?
Two things:
First, I remember watching a YouTube video a long time ago where a computer repair man explained a philosophy of his that's really helped me in life. He said that a little known secret is that technically, at any moment, you can do whatever you want as long as you're willing to accept the consequences of it. Reflecting on that fundamental freedom is part of what's helped keep me grounded in difficult times, because it's a fast way to confirm my heading or, if necessary, reorient myself.
Say I'm responsible for someone else and have to take care of them, like you brought up. That can feel very limiting or even imprisoning. Okay, so when I'm feeling that sensation of being imprisoned, what do I do? I consider my freedom. Technically, I could walk out the door and leave all those responsibilities behind. But what are the consequences? Do I actually want to do that? I care about that person who I have to take care of. I love them. So of course I don't want to walk out on them. That reveals to me that the feeling of limitation or imprisonment is in service of my true feeling and, while painful, must be endured.
On the flip side, let's take a lighter example and say I'm watching a movie in a movie theater. I'm not enjoying the movie about an hour into its two-hour runtime. Despite the low stakes, I get that same feeling of imprisonment (albeit less intense). Then, I remember: I'm free to do what I want as long as I'm willing to accept the consequences. What are the consequences of getting up and leaving and finding something better to do? Well, I might annoy some people around me as I get up in the middle of the movie, but hopefully I can be careful about that. It might be a tad awkward to walk out of the theater in the middle of the show, but will anyone in the audience or any of the staff actually notice or care? Probably not. I'm not that important. With that, I realize I'm willing to accept those consequences rather than sit there for another hour. Finishing the movie isn't in service of my true feeling, which is to enjoy my time, so I leave and maybe endure a few grunts from people as I slip out.
Second, as nihilistic as it sounds (and I really don't mean it in a nihilistic way but it can be read as such), sometimes you have to realize that things just don't matter nearly as much as you think they do in a given moment. Take it as you will, in either a King Solomon "this too shall pass" way or a Charlie Chaplin "life is a tragedy when seen in close-up, but a comedy in long-shot" way or any other way you'd like. The truth of the matter is that every moment, mundane or dramatic, happy or sad, is really happening, and you have to take the bad with the good. And sometimes you have to suck it up to take the former.
2. Like me, I know you like to journal a lot, but your process seems way more “stream of consciousness” than mine, and doesn’t seem to follow as strict of a routine as my process does. What would you say are the pros/cons of your process vs mine?
I think stream of consciousness journaling and your method, which, from reading your tips for journaling, sounds more like picking flowers or collecting seashells or maybe even playing whack-a-mole in the case of intrusive thoughts, address two different modes of thought (among many modes, no doubt). Sometimes thoughts are like streams or rivers or even oceans, and sometimes thoughts are like flowers, seashells, or pop-up moles. I think whatever may be construed as an advantage or disadvantage of one or the other depends entirely on which mode of thought one wants to address.
This morning, I started my journal entry by describing my dream, which is normally how I begin. In this case, it was about how I found myself working in my current job with old dorm residents. Three pages later, I finished on a thought of how I should look up if my old high school economics teacher had retired yet or not. The beginning and end points have next to nothing to do with each other, but the pathway between them flowed from one thing to another, and I ended up exploring some regrets and insecurities of mine along the way. This flow allows me to bridge disparate thoughts and explore things from unexpected pathways and, hopefully, reach some closure or insight.
I actually used to do your mode of journaling more, but more recently, I've found that something's changed in my thought process, and I don't think...quickly (not sure if this is right word) enough for that anymore. Don't get me wrong; random thoughts and ideas and feelings flitter in and out of my mind all the time, but I don't feel compelled to write them down like I once did. I don't know what to attribute that change to. Nowadays, it feels more natural to get pulled along by a thought and see where it leads me.
3. In all these years I’ve known you, you’ve never struck me as someone who lets regrets get them down like I do. Would you say that’s true? How do you personally deal with regrets, if you have them?
I don't know if it's strictly true that I don't let them get me down, but I think I'm becoming a less regretful person over time.
I have a lot of memories of things I've done that I regret--weird interactions, treating people badly, not being honest about something, etc. Sometimes, similar to you, I have very sharp flashbacks of these things that elicit equally sharp responses, especially me repeating a phrase either in my head or aloud like "I quit. I quit. I quit." because I want the memory to stop. Normally, when I have one of these encounters--especially when I encounter the same regretful memory multiple times--I make a point of writing down everything I can remember about the situation surrounding the memory. Sometimes that can be very painful, but it often leads to some catharsis on the subject. Sometimes, as I write and explore these regrets, I realize that, were something like them to happen today, it really wouldn't be that big of a deal. Sometimes, that's not the case, but I'm often able to reach a conclusion or a level of closure that lets the memory drift away, and it becomes less frequent until it vanishes altogether. Sometimes that requires an apology or an admission or an atonement. Whatever way it goes, it's a sort of exorcism, and I do whatever I feel necessary to get it out of my system. Slowly, but surely, I'm dwindling the supply of these regrets.
Another thing that helps me become less regretful over time is appreciating how silly regrets are. I think most people find it fairly easy to be skeptical of predictions about the future, and I think this is because most people innately realize the fragility of such predictions. But people, myself included, often lend more credulity when these predictions are projected backwards. A regret, in essence, is wishing for a different outcome to a past event. But imagining a different outcome to a past event is, if you're willing to get a little Christopher Nolan-esque with me, projecting into the future from that past point in time. Our minds like to play a trick where, because the event already happened, we believe a different (and better) outcome is certain if only we did x or y or didn't do z, but in reality it's as uncertain as making predictions about what will happen tomorrow or the day after or next month or next year. In this way, I think I've come to acknowledge how fundamentally silly regrets are, and it makes them easier to fade away over time. How do I know what would have happened if I'd done anything differently? I don't. How certain am I that my memory of the situation is even the full truth of whatever transpired? I'm not. So who am I to regret what happened?
4. Another thing we have in common is that we both like to write fiction, sometimes. Would you say that artistic hobbies like that also help with mental health? If so, why?
I've come to view art much differently lately, and I'd go as far as to say that I think creation is necessary for good mental health, not just conducive. I think art speaks to truth, and when people don't take the time to speak to truth, it can be as bad as living a lie. I would write more here, but honestly, my thoughts on this are still newly formed and in early development, so if I started writing, I would probably end up rambling even more than I have above.
5. Anything else you wanna say as we wrap up here?
Some vague advice based on my own experiences (because that's all I'm entitled to speak about (also note, I'm not a medical professional)).
With respect to mental health, for a long time I lived my life under the impression that if I could just think "better" or think the "right" thing or way, I could cure myself of my mental health issues, but there aren't really any problems in the world that can be fixed by doing the same thing as the problem itself. You don't fight fire with fire (sorry, Metallica); you throw water on it. Similarly, I couldn't mentate my way out of a mental problem. I needed to emphasize feeling and doing. Thought has its place and is a wonderful tool we have at our disposal, but when the problem is itself thought (mental health issues; that is, issues that manifest mentally), thinking some more about it probably won't help.
That's all. Hope this was an enjoyable read!
Peace!
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