After we returned from our first family trip to Disney World, I understood why people love it so much they go back year after year. If you’re enjoying your trip as much as we did, you get this indescribable joy. We were positively giddy for days and everything was new, even though Hubs and I had been there so many times before. It wasn’t until I tried to scan my magic band at Trader Joe’s almost a week after returning home that I realized how much I embraced that magic. The return to regular life suddenly seemed so mundane. A few months later it was downright depressing. I really didn’t think it would hit me that hard, but I definitely had been hit with Disney Depression.
Thanksgiving in my family is a big, boisterous, event, filled with reunions, wisecracks and food. So. Much. Food. It’s a time when I can feel how loved I am and, more so now than ever, how lucky I am. As I grow older, or, as I’d like to think, more mature, I am increasingly more cognizant of the need to reflect on what I am truly thankful for. We’ve never been the type of family that goes around the table saying what we’re thankful for, but I feel the pull of announcing it. A verbal, or in this case, written declaration of the appreciation for what we have and who we love it a very reassuring practice. And so, it is in that spirit I offer my thanks now.
Did I forget how to be happy?
That’s similar to what my friend Norbert explored in his poignant essay on his discovery of his own depression for the The Good Men Project. I revisit that piece often. It’s become a benchmark of sorts for me: have I too become numb to what’s going on around me?
I think maybe I have. Continue reading
In one glorious moment, I became someone else. It’s a grand statement for a relatively insignificant experience, but sometimes big shifts start with small moments.
“I need a tissue for my feelings.” These are the words my almost two and half year-old daughter sniffed as she struggled to stop crying one night. Hubs and I can’t remember what the cause of her tears was, probably because our hearts were so busy melting our brains were focused on keeping us together enough to grant her simple request. My heart broke for my daughter, not only because of the words she used, but because of the weight of her acknowledgement that she has feelings and knows she must manage them. Somehow the depth of that statement coming from her little voice was more than I could handle.