Today is just… a Day. You know the type, I’m sure. You wake up, staring at the ceiling for a moment, really not wanting to get out of bed but knowing that the pets (perhaps this is you) need to be fed, the coffee needs to start brewing, and the day’s events are just there, waiting for you to get up and get going.

And somehow it just seems heavy. Heavy feet getting out of bed, heavy bladder at the toilet, heavy shoulders as we shuffle our way through the house to push the coffee button. Just. Heavy.

But we do it. And we will wake up tomorrow and do it.

And the next day. And the next. And so on and so forth….

Some mornings, a cup of coffee. And some mornings, a cup of tea like I have this morning.

Today’s tea is a Storm tea that combines black and green tea with a bergamot finish. I’ve added milk and, honestly, I will probably have another one after this one because caffeine is good and warmth is comforting.

And the sigh of content did occur upon my first sip, even if the rest of everything sort of hovered in the wings, waiting to descend once more. Like every day before it and every day going forward.

Weirdly enough, this type of mental space is normal, and not just for this day and time but spans centuries.

For example, that picture of a castle is in Victoria B.C., and one of the occupants a hundred or so years ago was also depressed and wrote about it in her letters. Staring out from one of those numerous windows at the Bay that lay outside this picture, she also felt heavy, tea in hand, long fingers wrapped around the warmth, wondering at the state of everything.

And kind of not liking any of it.

I’m thousands of miles away from that castle in the photo and a hundred years in the future, in an office with cats snoring behind me in their bed, a dog smelling up the room at my feet, and the cold sun of an autumn morning filtering through the maples.

Sounds peaceful, writing it out like that, doesn’t it?

But yet.

But yet still the heaviness remains. Of course, I could probably trace it back to modern-day events, or my perimenopausal age, or, as the research would say, a default state of mental health, which suggests I pulled the short stick.

Yet none of that erases the fact that the “normal” for me is down.

And I believe I might be in the majority.

The woman in the castle.

Artists, writers, actors, politicians, lawyers, doctors, vets, dentists, postal workers, baristas, cashiers, stockers, road crews, plumbers, electricians, first responders, administrative aides.

It shows up for people in all those occupations, in people I pass on the street, talk to at the grocery store… strangers, friends, family.

And here is another “but yet,” because if this is truly the case, that would suggest that our default nature is one of this heaviness.

In evolutionary terms, that statement is actually in line because humans are wired to notice the bad; further, to remember the bad over the good. It is important to remember where the lion sleeps, not if there was a gorgeous sunrise over the plains.

So if that is a factual statement, why does our current society spend so much time harping on how the heaviness is negative? Would this pandemic of mental health not exist if we had normalized these feelings, instead of naming them “bad?”

I wonder about this a lot because if my default is low, it sort of feels like I should be okay with that state of mental health then, no?

Humans are not okay with that state of mental health. Some of that is consumerism… what better way for a company to sell something than to say your state of being can be “fixed” and they have the perfect “fix” for helping you out.

That is Sales 101.

But even before the mass consumerist society, this messaging existed. The Bible said humans feel bad because they haven’t found God. That’s some serious ancient shit suggesting that the human mind is… broken, wrong, needs help?

We are talking centuries then of this messaging.

It is endlessly fascinating to me how the human mind works. It is so powerful, yet so fragile. It can do such wondrous things, and it can be the harbinger of death.

Both our greatest gift and our greatest weapon.

And so little understood.

So. We wake up. Stare at the ceiling. Feed the pets. Drink our coffee and then perhaps a tea. We try to hold on to the warmth, recognize the autumn sun filtered through green maple leaves. And keep on with our lives hoping that maybe one day it might make sense but knowing that it probably never will.

A sobering bit today, so hold that cup of tea close, let it soothe you, a warm hug in your hand, and remember there is nothing wrong with you, me, or anyone for feeling this way.

It is just…

…what it is.