One of the hardest things for me in treating my own depression has been the lack of a real clue as to how treatment works. It did work. It took a willingness to try something different born out desperation. I began by adopting new habits.
Most people, depressed or not, are aware when something bad happens. Depressed people feel bad. Then, they try not to feel bad. But the really bad part is when you become aware of your failure at eliminating your bad feelings. That final part is really hard on you. It’s the kick in the groin for many depressed people.
Depression is actually simple to understand compared to how depression starts or stops. And yeah, it’s all just chemicals in your brain but so is everything in your brain. I couldn’t write this without the chemicals and electrical impulses in my brain.
When someone takes drugs to restore some kind of balance in their brain, they affect the chemical balance. There’s receptors and lots of stuff that I don’t really understand going on.
But I do know this, that is going on in everyone, all the time. And that’s what makes it tricky. Short of electroshock, which is still used in severe cases, and not that effective, there is no reboot. You take drugs to affect the drugs/chemicals that are already there.
I am not depressed now. I didn’t take drugs. So, uh, what changed?
What changed is my habit. My habit of telling myself that bad things were worse than bad. That something should not have happened. I did this for myself with the help of compassion from other people, books, practice, and talking therapy. That’s what worked, and works for me. And it happened to be, probably, the most effective, and long term treatment for me.
This book is what prompted me to write this blog. It is excellent.
The Mindful Way Through Depression: Freeing Yourself from Chronic Unhappiness (Guilford, 2007).
The book is written by some great authors including one from UMass Medical. Jon Kabat-Zinn. HIs clinic is in Worcester. Worcester?? That’s mindboggling to me.
Research shows that actually trying to think/reason yourself better makes depression worse. Scientists can see this happen in the brain with clever experiments. The brain can’t escape itself. It’s something of a recursive problem, like a bad loop in software programming. That’s my understanding.
But breaking that loop is a habit you can develop. You can do this through meditation for example. And the practical guide for that is on the CD that comes with the book.
It’s a little bit like golf or swimming. To improve, you have to release the bad habits that you have adopted as a means to end. Pro golfers work on their swing not on hitting the ball. They have the time and inclination to do this.They have good coaches. They do drills that help them with weight shift and swing plane to change habits that will not let them progress to something beyond amateur level.
Good swimmers relax into the water and let it support them. They focus on balance not propulsion. Water is dense so you little speed increases come with great effort while balance and streamlining is low cost. But you can only do this when you release the bad habit of churning your arms and legs. You do drills that change these habits. But at the core, you are changing your habit.
Coaches might start with “We need to change your habit.” But mostly they start with “Do this drill.” Because that’s more effective. So think about your habits a little bit, but do the drills that change them.
This book is great at explaining all that from the point of view of the brain habits around depression. I read it last month and it really made me feel good. I understand habit changing mechanism better. But mostly it was a good encouragement for me to keep doing the drills.

In layman’s terms, I am a perfectionist. To be a little more clinical, I have perfectionist tendencies. Frequently this tendency is accompanied by procrastination, which to me, seems an obvious twofer.If you can’t do what you want perfectly today, you might as well wait until tomorrow when you might be able to do it perfectly.
Occasionally, my perfectionism creates a problem for me when I do not enjoy some of the things that I do. Or I do not enjoy other things like people or well everything? And then a little voice in my head says, “Hey! Dumbass! Have you ever heard the expression ‘nothing’s perfect?’”
Lots of people are perfectionists. I have not been tested to see if I’m “outside the norm” or “somewhere on the spectrum. And, I do not know where it comes from. In psychology they use a word, complex, to describe the fact that each person has a set of little quirks, interpretations, and genetics, and experiences that lead to who you are. So my perfectionism is part of my complex.
Mostly psychologist don’t know where that stuff comes from. The Freudian stuff is not part of the current modern view for instance. It’s a bit too simple. Perfectionism would appear to come form the superego. Case closed if you were Freud. It took someone else to say, “where is that? and what created the superego?” Probably a perfectionist is my guess.
Anyhow, right now I am realizing that perfectionism is keeping me from enjoying my house. We have worked hard on our house and our yard. I keep saying when are going to finally be done doing stuff. And I started early on this too. The first visitors were stripping wall paper and helping me install new faucet. Thanks family.
I need to stop doing that. Wait. That’s perfectionist phrasing. I want to stop doing that. I would prefer to enjoy all the work that we’ve done. Okay. I can try to do that.
Broadly speaking, I am disputing an irrational belief. Somewhere I developed the habit of unconsciously saying phrases such as I need to finish this. Or this has got to be perfect. Instead, when I catch myself doing that, I can rephrase my internal dialog. Clearly, the house does not NEED to be complete or perfect for enjoyment. The kids and Amy enjoy it as it is. Lots of people think it is delightful and aesthetic pleasing. Realistically, what is perfect in a house anyway? Something is going to break or go out of date or need paint. It naturally needs care but not perfection.
This knowledge is also at the heart of why I didn’t like the idea of buying a house in the first place. But that’s okay too. It was a bit of test to buy one. I knew that I was defending myself against the idea of perfection, that is I was using a kind of procrastination. It doesn’t matter one way or the other if I screw up renting or buying. It seems like the damage is less if you rent but is it? Being kicked out of your house would suck whether you rent or buy.
Yesterday, I dug up a tree. We had a beautiful Japanese maple die in our front yard. We put it in (actually someone else did) when we re-did our front yard. I did a tree-opsy, and it appears the clay soil you find in our area, coupled with the extreme heat and dryness we had when we put in the tree prevented it from putting root down very far. It tried to compensate by putting out lots of lateral roots but ultimately it was essentially starving.
Taking out was lot of work. And it was sad and disappointing.
Trees are resilient and in other setting other than your front yard, nature can wait out the conditions and compensate by becoming an old gnarly tree. Sometimes that can be cool but it takes a long time. In the meanwhile you are looking at sick tree. But that stuff happens. Oh well. It is easy not to expect a tree to be perfect.

I read a book last week called Dopefiend: A Father’s Journey from Addiction to Redemption. I thought it was a very good book. It is a memoir written by a colleague of mine from The Mothership, where we both toil as technical writers.
This book was inspirational on a couple of levels: it is a story with a qualified happy ending. Tim is a good guy, salt-of-the-earth kind of East coaster. He offers me a bit of a kindred spirit. MA is not PA but the similarities tickle a part of my reptilian brain. “Something is familiar about this guy.”
It also offers an oblique insight into the world of the 12 step program. I was surprised not by the inclusion of the 12 steps but by the way Tim interpreted it. I was bit of skeptic there and when I heard Tim’s inner dialog in the book, it was illuminating.
When I found out about Dopefiend, I knew what I had to do. I wasn’t going to ask for a book, I was going to buy the book on Amazon – the same way I would any book. In a way, I was respecting the process. I don’t know how many people will publish books but, particularly for this subject, it seemed right. I was happy to receive it in the mail and then arranged to have lunch with “the author” so that he could sign it for me. The Full Monty – so-to-speak.
We had a great lunch and conversation. I put my review of the book on the Amazon review, under a pseudonym.
Talking to Tim, I thought back to my own trials and tribulations. I’m not ready to completely unburden in this forum on a couple of notable events in my life. But as I’ve moved from “depression” to relative wellness, I struggle with one of the obvious themes. When do you “Get over it?” 
In the 12 step programs, I believe there is concept that you are an alcoholic for life. Thus, you have to take “one day at a time.” There are always meetings to go to. You have a sponsor. In the 12 steps, there is no idea of magic day in the future when you have gotten over it.
Truth be told, I’m not a fan of these programs. As a young person, my mother sent me to Alateen. It was held on the campus of Holy Cross College. I don’t know what age I was, but I remember being slightly embarrassed by the whole thing. I might be been 12 or barely a teenager. That fact was a bit difficult. I don’t remember even how I got to the meetings but I think my aunt drove me.
I don’t remember how many times I went but I knew it wasn’t going to work for me. From that point on, I was very aware of the concept of alcoholism and the prominent role it had in my family. It was well-intentioned on the part of my mother to send me to what she thought would help me.
Now, over thirty years later. I cannot say I’ve gotten over it. I have found strategies that help me deal with the the effects of an alcoholic parent. I’m only using that phrasing for convenience. Is my dad an alcoholic? I don’t know. But that’s the easiest phrasing for me to use.
I see the whole constellation of drug and alcohol use as a form of self-medication. It seems like an easy way to deal with pain and difficulty. The problem is that it doesn’t deal with the first order problem in the first place, but I’m not breaking any new ground there.
Maybe the 12-step program has the right idea: there is no concept of getting over it. For me, avoiding depression is the most simple goal I can articulate. I consider my past an influence there but not a dominating one. My father’s use of alcohol had an effect on me. I was very angry about it. I felt as though I didn’t matter as much as I should. I felt a lack of attention. And, I saw the same thing with my mother and siblings and that affected me too. I felt bad.
Was any of this beyond the norm? I have no idea. I bet many of my peers in my hometown were in similar places. But that’s their lives, not mine. It offers little comfort to me.
I could say I forgiven my father, and in a way I have. That’s a nice tidy synopsis. But that’s a bit too “over it” for me. I have the best relationship I can have with my father now. He is a good man, if a bit troubled. I think he is more comfortable in his own skin now, somehow. It doesn’t matter if I have forgiven him, actually. What matters is that I understand him and his situation better. I have always loved him, even when I hated him. I love him now. And for whatever reason, in his later years he seems a bit more open.
As grandfather, he impresses me. His influence in my life, through my wife who he adores, and my kids is great source of pleasure. I try to enjoy that “one day at a time” too.

I was listening to yet another podcast of “interview with comedian.” In this case, it was the WTF podcast with Amy Poehler.

I’ve been attracted to this type of long-form interview, particularly with performers and I figured out why. It’s admiration and respect for what they do. They contribute. They add more to the world. They are insecure about it, but they do it anyway. I really like that.

At first I wondered why I liked the podcasts so much. I asked the question in an earlier blog. Could it be that I wanted to be a comedian? Could it be that I felt like I missed out on something, like that could be me? Did I have some weird fetish with comedians?

I like listening to other artists too. I enjoy reading biographies on occasion. But comedians really spell it out. Their medium is words. They try to make you understand. Other artists are not as articulate or word-based so that leaves you guessing. Not comedians. Even more than actors, they tell you about themselves in these interviews. An actor seems to be acting all the time. Or, what makes them good actors is they don’t have much awareness about themselves. Not all, of course, because some are very articulate and smart.

But comedians and comic actors are constantly putting themselves out there for criticism. Stand-ups are literally alone in a room full of people. They must figure it out if there is any hope of getting up again.

I respect that simply as a problem solver. I love being entertained too but I find it even more fascinating and long-lived (in my consciousness) to deconstruct that process of figure it out.

(It’s what I’m doing by writing this at all. Whoa. Wheels within wheels…)

I do wish that I could be more like that and I’m hoping to find a couple things from listening to such podcasts. On some level, I appreciate the validation that there are other people out there who have tackled this issue. They have looked within themselves and found the courage to do something difficult. Surgeons do it too. I appreciate that and if there is a surgeon on the podcast, I bet I’d enjoy that. And, no matter whether you like their comedy or not (no one loves it all), they are adding more to the world. Often it is looking at a situation through a slightly different vector. That’s more than yesterday.

I admire that they confront failure face-to-face too. Not ever joke lands. Not every sketch works. But they move on. Maybe wiser but definitely having tried.

It’s not that I feel unfulfilled and will die wondering. I don’t actually wonder. I know that if I wanted to go to an open mic night I could. I don’t want to do that. What I want to do is find ways in my own life, little ways, to push the envelope of failure. I want to cleverly find another vector to look at my own life, for example. And, I want to be a contributor, not just a user. I don’t need the spotlight for any of that.

I hope that this is not a humble brag. Amy and I are trying to relax on the weekend, not do all the “stuff” that we didn’t finish. It is surprisingly hard to avoid the feeling that we are losing ground. We’ll never catch up.

She’s reading a book. And, I’m writing this. That seems like relaxing to me.

I did mow the lawn because it is tiny. And I did install the hardware on our bathroom door. And I have one more thing to do for the hot tub.

But, I also played tennis with Nathalie this morning, which was great. We split some tie-breaker games and she is improving her serve. She hit a lot of good shots and had she not double-faulted as much, she would have beat me pretty bad.

I do not know why we are so pre-occupied with finishing the painting or whatever. Life is short, we all know that. It just isn’t easy to know what all that means.

I would love to tell you that our trip really showed us that the Italian culture really taught us that. It would complete a stereotypical story arc. I can’t say that, however, because we were hard driving tourists with plenty of other similar folks in our lanes. Tuscany was great, beautiful. But we mostly could have done the same kind of relaxing anywhere – minus the picture postcard locale. So why don’t we relax like we did in Tuscany if it can done anywhere?

The whole idea of limited time on the planet has been a theme with me. I don’t fully know why. I’ve mentioned the fact that I have an artificial heart valve. In fact, I feel almost like I should have a footnote for it. HV. Whenever a thought seems to be influenced by that specific fact I could just footnote it.

HV – refers to the fact that FXL had an artificial heart valve installed in place of his congenitally mal-formed aortic valve in in Feb. 2003. It should last for 15 to 20 years. After that, well, fingers-crossed, eh?

I think the HV effect is that it magnifies or amplifies certain melancholy feelings I have about life. Staying in an unsatisfying job for example seems like a sometimes necessary consequence of being an adult, father/husband who has one taking SAT and ACT tests for her next four year commitment. Sometimes that same job feels like an incredible waste of precious few years on my personal trip on the third planet from the sun.

The concept of a bucket list has always escaped me. I have a tendency to avoid yearning. It comes with being a realist, I guess. If I want to do or try something, even consideration of it has to extend from a pragmatic possibility. For example, I don’t want to win a gold medal at the Olympics but I do want to swim an IM in a swim meet. In fact, I wanted to swim in a swim meet so I did it. But I don’t want to swim the English Channel. I don’t want to travel to outer space. I wouldn’t mind visiting Scandinavia.

There are some things that I want to do. And oddly, lately, I feel like I might be gaining some momentum, overcoming bodily inertia, toward them. It’s a bit odd if I am completely honest.

And it’s not a bad thing.
I had a bit of a breakthrough this week when someone told me the reason my boss drives me crazy is that she’s an extrovert. She’s an extrovert relating to me like an extrovert. When she does that, she essentially steals all the energy from me or anyone else in the room who’s an introvert.
I felt like Ben Stiller because I plaintively said, “I’m an introvert?” Rather than engaging the real point of the story, the dynamic between my boss and me, I was stuck on the premise.
I realized that I have always thought of myself as an extrovert and for some reason pitied (too strong? felt bad for) introverts. In some way I had extolled the virtue of extroverts and impugned the opposite of virtue from introverts. I don’t know why. On the various tests that you do, such as Myers-Briggs, I come up extrovert. But not overwhelmingly.
Plus, I know I’m social. I don’t get nervous in front of a crowd or classroom. I’m fundamentally not shy. I like telling jokes, and otherwise cutting up in groups. And I figure, with a large family, we must all be extroverts, either that or you starve for attention.
Guess what? Most of that’s true except for the conclusion! Which is another way of saying, I was wrong! We aren’t all extroverts. In fact, most and possibly all of us aren’t (that is, if I now understand the difference).
I guess I thought that being shy was the same as being an introvert. And being shy, somehow, seemed like an unfortunate thing. But even that sounds crazy now. I guess I equated being shy with somehow being out of touch, either with your own emotions or your own needs. I figured if you are shy then you must be an introvert. And if you aren’t (which I am not), then you mustn’t be an introvert.
But the more useful way for me to think of the polarity, is this:
Introverts: lose energy when acting in social settings. Eventually, all the energy is used up and must be marshaled again, usually by something more solitary.
Extroverts: gain energy when acting in social settings. It is how they marshal energy for themselves.
It’s not particularly scientific, granted. But sometimes, it is more of a mental framework for understand social and human dimensions rather than a measurable electronic voltage, per se. And if you remove the value judgment, then it seems more useful.

Concepts of masculinity seem to change over time and culture. I’ve been thinking about this a lot as my son transitions from being a boy to being an adolescent. I’m surprised at how uncomfortable some of it has made me. Even though I experienced this myself, I don’t feel well-equipped to handle it. I’ve resorted to, gulp, reading, and, breathe, talking to other men about it.

One of the current theories is that we could rely, in the past, on a rich tradition of male work to transmit basic concepts of acceptable male behavior and masculinity. As a boy, you hung out with an extended family of other men who hunted or farmed or whatever. It was necessary and has a long history.

Modern life does not provide that connection to extended male culture.

In addition, we lived through a difficult but necessary switch to an emerging feminine equality. Much of this was built on a now bankrupt idea that babies came into the world equal and were shaped to stereotype by the environment – nurture over nature.

Nearly anyone who’s ever seen baby girls and boys found this odd. But in order for women to gain some measure of fairness in the social world, this seemed like a necessary experiment.

This nurture idea is pretty much over because brain science shows us that male brains are indeed different from female brains. The value judgment that one is better than the other is a second, and only human judgment. In other words, it isn’t observable in fact.

My point is that I feel a bit at sea in conveying typically male stuff. I don’t really worry about my own masculinity, and I’m told that there are many good masculine models, not one. However, where to start?

While I love the outdoors and find no fault in hunting as sport, I will never hunt outside of some post-apocalypse. Even though I fished as a kid, I found it strange then and now, and other than the comradery angle, I can’t get with it.

My musical garage band experiences were great male bonding times, but there was no connection to past male culture. No one’s father was there – it was just “Lord of the Flies” teenage boy angst. A good thing, but not a historical connection.

And say what ever you want, playing a musical instrument in an orchestra is not exactly  macho in a blue collar community. That did occasionally create a bit of confusion for me. An orchestra is an odd domain of prima donnas, prissy men and women, but also a rather strict hierarchy. It isn’t an expressive experience either, contrary to popular opinion. Interpretation is frowned upon. Is that male?

My musical experience is predominately male and I must admit to a macho point of view on it. Brass is a more or less male domain and so is rock-and-roll, isn’t it?

So where does that leave us? It is important, I think, to convey to our boys an acceptable masculinity. One that respects the female as equal but different, and has no extra-ordinary insecurity in its own maleness (is that a word)? How do I do it?