The ethereal nature of hot chips.  A story of transcendence in two parts.

He’d been that way before.  Walked those worn concrete paths when things were at their darkest.  Without his children’s unending desire for hot chips, he’d have stayed at home.  Indoors, depressed and out of sight.  He would have never left the house for fear of all that unspecified danger, except that the children knew him and promised to hold his hand.  To the outsider it looked ironically like he was protecting them. How long he had searched for some sort of transcendence, even he couldn’t remember.

The only motivation he had left back then was to do nice things for his family.  Everything else was pointless, or it felt that way.  In hindsight he could see that he was lucky.  Other kids wanted surfboards and trips to Disneyland.  His children wanted lunch ‘up the street’ and time with their Dad.

On that day, he could remember that his youngest son’s conversation about what he thought went best on a burger, lasted all the way to the shop.  No beetroot was his catch cry.  Then there was his somewhat wistful daughter, who insisted that the chips came with hot gravy. He remembers that their innocent chatter surrounded him and made him feel strangely overwhelmed.  Still he forced himself to be there.

After the ordering, they made their way to the reserve at the back of the car park.  His son was telling his sister about how beautiful this poky, rubbish and lantana lined reserve was. About how lucky they were to be able to have lunch there with a view of the train line.  

Normally, he would have been delighted by the simple appreciation of his son for something so ordinary.  He would have been moved by the simple love his daughter had for her little brother, but not this day.  On this particular day, he was fighting for his peace of mind.  He was too busy hiding from those inner voices that told him none of this was worth it.

With stomachs finally full and the clouds gathering, the children were content to meander home again. Home, where he would dive under a blanket and try to sleep away the pain. Where sleep was the only place that offered respite.

What a difference a year makes

For over a year after this, despite his pain, he fought hard to keep his chin above water. He forced himself out of bed each day and he did what he was told, which was never easy.  He listened to his Doctor and he trusted his wife.  Giving up alcohol was a struggle, but the meds never worked when he drank.  His children deserved more, so in the end the choice was easy. 

His opinions about treatment had always been middle of the road.  Alternate therapies had never appealed . Still, when it came to mindfulness, his Psychologist was insistent.  It was mainstream and it would make a difference. Despite falling asleep too often, he adopted it in the hope of embracing transcendence over the ghosts that haunted him.

For weeks he felt a little silly, but then bit by bit, his mind began to quieten and he found a calm place within.  The gentle rush of the breeze and the subtle turning of the earth around his inner stillness anchored him to the ground in each moment. Mindfulness became a place he would run to daily.

Hot chips and transcendence

When he walked that way again today, it was different.  His children still wanted burgers and chips.  Beetroot was still persona non grata and gravy was still a must.  The difference was in him this time.  

This time he hadn’t even noticed the journey to the corner shop, so engrossed was he in his children’s light hearted conversations.  He didn’t even twig that he was enjoying himself when they all laughed about his son’s deep seeded aversion to beetroot.  Even when they each held his hand, rather than wondering how long it would be before they became  embarrassed to  be seen in public with him, he just felt blessed.

It wasn’t until they were once again sitting in the old reserve, overgrown now from all the rain, that he had a vague sense of deja vu.  This time, rather than being fearful of non descript danger, he noticed the warm sun on his arms.  Rather than ruminate about what would happen tomorrow, he delighted in the company of his wonderful children and their random observations of each moment.  

As he sat, fingertips coated in gravy, he noticed that the much hated weed Lantana has a delightful little pink and yellow flower.  He noticed that most of the rubbish had been picked up and he watched dutiful ants carry crumbs triumphantly homeward. His son was right. It was beautiful there. Nothing much externally had changed, save the date, but he had changed.  No longer was he haunted by regret and fear. What had been a moment of stress and fear twelve months ago, was now a beautiful and ethereal moment.  A moment of transcendence that he was simply yet sublimely a part of.  

Afterword

What I have tried to capture here is twofold.  Firstly, I wanted to show just how much joy that Depression and PTSD can rob you of.  How even the simple act of doing something nice for a loved one becomes a chore with mental health problems.

Secondly, and more importantly, I wanted to show that mental health has rhythms and patterns. That you won’t always feel the way you do on a bad day.  I wanted to show the importance of following professional advice, trusting loved ones, embracing mindfulness and keeping at it. A good mental health plan can help you. Transcendence is possible.

These two versions of this same, simple outing actually took place.  I was genuinely struck at the time by just how different my experience of the same, humble  activity could be.  By learning to be more present in each activity, I was able to transcend my Depression in that moment.  Oh yes, and never underestimate the power of a hot chip.

Related links (or a little gravy)

Recovery – Everyone needs a plan » The Good The Bad and The Unrelated %

Mindfulness and a strained metaphor » The Good The Bad and The Unrelated

Mindfulness Meditation Listening & thoughts – YouTube