And Then I Fell Out the Window

Life, examined and punted around

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It Has a Vibe to It

This past weekend, I was in California visiting my brother. He waxed nostalgic about my current home, Iowa City, where he spent a chunk of his twenties. It was a different world a decade ago, when bars and bowling alleys were full of cigarette (and pot) smoke, and the now-upscale, Prohibition style whiskey bar was a seedy dive called One Eyed Jake’s.

“I love Iowa City,” my brother said. “That place has a vibe to it. You really only appreciate that when you move to other places and realize that not everywhere has a vibe.”

He’s right. So many places fall prey to sameness, not only from the prefab houses neatly spiraling into cul-de-sacs or the rows of chain stores, but because the people seem to settle into homogeneous pockets of predictable culture.

At work this week, I griped about the commute to Cedar Rapids, a short but congested drive that adds a stressful hour to my day. “I should just move to Cedar Rapids,” I grumbled. It’s an attractive notion, especially when stuck in bumper to bumper traffic because of a fender bender eight miles ahead. My drive would be shorter, I could actually afford a place of my own (unheard-of in Iowa City, where rent prices have hiked up thanks to corrupt housing companies and wealthy university students), and I would be more keyed in with the community, instead of straddling the line between two different towns.

But this evening, on such a cool, perfect fall night, all dimming blue skies and a nearly full moon and illuminated porches, moving is unthinkable. I walk down my street, past a large brown dog and its owner, who greets me with, “We never get anywhere quickly.”

“So many smells!” I say, more to the dog than to her.

I walk down the brick-paved Linn Street and bump into a friend outside of High Ground. She pulls me in to meet her friend, who read my cartoon in Little Village Mag, the local free alternative publication in town. I say a quick hello, but then I am dashing off to meet my date at Bread Garden, past a man playing on the public piano, who is singing something about how “two pretty girls walked by and didn’t even notice.” If I am one of the pretty girls he is singing about (It sounds like an impromptu lyric), I am too quickly walking to acknowledge that I noticed, already running late. I wish I could stop and smell all the smells, like that brown dog with nowhere to go.

My date and I have dessert and wine on the patio that is somewhere between inside and outside, children shrieking on the playground past us. We look at strange CD cover art in the library. We plan to meet at the farmer’s market next – my favorite way to spend a free Saturday morning in Iowa City.

I walk home in the cool dark. The buildings are taller and cleaner than when my brother walked these streets, but the porches still have worn-out couches and tables littered with cigarette butts and beer cans. I watch employees close shop in Bluebird Cafe, I walk past the bandanna-wearing chef having a cigarette on the bench by Riverside Theatre, I pass porches illuminated in twinkly lights. It is sometimes inconvenient to live somewhere with character, just like my drafty old house, but I need to remember that living in a place with a “vibe” is nothing to take for granted.

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There I Was Then, Here I Am Now

Keep a journal. Even if it’s just a record of what you did that week, or that day, if only so that you can pull it out later and see how things have changed.

When I started this blog I was severely depressed, I was in a job that I hated, and I felt disconnected from people around me. I re-read that blog entry today and had that alien sensation of not remember being that person who wrote it. So much has changed. Several aspects of my life have changed for the better, but the big step that I needed to take was getting medication.

Depression can happen when your life circumstances suck, but it can also happen when you have a lot of good things going for you. Of course, when you’re depressed, acknowledging all the good things in your life only makes you more guilty, invalidates your sadness. I remember thinking, I have no right to be unhappy. I have so many privileges and luxuries in my life. I am pathetic and ungrateful for feeling this way. 

Being on the other side of this years later, I realize how irrational that is. But depression is irrational. It’s wonky brain chemistry, and I began to realize this when I did everything right – worked hard at my job, socialized, exercised, ate decently, forced myself to work on creative projects – and I was still feeling miserable. It wasn’t me, it was a chemical imbalance.

When I started this blog in 2013, I didn’t think I’d live to see 24. I didn’t want to see 24. Being in that state of hopelessness is something I wouldn’t wish on anyone, and I wish so desperately that 26-year-old me could go back and tell 23-year-old me that it’s going to get so much better, to keep holding on, one day at a time. jAt some points in life, that is the only way to keep going.


I feel so lucky to have what I have now. I know that I will have hard times again, and I hope that when those times come, I can return to my journals and my blogs and remember that I was here at deep despair before, and I will be there at happiness again.



End note:

I don’t take antidepressants anymore, but I now know what it feels like, and I know that if I needed to take them again to feel normal and rational again, I wouldn’t hesitate to go back on them. The stigma of mental illness is still prevalent, although it’s getting better, and there are so many excellent articles and essays on mental illness in general for those outside of it. I would deeply recommend Hyperbole and a Half‘s comics about it. She hits the nail on the head:

Part 1

Part 2