Equanimity

 

I wish I could just flip a switch; I’d face the world with equanimity instead of distress. Notice I didn’t mention elation. To embrace equanimity is to temper the extreme lows AND highs. Well, I don’t get too high. Not anymore. My “high” is holding out hope that the rest of my life is worth living. My low is quite low. I think equanimity was always the right approach to life, but from my current perspective, it’s the holy grail.

I miss the highs. I really do. But if I’m honest, they scare me more than the lows. Life’s highs made me feel giddy, attractive, powerful, lucky, and clever. How do you act when you feel that way? I often act foolishly. There’s a term, chevauchée, that was in use during the Hundred Years War between England and France. It describes an army moving through enemy territory, burning and pillaging everything in its path, intentionally destroying the prosperity and productivity of the entire region. That’s how I act when I feel great about myself. I’m not talking about actual burning and pillaging. I’m talking about the decisions I make when I feel most optimistic, most in control. Those are the decisions that have created paths of destruction in my life, harming myself and those closest to me.

I have associated feeling good with disaster. I felt good as a young man. I played rough sports and games. Now I deal with chronic pain in my back and a knee that prevents me from doing activities I love. I felt good as a student, embracing a devil-may-care attitude toward studying, while studiously ignoring the underlying reasons for my challenges. I felt good as recent college graduate, turning down stable jobs for risky ones that suited my optimism. I felt so good on so many occasions that I moved my family over a dozen times, quit some jobs and got fired from others, started several businesses, bought lots of assets, borrowed lots of money, drained my retirement account, then borrowed more money. I was blind to the possibility of failure. I was blind to the downside of risk.

I was also living constantly in pursuit and in denial. Everything would work out, I didn’t have to think about why the failures in my life happened; I just had to quickly replace them with successes. I let friendships wane and gave up hobbies. I avoided serious conversations with my wife. I lost faith in spiritual meaning. So seldom did I confide in anyone that I no longer knew how. On some level, I knew I was in decline. I even recognized and sought help for developing depression. But there were still those highs. I had a beautiful vision of success, harmony, family, and friendship that I was on the cusp of achieving.

When the stressors overwhelmed my optimism, it was sudden. I had a major panic attack that matured into a serious panic disorder. Life has been hard since then. Perhaps the hardest part is knowing that my children haven’t gotten the real me. Their father loves them dearly. But he’s also a grumpy, fearful, pessimist with no social life. It affects them.

I want the story of my life to be one of resilience. The truth is that I have had a series of mental health struggles that shaped me for years before I could gain the perspective that comes with a diagnosis. The truth is that it could be much worse. Undiagnosed ADHD is often at the heart of frustrating lives. It often leads to depression and anxiety, as the world seemingly punishes us over and over simply for the way we are wired. The truth is that my mental health problems are not my fault. The truth is I now have the perspective to live a better, happier life. I got through it with some of my relationships intact. I got through it with my family still together. I got through it with some financial resources. I’m still holding on to the remnant of a career and supporting my family. It could be worse. It’s not all my fault.

But those truths are hard to remember. What I seem to have remembered, on a deep subconscious level, is actually a ridiculous lie; Feeling good can only lead to disaster. So until I can unlearn that lie, I’ll shoot for equanimity.