Once, in One of My Funks

The past few days I have been truly, definitely, undeniably depressed.

For me, "being depressed" entails waking up more tired than I was when I went to bed. Looking in the mirror and crying because MY FACE!!!!!!! And also, not wanting to talk to people because, well, I distrust everyone and no one knows I exist anyway, so what's the point?

So, you're in a funk! It happens. I have my typical funk routine. It involves:

-crying at the Lancome counter in the mall
-frequenting the Chick-fil-A drive-thru
-writing very sad blog posts

And, well, the cycle goes on. Lancome and Chick-fil-A get all my money, my blog views go up a little because apparently a lot of people are interested in my pain, and eventually the funk phases out slowly back into the mediocrity of emotional stability.

BUT NOT THIS FUNK! 

No. I'm determined to get out of it, AND SOON. I've decided there a few things I need to do in order to kick this funk. These are the things:

-EXERCISE MORE
-GET FRESH AIR
-SLEEP BETTER
-LOOK PRETTIER
-DRINK LESS MILKSHAKES

Yes. And so, I've thrown myself into this funk-kicking routine! Today, I did 60 squats in the shower. I played baseball with the kids I watched, and I didn't fake-run slowly like I usually do - oh no. I RAN FOR REAL. I even decided to forgo eating leftover pizza for lunch and instead opted for some strawberries. But you want to know what REALLY made the difference for me today?

Stories.

They weren't even on my list!

But, I listened to stories and walked seven miles around the park. It wasn't the sunshine, or the fresh air, or the gravelly stream running beside me that so changed the course of my day - even my WEEK! It was the stories trickling through my cheap earbuds and into my vast and wandering mind.

These aren't audio books - they're stories. Mostly Moth stories. Real people's anecdotes, memories, tragedies, victories. These blips of reality, painted with humor and nostalgia and hopefulness - they are the remedy, I'm convinced, to a mind overcooked in society's pretentious performances.

Tears streamed down my face as I marched the park path, and people looked at me with concern. But just minutes later, I was laughing loudly. And then, crying again. But then laughing, roaring! I had completely escaped my own life and was lost deep within a rabbit trail of different lives. It was a time of contentment and comfort. It's incredible how fifteen minutes of listening to another person's story can transform them from a stranger to a role model, a kindred spirit, a force in your life.

And I feel a sense of peace because I ALSO have stories to tell! Little blips of reality, infused with my perspective, that I want, I need to share! And one day, maybe I'll be one of those people sending my stories out into the world, causing laughter and tears and true, refreshing emotion.

Or maybe I already am one of those people.

And my funk seems so insignificant in the grand scheme of things, because it's just a funk, and it seems like a pretty good story could start out with: "Once, in one of my funks..."

Stay tuned.