The days are getting shorter. Colder. Darker. For those of us living in the Pacific Northwest, autumn has definitely arrived. And while I enjoy this season at it’s start, it’s also a marker for what’s to come…even shorter, colder, and darker days.
I know some people can’t wait for this time of year. They love to hibernate and have found ways to enjoy 9 months of chilly, gray days. I wish I could get there, but I’ll be honest…I’m dreading it. And so is my dog. Every year around this time when the clouds roll in and the rain starts to fall, her expressions vary between a wicked side-eye or a piercing glare depending on her mood that day. It’s almost as if she’s blaming me for flipping a switch that makes the sun go away. I keep telling her that I don’t control the weather, but I don’t think she believes me.
A few weeks ago, I made my way to the airport for some travels on a gloomy, wet day. As we took off and climbed upward, we broke through the clouds to a sky that was brilliantly blue and bright. I felt my mood instantly shift and then started to think about how much what we see—and our perception of it—can shape how we experience the world.
Why isn’t it enough to know that the sun is there regardless of whether or not we can see it? As an avid reader throughout my life, I’ve developed a fairly extensive imagination. So, why can’t I just imagine that a gray day is a blue-sky day instead?
Ever since I was a kid, I have felt things really intensely and am deeply affected by the big feels. These last few years of life have pushed and pulled me in ways that I never expected, and have left me—in some moments—feeling as if I’m being buried under the clouds…making it difficult to remember that the sun exists above.
In those moments, I’ve learned to do things that will get me “above the clouds”. Things that help remind me that the sun is still there. Here are a few I’ve done recently:
- Stood on my favorite Oregon beach—gazing out over the Pacific Ocean—and let myself feel a part of something bigger.
- Visited with dear friends who are like family. Spent time in deep conversations. Hung with their kiddos and had dance parties and made silly faces. Read them stories. Played games. Remembered doing the exact same with her other kids when they were younger.
- Felt pure joy while riding in a pedicab through Times Square with a friend—enjoying the shared exhilaration of exploring a new place.
- Allowed myself to be truly moved and fully swept away into the experience of my first Broadway show.
- Laughed so hard with a friend that tears started streaming down our faces, finding it hard to recover.
Now, this isn’t to say that everything is all “rainbows and unicorns” when you find ways to get yourself above those clouds. Or that you should ignore the clouds. We have to acknowledge the hard things. The big feelings. But we also need moments of reprieve where we can feel love…joy…hope.
In honor of World Mental Health Day that was earlier this month, and in remembrance of a dear friend who took his life this same month seven years ago, I want to remind you that you are loved. You’re not alone. And if you’re having a hard time breaking through the clouds, it’s okay to ask for help. Another friend of mine who has also lost someone to suicide has compiled an extensive list of resources on Phoenix. If you’ve lost a loved one in this way, there’s support out there for you, too. Grieving this type of death comes with a unique set of things to process—make sure to prioritize self-care and lean on your people as you make your way through.
Grief, I’ve learned, is really just love. It’s all the love you want to give, but cannot. All that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in that hollow part of your chest.
Jamie Anderson
Grief is just love with no place to go.
As we navigate life, there are so many unexpected twists and turns. Sometimes, when things get really dark, we forget that the sun still exists above the clouds, even if we can’t see it. In those moments, let’s help each other remember.
And to Ryan…I hope the sun is shining bright on you, my friend—for you were such a light to all of us when you were here. What an incredible gift you were to so many. I hope someday we’ll be able to raise a glass together on the other side. Until then, I’ll raise a glass from here. To your memory. The legacy you left. And what a bright soul you were. You are loved and missed beyond measure.
Follow the Spark 