Chilly morning. The coffee becoming quickly cold in my hands. Some days, it's hard to resist the temptation to jump ahead of myself, dream of warmer days, sunnier days, brighter days. My soul closes in itself when the winter has outstayed their welcome. I want to become silent and quiet like the snow. I want to roll myself into a small ball like a hibernating wild animal. But I'm human, and my humanity screams at me. Being human means I can't be content with just existing and letting the seasons past by me, sheltering when it's cold, stretching in the sun when it's warm. Being human means I have this will inside me, to explore further, to understand, to feel, to create, to love, to express myself, to have a purpose. To dream. To feel everything so deeply.. Being human means feeling all extremes in a way it becomes nearly overwhelming sometimes. I try to focus my mind. I try to fill it with inspiration, creating. I try to find a path that leads me from this place o
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SAD, coronavirus and world changers
So here we are.....this is that time of the year in which I invariably hit a wall. I can not remember a January/February over the last few years in which I wasn't dragged into some depth of depression. I thought this year would be worse than ever, after not having my usual portion of proper summer last year. But against all expectations, things were going really well, better than usual. One should never speak too soon, though, or, as we say it in Portugal, expect the egg whilst it's still on the chicken's bum (I guess weird sayings are universal, hey....) It's a weird time to feel down, as I can imagine just about everyone telling me that it is such a hard time for everyone. Which, indeed, it is. But coronavirus or the resulting lockdowns were never a source of depression for me. Worry, yes, definitely. Not only for the pandemia itself, but of course, for all its possible ramifications. But not depression. I enjoy my own company and I have such a vibrant internal world
The deep divers
For years I thought that maybe I was weak. Because I didn't live life like others. For years I thought that maybe I was broken. My life missed the external skeleton others seem to have so easily.. For years others thought me eccentric, because my priorities differed from theirs. For years I thought I lacked bravery, because I didn't show up every day in a shiny armour, waving my weapons around. For years I thought I had more downfalls than most, because I could not pretend to have the qualities they spoke of. But now, as I grow older I wonder.... What's braver than showing up dressed as you, when so much of the world walks around as in a masquerade? Does my life really lack substance, just because I failed to give it a shape everyone else seems to recognise easily? And what do words mean anyway, when actions fail to support them? Now I am able to value the fact that I have always been honest with myself. That I never let the image of the person I wanted to believe overpowe