“We’re all just walking each other home.” – Ram Dass
The other week I visited a relative in an assisted nursing facility. Let me be blunt: it was desolate. Bleak. Beyond depressing. Standing there in that sterile hallway, a thought crept in that I couldn’t shake: “So this is what awaits us at the end of our lives” – forgotten, waiting to die. I promised myself I’d never end up there.
Except I already was.
THE HARDEST TRUTHS OFTEN HIDE IN PLAIN SIGHT
Something shifted after that visit. I started losing interest in things, but not in the obvious way depression is often portrayed. It was subtler – like someone slowly turning down a dimmer switch on my life. The joy faded. Fatigue crept in. Motivation slipped away. I was going through the motions, playing it safe, lying to myself without ever saying a word.
My passion? Extinguished. My smile? Faded. I withdrew into myself, and the worst part was I barely noticed it happening.
SOMETIMES ROCK BOTTOM HAS A BASEMENT
Today hit hard. One of those heavy days where existence itself feels like walking through mud. I couldn’t decide what to do with myself, so I took my own medicine and just sat with it. That’s when it hit me – clear as day: “I am depressed.”
But here’s where it gets interesting. In that moment of naming it, I caught myself attaching to it, wearing depression like an identity. Then came the shift – subtle but seismic: I’m not depressed. I feel depressed. That tiny change in words created space. Space to breathe. Space to learn.
As I sat with this feeling, truth knocked me sideways: I was just like those nursing home residents. I was waiting to die.
Let me be crystal clear – this isn’t about suicide. It’s about something more insidious: I had let go of so much that I had nothing left to live for. Sure, I had my family. Yes, I still wrote. Yeah, I could still appreciate sitting under trees. But none of that mattered in this state of being.
SOMETIMES WE EMPTY OUR CUP UNTIL THERE’S NOTHING LEFT TO DRINK
In my journey of letting go – of identity, of beliefs, of attachments – I went too far. I blew out the flame of desire itself. And without desire? Life becomes a waiting room.
So here’s my truth, raw and unfiltered. I desire:
- To be held and to be loved (yes, even us spiritual seekers need human touch)
- To feel the wind’s caress and the sun’s kiss on my skin
- To mean something, to leave a mark
- To be a hot-blooded, fully alive human being
- To give back, to contribute something real
- Most of all? To live wild and free – by my own rules
So I’m asking you – not as some enlightened guide, but as a fellow human finding his way back to life – what are your rules for a well-lived life?
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