When a new life begins

I recently came across a letter in a file box written to my parents in 1979, one of the pivotal, if not most significant years of my life. In the course of that single year I experienced the single worst period of depression the previous Autumn and into the winter months of that year. Beginning in the spring and early summer, and and continuing throughout the rest of 1979, I miraculously experienced a total recovery from the depression without any medication or counseling and the beginning of the period of greatest happiness I had ever known, before or since. It’s almost impossible to describe these two emotional extremes.

First, let me say that I have no idea why I even have the letter since it was the original letter in the envelope in which it was mailed. Perhaps one of my parents gave it to me later. I just don’t know. I do know I didn’t make a copy of it. The letter was dated August 4, 1979.

I had returned to my hometown of New Orleans after a traumatic series of events the previous year during which I had to quit my newspaper job. I thought my life had ended. But with time comes healing, and I used the months I was at home with my parents to recuperate and figure out what was to come next. I read voraciously for the first time in many months and took long walks in my old neighborhood as a glorious, warm spring unfolded.

I often made my way down the familiar streets of my childhood to the levee and banks of the Mississippi River which was quite close to our suburban home. Atop the levee looking out over the broad expanse of the Mississippi, I watched cargo ships making their way to the port. I remember the warm breezes off the river and the rapturous feelings I had of gradual freedom from the horrendous grip of depression and a new feeling of liberation and happiness that life was turning around for the better. New hope and anticipation filled those sunshine-filled spring days in April and May. I had a lot of time to think and ponder the mysteries of my life.

That summer, I moved back to Columbia, South Carolina where in 1973 I had decided to live and go to school and begin what was to be my first career, journalism. I was lucky to get a job fairly quickly — I think it was in July — and amazingly so considering I had been out of work for so many months.

In the letter I wrote about my new job and how I liked all the people I worked with. Re-reading the letter obviously has brought back a cascade of memories. I also told Mom and Dad about my ambitious plans to get some of the poetry and short stories I had recently written published in major publications. I have to smile now at that youthful audacity, but I had labored over and re-written those pieces extensively and was very proud of them. I had shared them with my closest friends in Columbia with whom I had recently been re-united. It was a heady time. I was very happy and confident, a miracle in itself when I think back on how low my interest in life had ebbed and how dark had been the pit of despair from which I had emerged. I was still relatively young, 28, and did indeed have my whole life ahead of me. Now I’m retired and writing this and thinking how very very long ago it now seems when all that occurred.

I’ll share one particular passage from the letter because it so perfectly encapsulates how I was feeling. When I moved back to Columbia and got a dream of an apartment set off in a quiet section of woods near the outskirts of the city, I was just so happy and glad to be alive and in love with life again. I was starting my life over from scratch basically and the days were filled with this new zest for life and people. I enjoyed talking to people everywhere I went, and they responded in kind. It was amazing. But remember, I had been alone in the depths of depression for a long time. Now I had a job, a place to live that I loved and I was back with my old friends. What more could I ask for?

This is what I wrote:

“I can’t tell you how much it means to be happy; to enjoy people. Everywhere I go in Columbia, whether the bank, bookstore, record shop, etc., I find the friendliest people and now talk with almost all of them. It’s amazing how people respond when your attitude toward them is positive and communicative. Each person is so uniquely different and talking to them can be such a special little experience that adds to making your day that much better. People love to talk to those they don’t know and the novelty that each person represents makes knowing them, even minutely, that much more interesting an experience… I’ll write more later but in the meantime please write me.”

Now I’m 66. My father died of cancer in 1992. My mother is 94 and has dementia and diabetes. I’ve been living with her and taking care of her and her needs since 2010. She was always there for me during the best and worst of times. I’m there for her now, for as long as I can humanly do it.

1979 — I gained a lot of wisdom that year, but it took intense and excruciating trials and suffering. That by itself is one of the mysteries of life — why we have to to endure suffering and
Illness — but with age and spiritual growth our life and purpose become clearer. That growth never stops, but now I am able to more fully comprehend the meaning of those polar opposite emotional states and the lessons they taught me.