Remember to row.

I like analogies. They’re a good way to get a point across in a way that’s easy for most people to grasp. I assume that my fondness for analogies comes from being raised Christian; there are a lot of analogies in the Bible.

I’m not a Christian anymore, I haven’t been for quite a while. It just doesn’t fit into the world I’ve experienced. What I am, however, is a student of existence. I try to study and analyze every moment of my existence. Where I have been, and where I am now, are the only truths I can possibly know.

Something I know, something I experience, is that little voice in my head. The voice that tells me time and again that I am not good enough, not smart enough, not lovable enough, not worth the air I breathe. The voice that makes me feel ugly, stupid, and worthless. It is there, and always has been.

If I were Christian, I would say it’s the devil. That’s his job, right? He’s here to discredit God’s work, and what are we if not God’s masterpiece?

I’m not a Christian though, so instead of passing the blame onto some invisible character in a grandiose space opera, I’m left to conclude that it’s possibly a throwback to our evolution as a species, some mechanism put in place to help us when we were in tribes and needed each other in order to survive. I could also dig deeper and pass the buck to some chemical inbalance or some misfiring neuron in my bedazzled brain.

I like to think that this is a pretty common thing, this harassment from within. I know quite well that some of my friends give that voice center stage. It’s what they speak of, or whine about, most. They don’t see it like I see it though, to them it’s just how they are. It’s something that cannot be handled by them alone. They need drugs or alcohol or sex or.. who knows. Something from the outside.

A few months ago I decided to test out a theory. I decided to agree with the voice for a bit. Yes, I’m fat. Yes, you’re right, I shouldn’t be a programmer, I’m too dumb. Yes, I am a lost cause and I should just hurry up and die. As expected, I became very depressed. I tend to think I’m always depressed, but when you’re really in it, it’s as solid as concrete. There is no hope, no way out, no reason for anything, no options.

Depression sucks, and when you’re depressed the last thing on your mind is telling someone about it. Ask for help? Why? Nobody knows what I’m feeling and nobody can do anything to get me out of it. There is no “out of it.” This is just how it is.

I clawed my way out of it. If depression is a hole, I’m not standing on the grass looking down at it, but you can bet your ass I’m right at the opening, clutching to as many blades of grass as I can hold onto.

From here, that voice isn’t calling me fat or stupid, it’s just saying,

“Let go. What’s the point?”

When I’m depressed, that is the question of the hour. What is the point? Inside that hole it is pitch black; there’s nothing to see and no way out, but from here I can see the grass. Hell, I can smell that freshly-mowed smell and see the green stains on my fingers. I can see a tree just over there. The sun is bright and it warms my face. There is indeed a point.

I don’t know what it’s like to not be here. Well, besides being in the hole. I’ve all but given up on imagining what it’s like by the tree, or what’s just over the hill. This is what it is; I am either clutching the grass or I’m in the hole.

I was looking for an analogy to explain the process of being here, not quite in the hole. I thought,

It’s like you are inside a box, and the box is underwater, and it has leaks. You have to stay on the leaks or you’ll drown.

That wouldn’t make much sense though, right? That’s not a thing. People don’t hang out in underwater boxes. That thought did lead me closer though.

Imagine for a second that you’re on a boat in the middle of the ocean. You’re paddling, and you’re tired, but you have a plan to get somewhere. There’s an island where everything is pretty, and there’s food and drink galore. It’s an awesome place you’re headed to, but right now you’re in the middle of the ocean, alone, in a little boat. It’s going to take forever to get to this island, so you row. The waves pick up and start tossing you around a little, but you row. The wind gusts and turns your boat to the side. You paddle and paddle to get back on course. It starts to rain, the wind is intense, the waves are massive. You get knocked out of the boat. You grab on and try to get back into it, but it’s taking on water and you keep getting tossed into the ocean. This happens over and over. It seems like a lost cause. This storm is here forever.

It’s not though, is it? It may last an hour, a day, or even a month, but it will end. Unfortunately, for some of us, the storms come frequently. We’re tired, we’re hungry, we’re all turned around. Some of us just let go. We stop trying to get back into the boat. We simply float and await our fate, or worst, we sink.

It takes a great deal of continuous effort to train ourselves to identify that stupid voice. More effort still to learn to identify and counter it. It is work.

I don’t know how many people are like me. I imagine that none are, but it’s probably more than that. I’m pretty lazy, and when that voice echoes over and over,

“Let go.”

It almost sounds melodic. I want to let go. I don’t like the hole — or what it represents — but it does sound so much easier than holding on.

Life is work however, so I must hold on. All that I know to be good; the food I eat, the clothes I wear, the technology that connects me to so many around the world; it is all the result of work. Someone chose to get back on the boat, to row against the storms, to fight the desire to surrender. Many, many others — no better than you or me — made it to shore.

Their success came down to choosing. They chose to talk back to the voice. They told it how wrong it was. They did not let go. They did not give up. They remembered to row even if it was the last thing they wanted to do.

You can do that too. You are better than that voice. There is a point. You are supposed to be here. There’s a party at that island and you’re the guest of honor. Don’t forget to row.