Where We Go When We Go Nowhere

We’ve landed on a planet that’s completely engulfed in flame, and that’s a good thing. My more experienced space-adventurer friend, Luke, explains that this planet’s superheated fire storms make for perfect storm crystal hunting conditions. Those crystals sell for a lot of units at trading hubs, and I’ve had my eye on several ships to replace my starter vessel.

We wait for an alert to flash across our windshields: “WARNING. Wall of Flame Detected.” Then we take off into the ashy sky in our individual ships, our hulls creaking from the extreme heat of the atmosphere.

Even with our durable exosuits, we can’t last long outside of our ships during these storms. Once we spot the white, glowing crystals on the ground below, we land as close as we can, hop out, and jog through the thick, heat-wobbled air to collect our prizes as quickly as possible.

After the storm passes, we return to one of the few trading posts on this hell-world to exchange our treasures for universal currency. The landscape around the post is charred and unlivable, but on this little platform, members of the local sapient species bumble around, doing their own thing.

Here on planet Novil, that primary species is the Gek. I like the Gek. They’re short and reptilian and kinda cute, for being a bunch of arrogant plutocrats. I like them so much that I’m disguised as one of them. I look like a little yellow lizard in a green jumpsuit.

It me! The lizard of your dreams!

Luke, on the other hand, resembles neither the Gek nor the other two primary races in the galaxy. He’s taller than me and has a broad face with dish-like eye sockets and a crown of branching, antler-like appendages. He’s oddly pretty for being an alien mashup of the Forest Spirit from Princess Mononoke and a Furby. Technically, his disguise is more accurate to what we “really” are.

We are both “Travelers,” mysterious beings trying to piece together our own history, and that of the universe. A daunting task, but that’s just how this game goes. No Man’s Sky is massive in both content and concept. It’s a space exploration game with over 18 quintillion procedurally-generated planets to discover.

Just how big is that number? Large enough that it would take you almost 585 billion years to see each planet. So, large enough to be essentially infinite, and definitely large enough to occasionally swamp me with existential dread.

But I can handle a little dread, because I’m playing the game with my friends.

This is part of how I’ve been staying connected with people during the Year of Isolation. Usually, I hate phone calls. I feel uncomfortable and antsy even when chatting with my most beloved friends. I can’t focus on the conversation, and have trouble processing their words, no matter how clear the call is.

But for some reason, when I’m also zipping around in space, shooting asteroids to collect their precious resources, I can chat on a call for hours. Do I still get distracted and lose what I was saying? Oh yeah, definitely. But I get less anxious when that happens. It feels much more like a “normal” conversation with my loved ones. Like we’re all together, just hanging out. And also running from angry robots that want to laser us to death.

As we descend into what promises to be an even more isolating than usual winter, I’m increasingly aware of how vital it will be to keep this little ritual going. I’ve already chucked so many other rituals out the window. I lack the energy and focus for even my favorite activities, like writing. This was a rare November in which I didn’t attempt to reach 50,000 words for National Novel Writing Month, despite my love of the challenge. It was just too much pressure on my exhausted brain.

But video games? No pressure, just digital nincompoopery with my friends? That I can handle. Plus, I need that nincompoopery right now. So much is happening, and I’m overwhelmed and brimming with dread. This year has been so tightly packed with tragedy that it’s hard to hold a conversation that doesn’t circle back to the horror stew in which we all simmer.

So, having a conversation with my buddy Ryan about how the water mechanics work in Minecraft as he, Luke, Alé, and I burrow through cubes of stone in search of diamonds is a massive relief. For a few minutes, I can set aside the brain-scrambling anxiety and focus on karate-chopping giant spiders with my unicorn-themed avatar.

That’s not to say that we don’t hold serious conversations during our play sessions, though. We still chat about the heaviness of this year, and update each other on how our days went, and how we’re feeling. That question, that friendly “how are you doing?”, is sometimes very difficult to answer. In truth, even though I’ve been relatively fortunate this year and have worked hard on taking care of myself, I’m still struggling. Mental quirks that have previously been manageable are becoming disruptive in my work life and at home.

And so it was during one of those play sessions, as my space-lizard persona drifted through the void in their little red shuttle, that I decided to schedule my first voluntary, individual appointment with a therapist.

I’ve been wary of therapy for a variety of reasons. I’ve felt unworthy of it, or like I shouldn’t even bother unless I’m on the brink of a crisis, or that I’m “not allowed” to seek treatment unless I’ve completely exhausted all of my existing coping skills (how am I even supposed to measure that?). I’ve also had some poor therapist matches as a young person, and then as an adult during my bid to save a marriage that didn’t want to be saved. I feared I wasn’t emotionally ready to handle the potential discomfort or outright rejection that could come from a not-quite-right counseling relationship.

This year, the stakes are too high for those excuses. Even with video game playdates with my friends, and occasional, cautious meet-ups, it’s going to be an extra lonely season. When I have nowhere to go, I go inward, and that can be a dangerous and disorienting journey. You see, I start that journey with the intention of knowing myself more fully, so that I may better myself as a person. What tends to happen, however, is that I self-reflect to the point of bullying myself.

It’s a big, overwhelming universe out there. Now is not the time to rip apart the only vessel I have for exploring that universe.

Which is why I’m enlisting outside help.

If you’re feeling lonely and overwhelmed in your own metaphorical spaceship, I encourage you to do the same. Reach out, whether to professionals or to friends. Find new ways to connect to your loved ones. Don’t succumb to the feeling of stagnation. As lonely as you may feel, you aren’t alone. There’s a host of other travelers feeling much the same at the moment.

We can only do our best to make it through. In the meantime, I highly recommend the joys of building blocky Minecraft kingdoms with your friends. I promise it’s much more pleasant than staring at the wall and spiraling into an Extra Large Depression Pit. And if you find yourself spiraling anyway, here’s a link to a place that can help you match up with a therapist.

Good luck, everyone. Be safe, and much love!

The End of the Hot Winter

Oh.

Oh my.

It’s been months, hasn’t it? That’s what the little calendar in the corner of my screen says, anyway.

I hesitate to joke about the passage of time, because it’s all been joked about before. How time has broken through its dam and rushed by in an awful, un-swimmable torrent, and yet has also stayed absolutely still. For a while, it felt like the winter was just being extended: a little more indoors alone time while the weather gradually warmed. But then winter continued… No events to serve as waypoints, no sunny gatherings of friends and strangers, no 5Ks or concerts or festivals. The days were hot and bright and empty.

This morning, I stood on my back step while the dogs did their business and watched the steam of my breath rise toward the yellowing leaves of the walnut trees that tower over my house, and I realized with more horror than usual that the cold days are returning.

Hot winter is over, and I dread the arrival of true winter.

Normally, this is the part of my blog entry where I say more silly stuff about my struggles, and then flip my anxieties into sappy optimism. But this time, that feels dirty. In the face of profound injustice and worldwide suffering, what can I even say? “We’ll get through this! Spirits up! Be kind!” But you’ve heard that all before, and in the midst of such pain, those platitudes feel hollow and insulting.

This has been a summer of immense loss. I have been fortunate. I have lived, and my family has lived. Over a million people around the world have not, and I know personally of one such loss and its devastating impact on my most cherished friends. Again: what do I say to that? What do I do except scrounge up frail phrases of comfort, and show up when I can?

I lie awake in bed thinking about that death, because the scale of it doesn’t fit in my brain. I can’t hold the horror of it all at once. My heart - practiced at shattering and reforming - is a whirling assembly of broken glass, never able to fully reshape between blows, and I’ve been lucky. It’s my loved ones who are suffering the most, one catastrophe after another, all within a series of global catastrophes. If I can barely conceptualize all of these atrocities, how could I possibly comprehend the vastness of their agony?

And then I think of my other friends, and of the strange new patterns their lives have taken on. I get to sit behind a desk in a small, minimally-trafficked office all day while another dear friend works two public-facing jobs. Not only is she more exposed to Covid risk factors, but she has to act as an enforcer of the new rules of public interaction. The daily onslaught of ignorance she must endure boils my blood, and yet again… What do I say?

There are also the friends who are now working indefinitely from home, a combined blessing and curse. I have not had to contend with that special kind of loneliness so far, or at least, not to the same degree.

There’s another friend who comes to mind as well, someone I met and became close with while indulging in my “let’s write stories about aliens” coping mechanism over the summer. They’re an aspiring marine biologist whose plans to move out of an unsafe home environment and enroll in relevant programs are on hold while the economy wobbles and the pandemic rages.

How do you plan for the future when the only consistent feature of the present has been inconsistency?

I don’t have an answer for that. I don’t have that uplifting twist that I usually do in my blog entries. All I really have is this suggestion: Focus on your survival, and be as kind as you can. Kind to yourself, and kind to others. This moment is not forever, despite how it may feel. Now is a time for gentleness and endurance.

If you have the means, maybe you can offer kindness in the form of donations to these folks:

• Charities promoting black health, education, rights, and community development

• Nonprofits providing relief and recovery to communities affected by the pandemic

• The ACLU (particularly important in the face of voter suppression)

I want so badly to end this entry with sparkles and rainbows, but that still doesn’t feel right. Not against the backdrop of all this horror. I don’t want to downplay the terrible weight of this year, and all the pain that’s come with it. But I do want to offer a little sliver of hope.

I’m still here. And if you’re reading this, then you’re still here too. And there are still bright days, and bonfires, and yellow leaves. There are families walking their dogs and waving from the other side of the street. There are trips to the woods and picnics to be packed. There are warm blankets and purring cats. There are people raising their voices in opposition of evil.

If all you can do right now is survive, that’s more than enough. I’ll be doing my best to survive right along with you.

A Little Bit of Lightness

What a one-two punch January and February were, huh? I’m inclined to list examples (I mean, other than the fact that I’m posting this in March when I meant to post it at the beginning of February)… but I’m so sick of even thinking about the constant bad news buzzing through my phone. I mean, y’all are seeing this garbage too, right? This isn’t a fever dream initiated by a certain Public Health Emergency of International Concern? Yikes, I guess I let an example slip through after all…

I need to be honest here. My blood is boiling (and not because of a fever). I’m pulled between extremes of emotion: teeth-gnashing outrage at the injustice at the top of all of my news feeds, but also the hopelessness and apathy born of watching horrible things happen every day while all efforts to stop those things are steamrollered.

In summary, this GIF:

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Because, look, if I’m not fine, then I'm gonna melt down one of these days. I’m gonna McFreakin’ Lose It in a Kroger, waiting in line to buy my frozen taquitos and baby carrots. I’m gonna wander into a forest and go absolutely feral. I’ll catch fish with my bare hands and eat them raw, Gollum-style. I’ll grow moss on my skin and let snails live in my hair. I’ll become the cryptid I always wanted to be and I’ll probably survive like that for a week and then die from not being fast enough to catch the fish I was planning to eat. Or, more realistically, dysentery.

Fortunately, I’ve developed some coping mechanisms that don’t involve vanishing into the wilderness. I try to keep up with the usual “exercise, eat some veggies, drink water” self-care advice, of course. But sometimes what I really need is just a hearty serving of “feel good.” With that in mind, I’ve compiled a few of the things that have brought me joy recently, and which may do the same for you.

1. Wandersong

I actually came across this incredibly endearing game over the summer, but I hop back into it and replay my favorite chapters from time to time because it’s just so, so good for the soul. It’s a puzzle-solving adventure in which you play as a Bard tasked with finding the pieces to a song that will save the universe from being unmade.

You know: light, chill stuff.

But truly. You spend the game singing and exploring beautifully-designed little worlds and collecting friends. It’s sweet and sincere and emotionally gratifying in ways that I don’t wish to articulate lest I spoil the fun of you experiencing the game for the first time.

Wandersong is number one on my list right now because it deals with that sensation of catastrophic overwhelm so well. It’s a familiar feeling: the world appears to be ending, and try as you might, there’s a strong chance that nothing any of us do is going to be enough to save it. But that doesn’t mean you stop putting good back into the universe. You keep singing, and when you can’t find your voice, you trust that your friends will sing for you until you can again.

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Also, the Bard is non-binary, which is just… chef’s kiss, ya know? I feel a cosplay coming on.

2. Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts

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Hi, hello, I’m a sucker for a colorful apocalypse. Kipo is a delightful adventure that takes place in a future filled with giant mutant creatures, frogs in suits, and singing lumberjack cats. Pockets of humanity have survived underground or in the urban wasteland, fearing the sapient beasts that now rule the reclaimed Earth.

It’s super fun, you guys, I promise.

And not only fun! It’s sweet and exciting and I cried, like, 15 times (and there are only 10 episodes out on Netflix so far). But it was the good kind of crying. The, “holy wow, this writing is so delicious” kind of crying.

I don’t care how old you are. This show is a beautiful escape with a BANGIN’ soundtrack. It’s the kind of media I wish I had as a kid, and I’m delighted that it exists for kids (of all ages) now.

3. Just Making Art, My Dudes

Recently, I’ve wanted to spend all my free time burritoed on the couch, watching baking competitions, eating a LOT of dairy products, and slowly spiraling into a dissociative state. I seek constant distractions, and yet feel too tired to really engage with them. Like, you know how Wandersong is at the top of this feel-good list? I love it, it always boosts my mood, and yet sometimes it takes too much mental effort to even play it.

I just wanna sit there, head empty, feeling vaguely miserable about, just, you know, stuff. Whatever.

Leaked footage of my living room on any given weeknight. Source

The thing is, I’ve been DEPRESSED before. Like, BIG DEPRESSED. This isn’t quite the same… That’s not to say it isn’t Depression, but it’s not of the caliber I’m accustomed to. It’s just a relentless fatigue, a whole lotta “I don’t wanna.”

But because of my experiences with Depression, I understand the importance of not letting the exhaustion (or the cheese) swallow me. I’ve set an alarm on my phone that tells me to get up and make something once a day. The goal is 15 minutes of creative productivity. It doesn’t matter if I’m “in the mood” or not. It gets me off the couch. Or, if not off the couch, then at least in an upright position with a pencil in my hand.

I’ve downloaded some drawing software and played with that. I’ve scribbled figure drawings in sketchbooks. When I’m REALLY motivated, I work on a memoir-esque comic book project.

Often, even though I’m only “supposed” to be working for 15 minutes, I go much longer than that. Sometimes I fixate so intensely on a project that I work on it for hours and struggle to think of anything else even when I’m not in front of it. My rust is knocked loose, and suddenly, I’m an idea-generating machine again, unable to write or draw fast enough to keep up with my thoughts. Which makes it hard to sleep or find time to wash the dishes or remember to preheat the oven for dinner, but hey, at least I’m not staring at the wall while my contacts dry and adhere to my unblinking eyes.

OK, so now that I’m writing it out, some of this is a little disordered of me, but still… Art has broken me out of my funk plenty of times, and the hyperfixation that follows at least bolsters my energy again. Once the mania releases its grip, I’m ready to clean the bathroom and fold my laundry and brush the filth out of Binx’s beard (sometimes).

The wonderful thing about art is you need so little of anything to make it. Pencil, paper, BOOM. Prefer to use a computer? Scribble with your mouse in MS Paint and pretend it’s 2002 again. Treat yourself to some cheap canvases and a set of lowest-grade acrylic paints from Michael’s (they basically give those things away… Google some coupons and get ready to spend, like, $4 on an entire painting starter kit). Look up “wine and canvas”-style painting tutorials on YouTube. Go WILD. You are MAKING something. Time is a hateful circle, but the raggedy painting you made of a cardinal after watching half a video about it will FOREVER watch you from wherever you try to hide it once you’re done.

But seriously… Art lets you rest your mind and allows you to channel yourself in new ways. You don’t have to be good. You just have to MAKE. You’ll feel more human once you do.

4. The OUTDOORS

Just because it’s winter in the hemisphere you’re probably reading this from (if you’re reading this when it comes out) doesn’t mean you’re trapped indoors. And I know I started this list specifically stating that it doesn’t involve vanishing into the wilderness, but hear me out…

Parks are still open. Walking trails are open. Your neighborhood streets are (probably) open. Of course I’d rather go play outside when it’s warm and sunny. I am, after all, little more than a bipedal lizard whose deepest desire is to find a rock to sun myself upon.

But this lizard can also put on a coat and gloves and take my dogs out for a walk.

This is definitely another “sometimes you have to force joy into your life” list item, because during my stuck-on-the-couch days, I really don’t feel inclined to put on a shirt without salsa stains and go out into the cold. However, as with art, I consistently feel brighter and better for having done so. Even if it’s just out onto my porch to watch snowflakes and sip coffee for a few minutes.

The color will return in a few months. I don’t know what fresh and disheartening news will come with the spring, but at least daffodils will come too. For now, I can still find joy in bare trees.

5. r/Eyebleach

No article on the topic of “lightness” is complete without mentioning the subreddit r/Eyebleach, the true palette-cleanser of the internet. I know it’s a “cheap” joy to end my list with, but sometimes I just need to watch kittens falling asleep or children dancing with bus drivers for a few minutes to calm my frantic brain. r/Eyebleach (and subreddits like it, such as r/WholesomeMemes) is a reminder that there are still good things in the world.

I mean, look at this:

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Don’t tell my dogs, but I’m not the type to melt over puppy pictures. But that baby up there? WOW. Just… very good stuff.

That pup is out in the world, having a grand ol’ time, looking at two different things at once with those goofy eyeballs. And that’s good news.

I know the stakes feel higher than ever. I understand the feeling of hopelessness. But you deserve to find joy for yourself, and I truly hope you find that joy today.

The days are getting longer and brighter. Take care of your happiness, and keep marching forward into spring.

A Heavy-Hearted Announcement

One year ago, I wrote about my Anti-Death Spray: my reasons to stay alive and joyful. The list started with my wife’s name. Today, after months of agony and resistance, I removed her from my list.

Kelsey and I are divorcing. Even now, after everything we went through to come to this immensely sorrowful decision, I find myself rereading those words in disbelief. I don’t want this to be happening. I stand by my vows to her, that I love her with a love bigger than myself. I feel eviscerated by this change.

I’m sure many of you who know me personally are shocked by this announcement. I get it. Hell, I’m shocked too. I could never have foreseen this outcome. But that’s what everyone in this situation says, huh?

I won’t get into the details here. There’s an angry and wounded voice in my heart that wants to heard, but letting that voice out to rage helps no one.

What does help is updating my list of happy things to keep living for.

I still love Kelsey, but she can’t be at the top of my list anymore.

She’s not the only part of my list that’s changed, though. Life is change. Over the past year I’ve found many new treasures to cherish. New video games and new music. New recipes and new restaurants. New friends and new adventures. I’ve learned to appreciate an assortment of experiences that would never have made my list last April and I’m grateful for that.

Instead of asking me about this enormously difficult moment in my life, I encourage you to review your own list of loves. What has changed in your world? What new joys await you?

I may be quiet for a while as I process this lifestyle shift, but I’m still Abi, I still know who I am and what I want, and I still have happiness somewhere on my horizon.

As do you.

Bad at Winter

As I velcro a tiny coat around my chihuahua-mutt Billie’s torso, she looks deep into my eyes and transmits a message so clear and direct that she may as well have spoken it aloud. “Mother, why?”

Billie on the left, Binx on the right, both bundled in their coats of shame.

“I’m so sorry, sweet angel babies,” I say as I press the leash clasps between my palms to unfreeze them enough to clip to both dogs’ collars. Then I open the storm door and shove them out onto the icy front steps.

Binx - the smaller and shaggier of the chihuahua-mutt sisters - staggers across the lawn first, trying to keep a minimum of paws on the ground as she goes, nearly somersaulting forward as she accidentally tries to elevate both hind legs simultaneously. When she finally pees (directly on the sidewalk and in a quantity rivaling a German shepherd’s capacity), she does so with one trembling back leg lifted skyward, maintaining unblinking and mournful eye contact with me as I watch from the safety of the glass door.

Billie - larger and bizarrely barrel-chested for her breed - stands at the base of the steps, her face almost too human in its expression of sorrow and shame, the canine version of a defeated Charlie Brown. “You're doing this to punish me,” she says with her downcast eyes and her honest-to-god frown. “I just know it. I’m a bad dog, and bad dogs have to wear coats and stand out in the cold.”

I don’t know how to explain to her that it wouldn’t be so bad if she just kept her booties on, or if she used the puppy pads by the door like we’d tried to train both dogs to do during last winter’s icy weather. I don’t know how to tell her that we’ve done all we can in terms of shoveling the walk and using pet-safe salt to melt a path. I certainly don’t know how to convey to her that I’m suffering as well.

OK, maybe I don’t have to relieve myself out there in the tundra with the puppies, but the winter’s running me ragged nonetheless.

Here’s a snapshot of a typical winter morning for me:

• Wake up in the dark. I move my legs, dislodging Wednesday the cat, who takes the opportunity to assault my toes and then wander up the bed to give me a kiss directly on the lips or, if I’m especially lucky, my open eyeball.

• Fall back asleep while scrolling through Timehop, despite the cat continuing to lick my face and breathe into my mouth.

• Frantically re-awaken and rush to start my morning routine, which involves feeding Wednesday, who helpfully races down the hall with me, begging for me to scissor-kick her in half as she weaves between my legs.

• Leap into the shower, where I somehow fall asleep a third time halfway through shaving my pits as my podcasts play loudly over a waterproof speaker (even though my wife is still asleep on the other side of the wall).

• Leave the shower, but then fall asleep again on the toilet before entering a single number in my morning poop Sudoku puzzle.

• Put on clothes in the dark. Hope they match, but it doesn’t matter, because they’re all coated in a consistent layer of dog hair (exclusively Billie’s), enough to craft several to-scale models of every mammal in the house.

• Ask my digital personal assistant about the weather, knowing full well she’s selling me out to the Russians, but forget to pay attention to her answer, which is always something along the lines of, “Girl, it is colder than a witch’s tit out there, just like it was yesterday, and just like it will be tomorrow, and for the rest of your miserable little life, you worthless American weakling.”

• Let the dogs out (see introductory paragraphs).

• Feed the fish while my car defrosts and my toast, uh, toasts.

• Forget my toast on the way to the car.

• Return to get the toast, which is now colder than a witch’s tit, just as my personal Russian spy- er, digital assistant predicted.

• Finally go out to the car, which has had 20 minutes to warm up, but is still encased in an insidiously tough layer of ice that has bonded at a molecular level to the windshield and windows.

• Race to chip away the ice before my limbs lose feeling entirely.

• Attempt to operate the car with numb hands and frozen feet, only to discover that the tires are spinning out in the ice or mud of the driveway (how is there mud when everything else is frozen? GREAT QUESTION).

• Cry.

• Try again until the tires rediscover traction.

And then there’s work. I’m lucky to have an office job, but I’m situated at a receptionist’s desk, directly in the icy wind blast zone when the front doors open. Above me, a vent pours cold air down my back at random intervals presumably related to the building’s heating cycle. I have taken to wearing my bulky winter coat while I work.

By the time I get home, the sun’s going down, and the Long Dark is waiting for me. When the night comes this early, it’s hard to feel productive. I’m tired from fighting for warmth, and all I want to do is burrow under the blankets and play video games. Anything to escape the bleak routine for a little while, before I have to start the cycle again.

I know I’m not alone in this. There’s a reason why millions of people experience Seasonal Affective Disorder during the cold and dark winter months. Humans need sunlight, physically and psychologically, and these months of short, gray days can really screw you up.

There’s only so much I can do for the dogs during the winter, but there are a few things we can all do to be personally better at wintering. On a practical level, you can literally bring more light into your life with a light box, or with Vitamin D supplements. In terms of emotional well-being, you can be more deliberate in keeping in touch with your friends, for your own sake as well as theirs. Go on, send that text, see if your buddy wants to come see Into the Spider-Verse with you (is that still in theaters? I hope so. GO SEE IT). Call your mom (I should take my own advice). Schedule a D&D night. Heck, go to a bar with a dance floor. Then you get human contact AND exercise, both of which are good for boosting your mood (and warming you up!).

And of course, when dance parties and over-the-counter vitamins aren’t cutting it, consider a visit to your doctor. There might be a prescription that can help wrangle those pesky winter brain chemicals, or a therapist you could talk to. If you’re concerned about expense (hard same), then look into Cognitive Behavior Therapy groups, which tend to be much cheaper than one-on-one therapy. Check out Psychology Today’s therapist finder if you need an easy place to start your research.

Stay cozy out there, y’all. And send me photos of your dogs wearing coats. You know, for self-care reasons.