Despondency

Despondency is the perfect trap for the human soul. Far more than simple sadness, it is lethargy, discouragement, a sense of restlessness and a lack of motivation all wrapped up into one. It is a disinterest in that which you have and a longing for that which you don’t. A sense that you are always one possession, experience, or relationship away from being happy. It is a never-ending discontentment stemming from a secret pride and insecurity, a sense that you’re never good enough and a sense of superiority at the same time.   

Far more than one of the deadly vices, it is a synthesis of several of them. Sloth, envy, pride, jealousy, gluttony, wrath…even lust find a place to rest their head in the heart of a despondent man.  

I was, perhaps ironically, sitting by myself at a bar when all this came to me. Covid was just behind us then, but people still didn’t have the confidence to come out of their bunkers just yet. Most had realized the staggering extent to which the institutions they believed in had fallen short, but couldn’t stomach the humility to admit that their confidence in them was misplaced, that they were wrong. Admitting one’s own errors, even to yourself, is among the least natural things in the world for most of us, and it wasn’t for nothing that Milton assigned pride as the chief vice of the fallen.  

I had left my apartment about an hour before and walked through the ruins of a once-impressive American city. The streets were littered, the air was dusty, and people were few and far between. Curiously though, the early-afternoon sun seemed to be hitting everything just right, covering over the urban landscape’s wounds with light rather than highlighting imperfections the way artificial lights always seem to do.  

My destination, a British pub which was always well-stocked with German beer, was only a few blocks away and, in what now felt like a previous era, the route there was once a favorite walk of mine. I made my way first through a residential area, a quiet neighborhood full of hedges, trees, and bungalows that had once been ridiculously over-priced in the pre-corona economy, but which were now, for the most part, empty shells. Sadly, it was an apt metaphor for most of their inhabitants. Good-looking from the outside, but lacking substance internally and only thinking of their own value in terms of dollars and cents.  

From there, I continued down several side-streets, passing the remains of what had once been my favorite coffee shop, my favorite deli, and the all-too-convenient 7 eleven, which alone had survived the economic carnage.   

The place was mostly empty when I stepped inside, so I took a seat near the middle of the bar, from which I could clearly be seen by the bartender when wanting to order one or three more drinks than was good for me. They still had those ridiculous see-through plastic shields up between you and the employees, giving the place a real prison-visiting-booth aesthetic. But it was still an improvement over the loneliness of four barren walls, so there I was. 

I started off with a Jack and Coke, an amalgamation which combined the taste of my pre-health-conscious self with the smell I often associated with those close to me when I was young. It treated my memory and taste buds at the same time. I had neglected to bring something to read (very unusual for me) but didn’t feel like staring at my phone and pretending to check messages either, so I simply let my gaze wander around the bar.  

The décor was all still the same, as best as I could tell. The place had a nautical theme, with memorabilia seemingly collected by her majesty’s navy the world over. Spy glasses, model ships, naval uniforms, (fake?) books, maps, countless photos from all through the ages; it was kind of like a sailor’s version of Cracker Barrel now that I think of it.  

Each item no doubt had a story behind it, and contained the memories of those who had handled them over the years. Looking around reminded me of the old items always in my possession, which I dragged with me from low-rent apartment to low-rent apartment, despite the hassle of doing so. Having little disposable income makes you value the few possessions you do have all the more, with each item being not mere decoration, but a memento of the time and place where I acquired it. In my nerdy, introverted case, my valuables almost without exception took the form of books.

“You seem lost in thought,” said a voice suddenly from my right.  

I turned to see a young couple a few stools down from me, who had apparently sat down without me noticing. They seemed like they were in their early twenties, with the vestiges of youthful optimism not yet having given way before the onslaught of mundane struggle.  

“You could say that,” I responded, “if the past few months haven’t forced you to do some reflecting, I don’t know if anything ever will.” The conversation commenced from there.  

We were the only customers at the time and could speak freely without disturbing anyone else. I soon came to find out that they were alone in their respective families in no longer fearing the virus’ aftereffects. They were over the nonsense and over-reactions, and had a new determination to just live life as best they could, without worrying about things beyond their power.  

It wasn’t an “eat, drink, and be merry” attitude in the epicurean or nihilistic senses of that term. But rather, an almost-serene sense that “most of what happens to you in life is beyond your control, all you can do is make the best of whatever circumstances you find yourself in.” I was actually quite taken aback by all this.

As our dialogue continued, I found that they had both managed to keep working during the worst days, but on a part-time basis. Combining their incomes and living spartanly however, they had managed to weather the storm quite well. They could avoid eviction and starvation, and this in itself made them wealthy. It was hard not to contrast their, dare I say, optimistic reaction to everything with my own less-than-noble experience.  

I had spent the past half-year living in (essentially) a one-room unit, working 50+ hour weeks from a desk three feet from my bed (which was actually just an Ikea mattress on the floor), with few friends nearby, and nearly none who would venture out amid the panic. And though I had resolved never to complain about work at a time unemployment exceeded 25%, despondency had most definitely gripped my heart. By contrast, my friends here (for just about anyone can become friends after a few drinks) had seemingly mastered a stoic, almost saintly response to everything.  

I ordered us another round (Weißbiers for all three of us if memory serves) as we continued. Given how open they were with me, I felt the need to respond in like fashion and soon explained how I had taken a chance on a new job in a new state mere months before Covid hit. I had been in a real rut in the half-year or so leading up to that decision and it definitely seemed like the right move at the time. Although, as I looked back at my life through the lense of an empty beer glass, it seemed like there was an element of running-away-from-one’s-problems at work as well. They offered antidotes from their own lives in response, and soon we were on to other topics without us deciding if I had made the right calls or not. I was OK with this indecisiveness.  

After all, even worse than not learning from history is learning the wrong lessons from history.  

It’s kind of like the distinction between bravery and stupidity, it’s a judgement that is usually only assigned in retrospect. A romantic gesture, if well-received, was brave. If rejected, it was a dumb idea. The same can be said of taking a new job, moving to a new location, going back to school, etc. You really can’t know at the time what the impact will be.  

But, excessive self-consciousness has never helped anybody. It’s all too easy to over-think yourself to the point of paralysis, to psych yourself out of something that could be genuinely great in the long term due to a few difficult factors in the short term. Some people rush into things too quickly, whereas others always look for excuses not to do something. The quality of your thoughts determines the quality of your life. And though many thoughts occur spontaneously, it is your decision to keep them in your mind, to dwell on them, to saver them, and turn these into actions and habits. At a certain point, every good change requires a little faith.    

These are hardly new observations, the writings of early Christian monks and the Roman stoics alike are full of references to the above. The classical observation that a disordered mind leads to a chaotic life is completely in sync with the Orthodox understanding that pride and despondency lead one to self-destruction.  

It was a bit heavy for a barroom conversation, but it was genuine, and refreshing beyond description.  

We shook hands and then actually hugged (a form of human interaction everyone seems determined to forget ever existed) when they got up to leave. I haven’t seen them since, but offer a prayer for them every now and again.