Melancholy evening

What makes for melancholy days? Hormones or lack thereof? A chemical imbalance? Is it more a product of physical forces or psychological? Is it entirely caused by internal disturbances? Do external disturbances have anything to do with it?

I tend to hover not far short of euphoria. I enjoy my life. I enjoy knowing that I am loved and have love to give to others. I love being competent for at least some percentage of the tasks I face. I love being self-determinate to some extent. I enjoy thinking that I am in relationship with the God of the universe. Even if my faith someday turns out to be totally in error, for right now it seems that following the law of God as recorded in the Bible produces blessings not rivaled by any other path. I have no complaints about where life has brought me. Most days.

Then there are days like today. Chris Rice has a song that speaks of the good days and asks, “Why should any day be like today?” Then it speaks of the bad days and asks the same question: “Why should any day be like today?” Both are good questions. I certainly don’t deserve the good days. But given that most days are good, what is the source of a melancholy day?

Today didn’t start off blue. I think it was late afternoon when it started to go downhill. Ironically enough, the initial trigger might have been someone asking how I was with genuine interest. “Are you okay? You seem ...uhmm...”

I don’t know what word would have come next. Rather than waiting for however long the search for it might have taken, I stepped in after a brief pause to affirm that I was fine. And I was. But the question went with me as I moved on to my next interaction. I felt that my assertion that I was fine rang empty. Isn’t that what people say when they simply choose not to share their grief? Wouldn’t it have been more considerate to share whatever was bothering me? But what was it that made me seem ... uhmm ...? I couldn’t imagine. Particularly since I have no clue as to nature of the elusive adjective.

A while later, I found that two communiques I had written had been misunderstood by two different people. When I pointed out one misunderstanding and took credit for not communicating clearly, the response was “You probably think you write well.” Well, yes, I must admit that I have sometimes entertained the idea that I might communicate better in print than verbally, not because of my own evaluation but because of unsolicited positive feedback from independent sources. But today all those positive words seem empty against the evidence of my failure to communicate and the mockery I thought I detected in the assessment that I only think I can write effectively.

How many positive words does it take to balance negative words? The positive words could be spoken out of kindness or pity or someone’s desire that I like them. Negative words seem so much more honest and substantial. Perhaps they represent what the majority of people are thinking but are too nice to say. It takes independent thought to speak the negative when others are voting together in a positive manner. Isn’t it likely that it’s the unkind people in my life who are most willing to speak the truth to me, since they are obviously the least concerned about whether I like them or not?

Time to sing the blues. I didn’t actually sing, but I did dig out some old piano music. Neil Diamond had a point in “Song Sung Blue” about how blues music can sometimes make you feel better. I distinctly dislike Neil Diamond music so I didn’t play that one, but there are plenty of others. It was nice, but didn’t last. As the chords faded away, the cloud of melancholy crept back in again.

Writing. Sometimes that’s a good antidote for the blues. Even if my communication skills are lagging, I know for myself what I’m trying to say and enjoy wrapping words around my thoughts. So here you are – a melancholy post for a melancholy evening. I had to do it quickly. The borderline euphoria is already threatening to disperse the clouds and by morning light is likely to have sent the blues packing.

I'm glad that there are sad songs and empty lines waiting for print when the blues come along. I may as well enjoy being melancholy while it lasts, which is seldom long.