Riot and Frolic

I have this story which has the potential to be helpful to some people, or at least cathartic to me (#metime).  The struggle has been trying to make it a linear, witty narrative of a time in my life that seemed pretty non-linear and non-witty. Aaaaand, since it addresses a fairly serious issue, I didn't want to be too melodramatic or trivial (fingers crossed that I accomplish ANY of that), here it goes:

A bunch of years ago, I was newly out of school, working in a job I saw no future or joy in, and had started ballroom dancing in my limited free time.  

More importantly to our story, I was pretty depressed, both situationally and probably clinically.  I knew I wasn't going to use my college degree, I hated my job, did I mention "depressed"?, and the only thing I liked doing was dancing.  

Well, one night I had had enough.  Enough of what, I'm really not sure, but I left my apartment and never planned on coming back.  

I ended up on the Stone Arch bridge, in the middle of January, looking down at the lock and dam and the swirling water and thinking about how I'd probably go into shock or something once I hit the water if I was still alive after impact or on the other hand hypothermia wouldn't be so bad and that third hand with the drowning bit would suck but in the middle of this really sad and shocking train of thought, I remembered there was swing dancing tomorrow night and I had told my new gang of friendly acquaintances I'd be there.

Totally reasonable stream of consciousness, I know.

But that little derailment of extra-sad brooding got me thinking about dancing and thinking about dancing made me think of how dancing made me feel and how dancing (of all the things in the great wide world) made me feel was enough to make me walk off the bridge and towards a hospital.  

And now?  After a few years of climbing out of that hole, while dancing as much as I could (like therapy, but way more fun)?  I am a generally happy, mildly energetic, reasonably well-adjusted grown-up.  

So.

I'm just another person telling you all that those really shitty moments, days, weeks, months, or years can be turned around (albeit usually slowly, but hey! turn around) by the tiniest glimmer of something you enjoy.

Happy Friday, yo.