The Depression Cure

There has been a lot of media chatter recently around The Depression Cure by Stephen Ilardi -- outside of the health press it has also been featured in the Guardian, attracting the kind of social media attention most authors dream about.

It seems quite a simple premise, instead of prescription (and presumable, non-prescription) drugs and apparently consists of six steps:

• Take 1,500mg of omega-3 daily (in the form of fish oil capsules), with a multivitamin and 500mg vitamin C.
• Don't dwell on negative thoughts – instead of ruminating start an activity; even conversation counts.
•  Exercise for 90 minutes a week.
• Get 15-30 minutes of sunlight each morning in the summer. In the winter, consider using a lightbox.
• Be sociable.
• Get eight hours of sleep

The advice is I have no problem with.  So far, it all sounds like most traditional common-sense approaches.  But I am wondering is what content the rest of the book has to warrant buying it, since you can get the six steps for nothing.  Is there a wealth of case studies, testing these methods on people for whom drugs haven't worked?  As Steve Ilardi is a clinical psychologist, one would hope so.

The author also apprently blames the 21st century lifestyle for an increase in depression.  Conversely, he also encourages people to be more sociable.  I would argue that social media makes us more social, not less.  Social media connects us -- you can share with friends events you are attending, invite a wide and varied list of people to events you are organising yourself, keep up to date with bands you like.  Your circle of friends can now be truly international. 

When I was growing up, if your best friend moved to another school it may as well have been to another country.  If they moved to another country, odds were good you would never seem them again.  Not only has modern technology helped us to make friendships with people physically removed from ourselves, but it helps us to maintain friendships with people we can't necessarily see.

How's that for social interactiveness?  Sure, emails or Facebook messages or Twitter conversations might not be as good as actually seeing someone, but I would argue that they should not be discounted.  To my mind, social media can tick off at least two points on Ilardi's list -- it can give you an activity, and it is social.  Plus if you have a laptop, iPad or smart phone you can tick a third off -- and go outside with it.

Just because I am a social media junkie, and because the subject interests me, I am going to give it a go myself.  And if Vermilion would like to give me a copy of the book I will even review that -- because I'm a generous kind of guy.

The Inspired Entrepreneur Club

"The problem with the French is that they have no word for entrepreneur."

As invented quotes attributed to George "Dubya" Bush goes, that is particularly unconvincing -- not least because I wouldn't have expected Bush Jnr. to be familiar with the word "entrepreneur".

A group of people who are familiar with it, however, are Nick Williams' Inspired Entrepreneur Club.  I had the great pleasure of attending a meeting of the club on Wednesday night, though I think of myself less in terms of entrepreneur and more in terms of artist. Or dreamer.

This is the kind of event you hope to find in London, a diverse collection of individuals meeting at the International Students House in Great Portland St -- which to my mind is a pretty inspired choice of location.  Perhaps it was entirely coincidental, but as you walk in to the building you pass groups of young people from all over the world, all speaking different languages, all living in this big crazy city, so far from home.  That is inspiration right there -- leaving behind the comfortable and the familiar to live in another country.

The meeting itself started with a few moments of quiet reflection.  That scores points in my book right away, a few minutes of quiet with just my thoughts is rare for me -- time before sleep doesn't really count, since it rapidly descends into the nonsensical and from there dreams.

Working in sales as I do, so much of my day has to be spent on the phone.  If I take too long to write notes between dialling numbers I am immediately picked up on, so the short times scheduled for admin in the day when I don't have to be actively calling don't give me time for my own thoughts.  Every phone call I make during the day is monitored for length, I consider myself fortunate they aren't "recorded for training purposes".

You don't expect time for quiet reflection at an "entrepreneur" evening, but it was a far cry from the familiar networking events of people awkwardly mingling and swapping business cards and looking for who can bring them business.

The meeting itself commenced after the time of reflection, but even the networking wasn't "Hello, what do you do?" but instead was focused on sharing something -- or things -- that had inspired us.  It can be a little alarming when your first thought is that you can't think of a single inspiring thing.  I used to write "Things I Love Thursday" posts, which strangely enough stopped almost entirely when I got a new job last year -- I'm thinking now I might perhaps write regular posts on things that inspire me.  Like the BBC TV programme "Wonders of the Solar System", mentioned in previous posts.  What inspired me this week was seeing the girl in her show choir perform last weekend -- it took tremendous courage and dedication for everyone involved.  Search on YouTube for Starling Arts "Summer in the City" event if you want to see videos from the performances.

It inspired me to want to sing.  I already love music and part of me likes being the centre of attention -- which is part of the motivation behind my poetry and spoken word performances.  I enjoy karaoke and a few months ago I was indulged shamelessly at a karaoke event with a real band, where I acted like a rock star and belted out versions of "Teenage Kicks" and "Are You Gonna Be My Girl".  The benefit of singing with a real band like that was that I couldn't hear what I sounded like, but I cringe a little with shame when I think how terrible it must have been for the audience, since I am incapable of singing in tune.  So the concert on Saturday has inspired me to make contact with the organisers and ask if singing lessons are possible and if it can be possible to be without help.

Naturally, with any entrepreneur evening there was also discussion of what we do for a living as well as our dreams and ambitions.  I spoke to someone and told them of my passion for writing, how I write almost compulsively (it's not like I write this blog for the acclaim or wide readership).  They asked me what made me want to start writing -- and the funny thing is I realised it's just something I have always done, always wanted to do, and always been quite good at.  At school -- not unlike now -- I was never happier than when I was allowed to just write, to just be creative.  I wasn't a very good journalist -- though I read professionals in newspapers who are far worse than I ever was -- but part of that was no doubt a certain lack of confidence and shyness about talking to people.  Not great quality in a news reporter.

Late in the evening, one lady spoke of her ambition to be able to help people with cancer -- by way of an alternative to chemotherapy.  There was some brief discussion of marketing, and it was suggested to her about setting up a blog.  Being of a different generation, she seemed a little intimidated by the idea of having to learn new computer skills despite how simple she was told it would be.  And I had a thought, there is another way.

I write here on occasion of a desire to work in web content, to combine my existing writing skills with web design skills.  I would have liked to have been able to say to this lady, "Don't worry, I can help, just tell me what you want to say".  Web designers come a dime by the dozen, and I am struggling to get started with learning design (Javascript may have been a dead end or a false start), but part of me thinks I could be happy doing something like that -- I can take what you want to say and make it more readable, I can take what you have and give you a way to present it.  It's a thought anyway.

Kid, I wrote back

At the start of each month, I can be found in a bar in Shoreditch.

What coincidentally is my favourite bar in London -- and possibly in the whole world -- also hosts a monthly open mike night of spoken word.  And I live for this kind of thing.

Back in my Derby days as a student, I joined a poetry group and we'd meet once a week in a pub to share our poetry and give feedback and drink a lot.  Then once a month we'd all perform at an open mike night, called Raised Voices.

Raised Voices was held in the back room of a pub, which was freezing cold with no power other than a generator.  It seemed to fit the mood.  The students made only a small percentage of the people there, and I got a taste for spoken word -- despite needing a drink or two to have the courage to perform.

Raised Voices lost its edge for me when it moved out of the pub's back room and into a plush, carpeted conference space.  The florescent lighting had to be on, because it was either on or off -- no dimmed -- and the bar tender always had a slightly sarcastic smirk on his face.  The whole thing just felt wrong.

Then I moved to Salt Lake City, Utah, and met up with an old poetry friend who had been there for a year already, where he introduced me again to something new.  To two new things, really -- performing sober, and to performing in coffee shops.  It was often disconcerting being an Englishman abroad, when it wasn't just a short holiday but where people would stare at you in class, or be shocked to hear your accent when you stood up to perform in Cup o' Joes.

I think after I left Utah and until moved to London I had only performed twice -- once in Derby, when Raised Voices again had a new home (but none of the old faces, all my old poetry friends had scattered), and once when I was doing my Journalism post-grad in Leicester.  An amusing sidenote to that is that when I was interviewed for the journalism course, I spoke with great passion about how I loved to just write.  I was asked if I wasn't just a frustrated novelist -- I told them no.  I was a frustrated poet.  Why they still took me on is beyind me, I guess it was despite this they knew I could write, and saw potential.

So years and years later, we're living in London and I'm not giving much thought to poetry, let alone spoken word.  I have a dedicated bookshelf for poetry -- mainly consisting of Carol Ann Duffy, Simon Armitage, Pablo Neruda, John Hegley and Beat writers, along with a huge anthology that I dip into from time to time.  It's years later, I don't think of poetry until we're in my favourite bar for my birthday celebration and I see a poster for Kid, I Wrote Back -- a new spoken word and poetry night, being held there.

It's hosted and organised by the extremely talented Chimène Suleyman and Dylan Sage who are well known in similar circles in the city.   Kid is worth checking out for their performances alone -- but there are so many great and varied poets and writers appearing there each month, I feel almost proud to be able to appear alongside them.  My own work varies so much in quality and theme, I don't feel I hold a candle to a lot of people there, but it's so great just to perform -- and gives me a reason to wirte each month.

The perspective from a cosmic coincidence

In a spirit -- an ongoing trend -- of sharing too much, I've not been taking my medication lately like I should.

For the first few days, I'd barely notice. So I'd forget further. Then I'd notice that things seem, frankly, a bit shit. It brought a sacrastic philosopher in me -- were things shit because I perceived them that way, or was I perceiving them that way because it was true, and I was no longer placated.

Strangely, I've found that doctors have little time for philosophical discussion, or contemplating how it's no measure of health to be well adjusted to a profoundly sick society.

I discovered a detached almost amusement at myself. When I lost my appetite, and really couldn't cope, part of me wondered "just how far can I push this?".

In the end, I found inspiration in a late-night BBC TV programme about space -- with sign language. I was interested to see if there was a sign for "trans-kuiper belt object".

But I discovered that the earth is the only place in the solar system to see a total eclipse of the sun. The sun is exactly 400 times larger than the moon, but by an amazing cosmic coincidence the moon just happens to be exactly 400 times farther away from the sun.

How can you stay depressed knowing something amazing like that?

I'm gonna break my rusty cage... and run

 

My moods are lately cycling between depression/despair, and a kind of almost euphoric optimism.  It's fun for the whole family, I can tell you.  I saw an ad in the morning paper to take part in a clinical trial looking at depression -- "Great," I thought "This is one clinical trial where they won't exclude you for having a history of depression."

As a sidenote, if it wasn't for the fact that I'm a bit of a screw-up and didn't exactly ace the first interview, I am reasonably sure that I would have been turned away from joining the RAF because of a history of depression.

Anyway, I was rejected for the study after all -- because I had psychotherapy last year when I was out of work and depressed.  It was early and I was tired and I should have called it by its proper name of Cognitive-Behavioural Therapy, and it wasn't even what they were asking me about -- which was if I'd ever had Electro-Convulsive Therapy or the like.

But I was talking about moods.  The other morning, as I was walking to the station, I was thinking about the song Given To Fly, which ranks up there as one of my favourite songs ever.  I love the message of an ordinary person discovering unexpectedly an exraordinary ability, and as a child growing up I used to wish every birthday that I could fly.  Sometimes now when I am unable to sleep or just want a distracting daydream, I'll imagine being able to fly and sit up on quiet rooftops in the dark, unnoticed.  I was thinking about that song and how I want to be "given to fly" myself.  Not just literally, but metaphorically -- I want that brilliance, I want to feel that inspired.  I guess I have to be the change I want to see.  Wasn't that something Buddha said?  Either that or it was Henry Ford, and I get the impression those two gents were quite different people.

Where the video comes into all of this is that it's another message that I love and is becoming a mantra of mine -- I'm going to break my rusty cage, and run.  It says I am not going to be confined, I am not going to be caged, I am not going to be limited.  I am bigger than all of this.  I am going to break my rusty cage, and I am going to be free.

Also, for such an inspiring song the video is hilariously 90s.  I love that Absolute Radio have recently lauched their Absolute 90s station (and only wished it played more 90s alt rock), so it's very fitting -- but as I say, the whole thing is hilarious, with the crazy camera work and jumping all over with the guitars.  Thankfully Chris Cornell has got more quietly intense over the years.

Breaking out of my rusty cage at the moment means I have to do something.  Sure, my job sucks and I don't know what else to do -- but in the meantime, what I can do is write more, and if I want to one day do stuff with adventure sports then I need to put down the remote and actually get out there.  We'll see how I get on with it all.

Musings on space

Do you suppose Astronauts get depressed?

I guess they must do, really. Away for so long from the people they love. Away from the earth. The cold emptiness of space. It must do things to you.

But do you suppose the shuttle arrives at the moon on a Monday morning and the other Astronauts are all like "Neil! Neil! We're at the moon, Neil! Get your space-boots on!"
"I don't feel like it. Leave me alone."
"But it's the moon! We've been in the spacecraft for months! You've waited your whole life for today!"
"I don't care, leave me alone. I want to stay in bed."
"But Neil..."
"I want to be a builder, I've decided."

Do anything you wanna do

"Tired of doing day jobs
With no thanks for what I do
I'm sure I must be someone
Now I'm gonna find out who"
Eddie & The Hot Rods "Do Anything You Wanna Do" (1977)

I've been here before, you know.  Wanting change, but not really knowing how to effect it -- dissatisfied with where I am, but not making any progress.  Except now, I am beginning to feel like I have some tools to work with.

In my last post, I mentioned John Williams' book Screw Work, Let's Play, and listed all the things I'd do if I could whatever I liked for a whole year.   The only trouble is, there's so many ideas and it's not necessarily possible to do all of them if you only have one year -- so instead you get to imagine that you have infinite opportunities, or for the sake of brevity in this case, seven.

 

This is my list of what careers I would follow over my now-various years of play.  There isn't actually seven of them in my case, but it might expand later -- I figure it can only help to add more as I think of them.

Year One: Adventure

Pro-surfer, snowboarder, rock climber -- you name the adventure, I'm on it.  As a side-note, my interest in adventure sports is pretty funny -- at school, I sucked at PE, and was the despair of many teachers who found that I didn't measure up to my athlete older brother.  It turns out since then that I don't hate sports at all, I just have to discover them in my own time -- and if lessons at school had involved more adventure and less ball games, perhaps things would have been different...

Year Two: Super Hero.

Save the animals. Help the people. Save the world.  I'd rescue sea turtles of central America and the beautiful Bongo Antelope in the mountains of Kenya.  I'd do aid work in disaster zones, build schools in developing countries.  I'd spend a season as a fire-lookout in a national forest, helping spot forest fires before they start.  I probably wouldn't actually have any super-powers though.

Year Three: Artist.

Poet, writer, sculptor, painter.  My days would be spent learning, doing, and expressing.

Year Four: Traveller.

Seeing the world, taking pictures, taking notes, dreaming. Always moving on.

Year Five: Buddhist.

Spend a year in a monastery -- studying zen, eating rice.

I feel like I am making just the tiniest, little bit of progress here.  It might not seem like it to an outsider -- it could seem I have a lot of dreams but no practical ideas on making any of them into how to get paid to do what I love.  But the first step is I have to work out what I enjoy, and what I would want to do.

In my current sales role, despite doing well against my own targets -- for the moment, at least --  there's not a moment's doubt that this isn't what I want to be doing, especially not here, and especially when they start kicking us for not meeting the weekly sales targets.  The sooner I figure out where to be, the better.