Hm…one stranger and one friend has expressed concern about my recent rants, wondering if I am depressed enough to require treatment. So I guess I should reassure y’all that I really am fine. It’s hot out, I’ve had some situations that have annoyed the living crap out of me, I’m cranky. But I’m actually living with a lot of gusto (Ole!) these days. The rants are just venting, for my own amusement if (evidently) not yours. I actually find my angry monkey mind strangely funny—I can see what I’m doing as I do it and it’s so stupid.

I’m certainly no stranger to depression, which is a lifelong thing—it comes and goes. Sometimes it’s a BFD, sometimes it’s a low-level psychic headache. My recent pissed-off-itude certainly is a mood swing. I’ll own that but I’m not concerned because I know what it feels like to be at the bottom of the pit and this ain’t it, I promise you. (Had you checked in with me last year, I’d have had a different story.)

What I didn’t tell you is that the same week an editor called what I wrote “flat,” another editor called something else “exquisite.” But being the Charlie Brown of bloggers, I chose to focus on the former rather than the latter. (See my post about cognitive distortions.) Besides, gloating about the latter would just sound boastful. (Rather than talk about it, I just read the email over and over.)

The former also gives me more to chew on. As Ira Glass said, “Every story strives to be mediocre.” Taking criticism seriously is the first step on the road from mediocrity. If it’s valid criticism, that is, and one of a writer's jobs is to sort out which criticism to take to heart and which to dismiss.

I promise you, I am not kicking the dog or putting my head in the oven. Life is actually going pretty well, for the most part. So thank you for your concern but I’m fine. Really.

Labels: memoir, personal growth