Yesterday was a busy day at work.
I have an unusual specialty in my field. It’s one of those things that, when you need it, you need it badly, and when you don’t, you don’t need it at all.
The last couple of weeks we’ve really needed it, and I’ve been balls to the wall busy to get stuff done. Yesterday I reported my findings to the boss, and he was pleased with the results.
Doing good work, getting shit done, and the feeling of accomplishment that goes along with it is a strong wind blowing away the grey mist.
Part of the problem I had in May was the work I was doing, while necessary, didn’t bring that sense of accomplishment.
Pondering this led me to an epiphany. In my efforts to find meaning beyond raising my kids, I need that sense of accomplishment from “I did that.”
In short, I need a mission.
For five years I’ve been casting about for a mission, for something that sucks me in, that I have to do every day, that gives me that sense of accomplishment, of meaning.
I think I’ve found it here in my writings on living with depression.
Every day my battles with depression teach me something, that gives me a topic, and every day I have something to write, or say.
And that gives me the sense of accomplishment to keep the depression at bay.
Hey, have I ever written about positive feedback loops? About virtuous cycles?
