I'm writing a book about managing the disastrous effects of mood disorders without mood-stabilizing drugs. If you're a veteran of The Circular Journey, you're familiar with many of my techniques—my "power principles." They are the foundations of my recovery program, although they're not so much the "secret" principles as the "obviously desperate."
Another daily routine is taking a twenty-minute walk in the sunshine. I chose one of the parklike savannahs near my home, where songbirds provide backup vocals for my internal monologue. They're much more forgiving than my neighbors.
I've tried medication, of course, but I'm one of the almost 70% of people for whom the drugs just don't work. Through my own journey to regain control of my life, I have learned that not everyone diagnosed with a mood disorder needs medication to live stable, productive lives.
Just to be clear about living a stable and productive life--it doesn't preclude public appearances while waving the hands, raising the voice, and dancing around like a 4-year-old needing a bathroom break.
Having said that, it's crucial to note that many people do need medication, and we should all follow qualified medical advice. (In the interest of full disclosure, I must state my interpretive dance therapy has not been FDA-approved.)
Now, about writing this book. I'm not new to writing—I've published over 80 non-fiction articles in magazines and newspapers. None about mood disorders, unless you count that one piece where my laptop crashed right before a deadline.
I know how to organize and present information in short formats, guiding ideas from introduction to summary like a well-behaved tour guide. But stretch that journey beyond 5,000 words, and suddenly I'm a guide who's forgotten the map and is pretending my rambling is an intentional scenic detour.
Thankfully, I found and read Austin Kleon's inspiring book, Show Your Work. Kleon suggests that we share our works-in-progress on social media channels. He believes sharing imperfect work is a valuable part of the creative process. "The act of sharing is one of generosity," he says, and I must assume he's never witnessed my karaoke performances.
The idea frightens me a little. Still, Austin Kleon is someone I consider a winner, so I've decided to follow his advice and start showing what I've got. I should mention this isn't my first rodeo with "putting myself out there." Each previous attempt was like riding a bike using body English to steeer--it never ends well.
All this talk of 'showing my work' and 'putting myself out there' reminds me of a Seinfeld episode where Kramer decides jockey shorts are too confining and boxer shorts are too baggy.
When Jerry, horrified, says, "Oh no, Kramer! Tell me it isn't so," Kramer responds with, "Oh, it is so, Jerry. I'm out there, and I'm loving every minute of it!"
So here I am, metaphorically going commando with my writing. I'm out there, and I can only hope to love every minute of it—even if I end up in a ditch underneath a bicycle.