There’s a board of directors inside my head.
This isn’t about them. It is, however, about a 5am visit to the Psychotherapist I Can Afford, who also hangs a shingle in my noggin. The session, of indeterminate length (it’s free, who’s counting?), started out grim, but led to an epiphany of sorts.
But First…
Recently, Chris Brogan, an absurdly successful man who himself has either conquered or controlled depression, advises us not to use social media while depressed.
twg1942 on Flickr — Creative Commons
The call came at 2 am. I instinctively produced just enough adrenaline to handle bad news. But it was Skype spam: “NOTIFICATION – REPAIR REQUIRED.” I made a mental note to change my status in the morning, and went back to bed.
But the adrenaline wouldn’t let me sleep.
I thought of the Old Me and the New Me. This New Me — or more accurately, New Us, that my wife Denise and I have been selling to ourselves and each other, who will take over on October 1. The day we officially occupy a house like the one we’re in now, but in the town of Media, Pennsylvania, closer to Philadelphia than we could ever afford to New York City. (I’ve lived every day of my life in either Westchester or Rockland counties.) Onto this earnest little burg we’re pinning hopes of a better life, in the form of more job choices, a lower cost of living, and more connection to people in general, including a number of friends both my wife and I have each made independently.
I know what you’re thinking. What a responsibility for suburban Philly to shoulder. What high expectations we have, of the magical powers of a state not too different from our own.
Fret not, Keystoners. The transformation won’t be your doing, but ours. Read More
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