Melancholy

A student once used the word melancholy to describe me. To be fair, it was a complement, but I was shaken to the core by her ability to see me so clearly. In all my efforts to hide, she’d seen me after all… And melancholy was really the perfect word. Just like today’s grey and dreary skies. So unified am I with this unique brand of color that the hues have seeped in, blended seamlessly with my mood, so that the distinction between hearth and the outside world no longer exists. Instead, there is just a vast, endless expression of sadness, comforting in its embrace, familiar and easy company with which to pass the time today. No sun to blind or direct the gaze, no rain or snow to take shelter from, just a steel void that feels heavier and more meaningful than any gust of wind. Nothing strong enough to alter one’s course or direction, just a dripping mood of contented sorrow, and I, happy to reflect and observe its curves and mounds, happy to appreciate the beauty and the courage and the learnedness of sorrow… content because the secret is simply that the sorrow is where lessons are learned, maturity gained, locks greyed.  These are the things that create the warmth, the knowing… And that is where my sweet former student’s complement lie, in the knowing how much visceral experience is tucked away in melancholy. In knowing that the book doesn’t get written without this wondrous mix joy and sorrow. It takes one to know one was my reaction to her complement. As she walked into my class more than a decade ago, I remember the sharp intake of breath, the up and down gaze of the eye that we both formidably provided for the other… sizing up, but only because we were both keenly aware of our similarities. I am thankful for her, for those encounters that remind us of how deeply connected human beings are. I hope that she is well. I hope that she is withstanding life’s storms. I hope that she has learned a thing or two along the way. I hope that on this grey and dreary day she is also letting the steely clouds seep indoors and envelope her. I hope she can smile through all the lessons, and give herself a warm, knowing hug. For never has there been a teacher more skilled than life itself.