And for me, that’s why traveling has always felt like an anchor. There’s nothing quite like stepping into a place you’ve never been, where everything familiar is gone, where your brain doesn’t get to autopilot through the day. It forces presence, shakes up the monotony, reminds you that you are here. Even when it’s exhausting, it makes me feel alive.
But lately, I’ve been noticing something I didn’t think about before. As much as I love traveling, it also introduces a new set of challenges—ones that weren’t obvious to me when I was younger.
Because when you travel, especially far, your routine is gone. Everything steady, everything predictable—it vanishes. And that’s part of the appeal, right? That’s what makes it exciting. But it also means dealing with hiccups that feel small until they aren’t.
An SSRI dose taken too late or too early → Suddenly, my brain chemistry decides today is going to be an uphill battle.
A missed flight, a lost reservation, spending my last bit of cash on some random street snack because, in the moment, that felt like the right decision.
Getting lost somewhere I don’t speak the language.
And what I’ve been realizing is that my work in mental health right now isn’t about avoiding these things. It’s not about forcing control over the uncontrollable. It’s about letting them happen. Learning to observe them without spiraling. Watching from a safe mental distance instead of letting it consume me.
I struggle with depression these days. I don’t really know when it started—if it was always there, lurking, or if it only took hold in my early 30s. But now, I recognize it. I can see when it’s creeping in. And I’ve learned, at least in part, how to coexist with it.
Doesn’t mean it’s easy.
Some days, it feels like everything is derailing—like I’ve made no progress at all, like I’m back to square one. But then, usually...
There’s a BOOP moment.
A shift. A chance—if I’m paying attention—to turn whatever is happening into something constructive. A new perspective. A new skill. A little more resilience, depth, understanding of the world and myself.
And despite everything, I know I’m fortunate. First and foremost, because of my family. Then, because of what I’ve managed to piece together about my existence so far.
But here’s what’s wild—even knowing that, sometimes it’s still hard to feel grateful.
That’s how depression skews reality. It bends your perception, makes the world feel smaller, darker, heavier than it actually is. And when that happens, you have to fight not to believe it.
You want the truth?
Sometimes, living sucks.
It hurts. It’s unfair. And it is actually really, really hard to keep going when it feels like everything is crumbling. And in those moments, it feels real. Like that’s all there is. Like it’s permanent.
But it’s not. Even if it is for a moment, it probably won’t be in the next.
So don’t stand down. Don’t stay back. Don’t let that voice in your head convince you to shrink yourself, to disengage, to retreat.
You are here. You are alive. You will die.
Sometimes you hold the reins, sometimes you don’t. Ebb and flow with the nature of living. Shoulder the hard times. Lean on friends and family. Accept the bleak moments—and then hold on for when they pass.
Because they do pass.
That’s what living with depression is for me. It sucks. But when I actively seek out the BOOPs, there’s always something there. Some small lesson, some shift in perspective, some little reminder that I’m still here.
And maybe—I’m starting to think—I need the shitty times to lay the foundation for the good ones.
