Molasess as Metaphor

It seems as though in much of my communication, email or verbal I’ve often been using the word ‘molasses’ – as in I often feel like I’m moving through molasses, that life seems slow and challenging and ever syrupy and sticky.
Most clinicians I’ve known (counselors, psychologists and psychiatrists) would call my state of mind depression and most would strongly suggest psychotropic pharmaceuticals which I would refuse.
What a racket.
I’ll agree I’m experiencing a heightened level of despondency and have since late December of last year, but it’s more than that. Two months of the new year have passed in the wink of an eye and in five days I’ll turn 62 which fits nicely with the molasses metaphor as I feel weary more than anything else. Think of moving through molasses.
Please save the platitudes on age just being a number or you’re-as-young-as-you-feel. Whatever the age of 62 is, beginning with six-plus decades of life, I feel it as if each decade span is an even heavier building block piled on.
I’m a highly functioning sad man and my dedication to physical activity (biking, walking, yoga), my love of reading and my compulsion to write are my therapies.
And then there are friends, wonderful people I’ve met in Chico whose intellects and warmth fill my human interaction needs and act as a tincture to my tendency to isolate.
It seems nuts to me not to feel sad for the world and the states of the earth, humanity as well as all the other life forms. As a writer, I try to sort my thoughts via the written word and that’s of immense help.
So, how do I close this somewhat lethargic piece, this effort to keep posting as a discipline and mental exercise?
I just went outside and watched as a man pulled up to the curb and offered Tim and his dog, Maggie some people and human food. Tim is one of the many people who make their home on the streets of downtown Chico, literally sleeping on pavement in doorways. He seems to be having a particularly hard time this winter season.
The man with the offerings talked with Tim for a few minutes, asking how he was and offering him a small amount of money.
I said to the man, “That was a beautiful thing to witness.”
To which he responded, “Hey, we’re all human.”
A good thing to keep in mind.


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