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adumbrated (part.) symbolized (Google)

For those of you who fall under the religious nomenclature of Christian and are practicing, you are aware that it is the season of Lent, which is marked by Jesus's forty-day journey into the desert to contend with Satan. Any desiccated environment (picture Death Valley here) is synonymous with the wilderness, otherwise known as an "uncultivated, uninhabited, inhospitable" region (Google). In their reflections, a.k.a. sermons or homilies, those of the cloth use the image of the wilderness to adumbrate where many of us are today: feeling quite alone and/or anxious amidst the turmoil of contemporary society. 

Unfortunately, many modern-day Protestant churches (and perhaps even Catholic ones) are losing parishioners because the young are getting lost in a wilderness of Sunday activities unrelated to the sabbath, but also because they don't feel connected to institutions that they view as antiquated. Which is a shame because religion isn't. Faith isn't obsolete. In fact many need it more than ever but just don't realize that they do as they are lost in the busy business of their daily lives. 

Fortunately, there are some parishes that are not short of attendees. Mine, for instance. Known among national Presbyterian boards as "the little church that could," my congregation, the Culver City Presbyterian Church (with eighty members), is not lost in the dark remoteness of irreligiousness. The light that emanates from it is small but bright. The singles, couples, families from all walks of life and pronouns unite as a community, stand by their belief system, and inculcate it in their children. All–even the most isolated socially–are welcome. What they hear each week coming from a young, vibrant, former actor of a preacher (who looks like Uma Thurman) they interpret as the word of God, the living Bible. Her verbiage, a reflection of the Good Book, holds meaning. It pretty much cajoles them to follow in the steps of Christ, finding purpose in their lives. Don't we all need that? A purpose? Yup.

Although I have never viewed myself as a "religious" person, I do see myself as spiritual. I attend church because what is spoken I find relates directly to problematic situations that I visit in my life. The messages can offer solutions. Ergo, in my case, the reverend is more of a prophet who also proffers solace and guidance not only to me, but others who venture to the simple Spanish structure weekly for a heady concoction of verbal hope. 

I know that the infidels may bypass my words altogether as they are "done" with what they believe is mere mythology. I can't change their minds. But I will say that among my various friends, those who do have a spiritual center of some kind (not necessarily Christian but Jewish or Buddhist) are a lot happier than my friends who have created their own adumbrated wilderness by worshipping materialism, capitalism, or any other "ism" that propels them forward or holds them in place. 

Just sayin'. 

madness - n. - a state of frenzied or chaotic activity (Google)

It is often suggested that the month of March comes in like a lion yet goes out like a lamb weather wise. When it comes to what is known as "March Madness," the opposite may just be true as it is its own version of spring fever. Before I go into why I happen to like this athletically competitive time of the year, it is worthwhile to note that "madness" has three definitions, all of which apply to college basketball and its fans at this juncture. The first meaning is "the state of being mentally ill," the second is "extremely foolish behavior," and the third is posted at the top of this page. The way I look at it is that March Madness embraces all three. The diehard fans who watch all of the games could just be mentally challenged somehow, or others who don't quite understand their addiction might think they are. If they indulge themselves in betting sprees or in getting too emotionally invested in their own brackets, their behavior may be categorized as "extremely foolish." And finally, since basketball tends to be a fast sport given to personal fouls and quick ball turnovers, as a result, there is frequent "frenzied or chaotic activity" both on and off the court. Surely, whoever named the tournament March Madness considered the validity of the entire definition, not just the third. 

I suppose I enjoy watching college basketball for reasons related to the three-prong denotation. Admittedly, I like the cacophonous, collective cries of chaos that often ensue when a game is very close. Whilst engaged in spectating, I, too, find myself morphing into one of the temporarily tattooed cheerleaders relegated to the sidelines and shout out abbreviated compliments or insults sans any regard as to where I am, which is often in a sports bar at lunch when few are even watching the game on the widescreen TV. No worries. My unchecked ebullience is just a reflexive action. Okay, fine. Some who could care less about the sport might think I am quite mad, have Tourette's, or am just a silly buffoon, but it is all part and parcel of the fun. Right? I'd like to think so. 

If we delve a bit deeper, we might agree that coming together to participate in March Madness is a way of uniting the country during these divisive political times. Perhaps it is. It reminds me of the movie "Invictus," Clint Eastwood's poignant, celluloid rendering starring a former colleague of mine, Morgan Freeman. If you don't remember it, the plot is based on Nelson Mandela's uniting of South Africa after the separation of Apartheid via a rugby world cup match. The paradox is that sports have a unique way of temporarily dividing yet uniting people. Fans among friends cheer for their choice to win. Even if there is a bit of ill will resulting from a loss, it doesn't last too long. It helps warm a chill in the stands if the losing team on the court can shake hands with the victorious side and walk off into the locker room sans any animosity. It is what their coaches instruct them to do, and it is called good sportsmanship, something we could all use to revisit. 

Perhaps all of the aforementioned defining attributes are why March Madness is such a huge draw. We Americans need the temporary insanity, the foolhardiness, the bedlam that all merge into escapism. We can lose ourselves in the fast and furious for two hours or so and get a break from more serious mayhem that the 24-7 news cycle keeps reporting. And maybe, just maybe, some of us will get lucky and win dollars for our bracket choices. Which just might be capitalism at its best.

depression - noun - a common mental health condition characterized by persistent feelings of sadness, loss of interest, and low mood that interfere with daily life. (Google)

Although I don't know for sure, common sense tells me that quite a few people in the U.S. are suffering from depression at present. Very little that the 24-7 news cycle is reporting motivates the masses to get up out of bed every morning with lust for living. Most probably, more than a few are finding it hard to face the day lately.

Emotional depression is the voice of "Debbie Downer" (SNL) deep inside, affecting one's ability to function actively on a daily basis. "Debbie" is a parasite within that sucks up all of the effected's ebullience for the pleasures of existence. The effected may be consistently morose, negative, lackadaisical, difficult. The effected may not be able to sleep well or may sleep all of the time. The effected may be overeating or under eating, perhaps even starving himself/herself. There may be or not be anxiety present as "Debbie's" wingman. 

Case in point, two of my very close relations under age 35 are experiencing symptoms of depression at present. What is tough is being the next of kin, the cheerleader who feels as though she is at the base of the triangle, crawling her way up to the top of the human pyramid. When it comes to depression, you have to be cheery, courageous, indefatigable, relentless, and hopeful. It's just not easy.

After my loved one had an emotional breakdown, I called one of my close friends who just happens to be a top psychotherapist in Los Angeles, recommended by Psychology Today. He gave me choices that you can make yourself if you or a loved one is experiencing the symptoms of depression: 

1. Call your doctor. Ask for a recommendation. Find a psychiatrist or psychotherapist that your insurance plan will cover, but choose someone you like, someone who is well known in the field. No matter whom you select, both professionals will evaluate you. The psychiatrist may prescribe medication, and it may or may not relieve your symptoms. An EMDR psychotherapist may work with you to eliminate your misery, but it will take more than one session.

2. Stop drinking alcohol and eating sugar. Attempt to eat healthy foods. Stay hydrated.

3. Force yourself to exercise even if you just walk around the block.

4. Spend time outside in the sun. Vitamin D is essential to good health. 

5. Call or text a close relative or friend whom you trust. Share your personal concerns. Or just make a date to have lunch or go shopping with the person. Loneliness often walks hand in hand with Depression.

6. Meditate. Google what it means and how to go about it, or find a Buddhist temple that offers free, open meditation as it has been proven to beat depression. 

7. Turn off the 24-7 news cycle. Remember that no one can accurately predict what will happen in the future. 

What seemed to work for my loved one was a long walk/talk on the beach at sunset with me. Although it wasn't an instantaneous, permanent cure, it was the start of something that looked like a breakthrough. She spilled a lot of what had been plaguing her, which helped. An attempt was made to regurgitate "Debbie Downer" and perhaps the unnoticed wingman, too.

Depression doesn't go away overnight. It is, after all, a mental illness. But don't give up. Never, never, never give up. There is light at the end of the tunnel. 

trauma - noun - a deeply distressing or disturbing experience (Google).

Out here in the realm of internet dating, as a single, straight, sixty-something woman, I know that you can meet a plethora of  men, especially if you happen to look way younger than you are, have hair (preferably long and bleached), and can still pull off wearing a bikini. (Am I suggesting that men are superficial? Hmm.) Most of the available gentlemen I have met are successful and have led fascinating lives, which is to be expected when one lives in a large, cosmopolitan city populated with over nine million people. But for whatever reason, the relatively "normal" ones are a rarity. I haven't met one yet who hasn't had at least a half dozen red flags safety pinned on to his Tommy Bahama camp shirt. The trouble is that I tend to ignore them because I get caught up in the glimmer of a shiny surface and nod yes, when I should shake my head no.

My last Match date or six dates were with James Bond. Okay, his last name wasn't Bond, but it could have been. Geez! All I can say is that Ian Fleming's psychological characterization of his antihero is spot on. In case you don't recall the reason why the fictive James has control and intimacy issues, it is due to severe trauma when he was eleven; his parents were killed in a mountain climbing accident, leaving his aunt to raise him. My actual version had alcoholic parents, who were not entirely present for him; ergo, he was left to his aunt. Like Fleming's Bond, this James (his real name) was trained as an assassin (but by the U.S. Army, not MI6, the British Secret Intelligence Service). To this day, he still claims ownership of a few pistols. Just as Ian's testosterone-charged invention, my James is a handsome adventurer, a pilot, an expert surfer, a mechanic, medic, an archer, and a snowboarder. Not surprisingly, he has slept with a multitude of women (two more than celluloid Bond) but has never been in love even though he was actually married and divorced. (You might recall that fictive James was married, but his counterpart was killed.)

All of the aforementioned should have daunted me, but as a big fan of the Bond movies, I just couldn't resist the actual James's ability to take initiative, act like a perfect, romantic gentleman, and insist on picking up the tab. Unmitigated generosity is rare. The problem was his expectations were as unrealistic  as Bond himself. Perhaps like the fictional version, my James is insecure. For one, he didn't like that I was way too popular on the dating site where I found him. 

What can I say? I could have fallen in love with James, but I am glad I didn't because it just wouldn't have worked out in the long run. I am sure the sex would have been addictive and might have allowed us to last a year or so; but in the end, strong, secure women just need strong, secure men who understand who they are and accept them as is. Perhaps what I want is the opposite of how Bond liked his martinis. I desire to be stirred gently and consistently, not shaken passionately and precariously. In case you are curious, I prefer JD with honey on the rocks and real men to literary creations.  

Can you date James Bond safely? What do you think? 

P.S. As of today, Bond and I are friends, trying to make it work like most fictitious characters aiming for a Hollywood ending do. Hey, anything is possible. Right? We have a chaotic king for a president.