Mary Van Pelt
These days I have conversations with myself. Sometimes I think I need to get beyond my own stories of recovery; after all, it’s been more than thirty years since I experienced forced psychiatric treatment in a locked ward. It’s been more than ten years since I wrote a book about job discrimination based on my bipolar disorder. And then, like magic, something happens to remind me that what I do in the world matters.
A few weeks ago I was in the produce section at Safeway trying to decide which tomato I wanted. This can take a long time; I have difficulty making everyday decisions. Blame it on serotonin, dopamine, and neurotransmitters in my brain.
A young man came up to me. He spoke very softly, “Did you write a book about being bipolar?” Surprised, I looked up trying to remember how I might know him. I nodded a yes. He asked, “Have you written anything new? I have a support group and I’m looking for resources.”
“I have a few new pieces,” I said. We talked briefly and exchanged contact information. “I’d be glad to meet you sometime at Milagros Coffeehouse,” I offered.
I don’t know if he will contact me for a follow-up conversation. It’s just the idea that something I wrote made a difference in his life. This unexpected human connection, like a tiny spark, filled me with the light of hope.
My story could end here. However, I find the key to resilience is holding onto these unexpected moments, and I hold onto them by writing them down. My encounter in the produce section at Safeway might have lasted seven minutes, or maybe five. Writing it down takes a lot longer, and revisions bring nuance. This is how I hold onto the good. I want the good times to be larger than the hard times. I experience awe and wonder in these serendipitous moments.
Mary Van Pelt lives in southern Colorado near the Rio Grande. Her website is www.maryvanpelt.com