Yesterday I saw a video with Sam Harris where he spoke about things that you could do if you were depressed. His rational approach to the problem is where I begun when I felt depression, do the things that science tells you to do if you are depressed: exercise, to out, meet people, take your meds, get some sunshine, meditate so that you do not identify with thought.

But the host was asking about existential depression, and Harris’ assessment is that this dread is imaginary, that your life has no meaning because you are believing your thoughts. This is a terrible way of dealing with existential issues. No amount of meds, exercise and sunshine will fix this. The rational approach to existential depression is a dead end.

It is not that one should not do these things, these things are fine and dandy, and perhaps a necessary step to open up to meaning. In a state of depression everything seems bleak and useless. Exercise especially brightens up this issue, but meaning, oh meaning, that can only be gained from courage.

We seem to grow comfortable in our own skin, the day comes in repeat. This morning I realized I’ve been a year in Mexico. Time flew by in contrast with other years. Have I lacked courage? A little bit, I have grown comfortable, and the price of growing comfortable is having life pass quite fast.

I feel a veil of existential depression threatening me because I have not sacrificed anything to the gods of meaning. I have not embarked on a seemingly useless adventure, partially because I am broke, and because of the virus. I yearn for depth, for extenuating my body, for putting myself through the toughest trials, for manifesting my existential angst in the toughest physical and psychological trials. I yearn to put my body, my mind, and my heart through the purifying fire of the adventures of walking. To climb up a mountain and strip myself naked and scream at the sky.

But day in, day out, I work, I go to the gym, I get sunshine, I go to yoga, I feel myself in a healthy way, and the days are on repeat, I follow Harris’ advice and life is dry and barren, an emotional wasteland. I yearn for the cascading meaning that comes with this kind of suffering, for the soul demands sacrifices to celebrate its source.