_{^{Photo: Caroline Veronez}}

Of the few things the seasons guarantee, one is a deeply uncomfortable phenomenon — change.

Imagine layers of skin struggling to keep together and eventually tearing apart. Imagine something pushing from somewhere deep – something that you had no clue existed. Imagine this moment being an unknown from the previous one that you lived in.

Seeds sprouting. Leaves falling off the branches. Buds appearing on bare branches. Your birth and mine.

That, my friend, is what change looks like.

The process in action doesn’t look beautiful. So much rupture, so much pain, so much letting go. However, what is born out of this process may be a wonder, an excitement, a possibility. And that is surely beautiful.

When we think of what a good life looks like, we usually have a set narrative that plays like a continuous gramophone record in our hearts. A healthy life, a job that pays well and that you like, a family that you love and that loves you, friends who care and nurture, and happiness.

As a student of English literature, this is what we learnt as ‘utopia’ in the literary paradigm. The common understanding of the word as a place of utmost perfection is from Thomas More’s Utopia (published in 1516). The assumption was that the word “utopia” has the Greek root word “eu-” (meaning “good”).

Even language, like the seasons, evolves — reshaping meaning as we reshape ourselves.

The word ‘utopia’ is actually composed of two Greek elements: ou ( meaning “not”) and topos (meaning “place”). Translated into Modern Latin, it literally means “nowhere”.

The fun intensifies here.

The root meaning or the etymological explanation (as a linguist will say) of the Greek ou goes back to the Proto-Indo-European (PIE) (a more ancient language than Greek) root *aiw, which interestingly means “vital force, life; long life, eternity.”

What was originally a deeply philosophical concept — of life and not-life — became a marker of something deeply temporal and worldly.

That, too, is change — unpredictable, redefining all that was.

What a good life looks like for someone going through powerful unprocessed emotions or an episode of mental illness may include being able to get out of bed, take a shower, have a meal, get out of the house, do a few tasks, show up for a job and feel tired enough at night to doze off the moment the head touches the pillow.

There’s no single definition of a good life. It is something that we need to define, re-define, adapt and re-adapt a thousand million times in our lifetimes. We change our lives as we change the way we keep redefining our lives and our selves

So, if you are having a difficult-to-handle emotion now, or a sad day, or a low week, the first action in the path of change is to hug yourself right now.

How, you ask?

The same way you would hug your most loved person/thing, the same way you want to be hugged by another. Wrap your arms around yourself with all your might. And hug yourself tight till you feel breathless.

“I am doing my best each day. And that matters. I matter today.”

I am telling that to myself right now as I trudge out of another episode of depression.

If you haven’t yet, maybe take a moment now. Hug yourself.

You matter. Now, and always.