To Nathan on His Twelfth Birthday

I have felt sad and alone for as long as I can remember. So when you say that you feel sad and nobody understands, you are wrong. Me and depression have a long history together. If you had been a reader, which I accept you are not, you would have possibly read this blog already. And then you would have noticed that I have not written anything this year at all. It is not that I have not wanted to, it is just that I cannot. When depression stalks me, it is usually all I can do to keep myself together one day at a time. Writing is a luxury on which I cannot afford to spend my emotional energy if I want to survive. And I have learned that no matter how much my feelings might urge me to the contrary, they are not always trustworthy: I do want to survive. You, however, are worth my emotional energy. For you I will dig deep and write

So please do not read this as a life lesson. I know how much you hate those. Treat this as a gift, salvaged from the depleted reservoir of my emotional strength, so that you might glimpse the fact that you do not face this monstrous despair alone. Somewhere in that recognition – in the realisation that the loneliness is a lie – the seeds of strength are sown.

Depression is not really much different from any of the other predator, really – once you know its hunting strategies, your odds of survival improve drastically. So let me tell you about this thing that stalks you so relentlessly.

Most people think that depression is an individual afflication, birthed in adversity and struggle somewhere in the individual psyche. Most people are wrong. And they are wrong because people are not individuals, they are interdividuals. Think of it like this: in the human body there are trillions of tiny cells. Those cells do indeed exist individually but they can never be understood in isolation. They can only ever be understood as part of a bigger system, like an organ – a heart or a brain or skin. And those organs, too, exist individually but can only be understood as part of a bigger system – the human body. The pattern extends all the way up – humans exist as individuals but can only be understood as part of a bigger system – the human communities in which they participate. And human communities can only be understood in the context of planetary ecosystems. It is the way the universe is structured – nothing ever exists only as an individual; all things are best understood as part of something bigger.

Now think of those cells in your body. If individual cells go rogue and become diseased, it affects the organs. The diseased organ affects the human body, and – depending on the nature of the disease, can have catastrophic effects not only on the individual human body but even on entire human communities. What happens at a cellular level matters. As the diseased cells begin to affect the organs and the human body itself, these larger entities attempt to cure the diseased cells or rid themselves of them – not always successfully.

Here is the important thing that I think people miss about depression: we are the rogue cells. Human beings pose an unignorable threat to the ecosystems of which they form a part. It is only natural that the larger systems will do something about that. We are connected to the planet in ways we barely understand. I think depression is a part of a systemic response by the planet – by the universe, even – to try to bring us back into alignment.

Understanding depression like this has changed how I have learned to handle it. Importantly, it means that we can never beat depression. Its origins are always bigger than the individual so no individual treatment can ever drive it away. As I said at the beginning, I have been sad for as long as I can remember. It has only sometimes been as a result of circumstances. I can remember many evenings when I was your age when I would sit by my bedroom window, gazing at the vast, indifferent sky, and see only emptiness in the solitary flights of swallows. I can remember hearing the fish eagle cry – the one that always makes me smile when you imitate it so convincingly – and hearing in it only echoes of my mortality. Even in my safest spaces, in the African bush, I have to confront the ghosts of my failures and the weight of regrets. I have been sad as long as I can remember. It colours every experience I have. Usually without any direct correlation to my circumstances. And I have a feeling you know what I mean.

But I am on top of depression, even though it dogs my every step. Not many people get that right. So I want to tell you how I manage to do that, so that hopefully you too can keep evading it. Because it is hunting you. It is part of how the ecosystem is attempting to bring humanity into line. And you are (an exquisite) part of that humanity. That makes you a target.

When you recognise that your feelings are not really  – or at least not only – your own, it is easier not to trust them. I still feel sad. A lot. But I also know that my feelings are not always my own and I don’t trust them in any way that allows them to guide my decisions. I still have choice and that choice does not have to be determined by my feelings. So even when I feel that I want to run away, I do not. When I face people, I choose to put aside my insecurity and instead choose to be somebody who is confident and self-assured, who doesn’t care what they think. I choose to make my principles more important than their opinions. It is what has made a very shy and awkward boy into a man who – at least outwardly – appears to have it all together.

I have also learned that depression hunts by attempting to isolate the weak from the rest of the herd. Depression probes our weaknesses, makes us feel that our experiences are unique, that nobody understands us, that we are a burden on those we love. It convinces us to withdraw into ourselves, to mistrust people, to isolate ourselves, to run away. And then when it has us all alone, it devours us – it magnifies our perceptions of our weakness, blinding us to all other realities until, having recognised our own toxicity, we end our lives and eliminate the threat to the greater organism. As convincing as it may sound, don’t listen. The truth it speaks is of the human race as a whole; it is not true at an individual level.

Understanding depression as one of the planet’s regulatory mechanisms has another important ramification: it means that if we bring ourselves into alignment with the larger organism, we pose less of a threat and – because our feelings are not only our own – we can feel less removed and alienated from the life force.

I don’t think it is a coincidence that both you and I feel most whole when we are in nature. There is something healing for both of us about the African bushveld. I think it is in the way we approach it. We come to Africa not as overlords, not as proprietors of the natural world, but in awe and humility. As thrilling as we may find the alluring lethality of a leopard or the quiet assurance of an elephant, we are equally mesmerised by the iron majesty of the hills, the baking riverbeds, the star-cluttered nights. We find ourselves connected once more to teeming life without the concrete restrictions of city life and we are happier for it.

Being a game ranger has long been one of your dreams. And I sincerely hope you pursue that dream. Not because I want to retire in the bushveld, close to you (although that would be bliss) but because I know that so long as you nurture your connection to the rawness of the earth, depression will always struggle to fully take hold. After all, the earth wants you to feel that connection – it is why we feel isolated in the city. Depression’s job is to bring you back to the earth or drive you away from it. Rather let it bring you back.

You are a very little cell in a very big organism. There will be things that shape you that are bigger than you can ever imagine. You don’t need to assume full responsibility for your feelings. But you can choose how to respond to them. Make no mistake, humanity is a disease. But just because we are the disease, it does not mean you are a disease. Don’t ever mistake the disease of the organism for your own disease, even though – as a cell in a bigger organ, you will always feel the effects of the disease and of the body trying to fight it. Remember that diseases can be cured, because cells can regenerate.

It is true that I have been sad as long as I can remember. But I have also become very good at regenerating. I know you hate life lessons, but bear with me, please. This one matters. Here is the key to survival: always remember that everything is one. When you truly understand that honouring others is the same thing as honouring yourself, and is the same thing as honouring the earth, which is synonymous with honouring God, you will begin to find peace even in the sadness. Nobody ever feels anything completely individually; nobody ever acts completely independently; we are all always inescapably part of something bigger. And that means we can forgive ourselves. It also means we can forgive others too, because it is the same thing. And if we are not perfect, nor is anybody else. Imperfection is not in our control. That is not to say that we should never strive to do better, to be better, only that we can be kinder when we or others fail. Reconciliation is always better than retribution: retribution divides where reconciliation restores. Reconciliation is the only way back to oneness. Always try to come back to oneness. That is what the Earth is trying to achieve when it sends us depression. That is why depression cannot kill us when we strive for reconciliation and unity with life. Where you cannot reconcile, forgive. Walk away and limit the damage. This is how I survive sadness – I try to return to oneness.

It is such a privilege to be a father, to watch you grow and become. It is unbearably difficult too, sometimes. Because I have to watch you suffer as you learn lessons that can only be learned through hard experience. I cannot walk those paths to experience for you. Inner peace can only be won through the rigours of the journey. It cannot be transferred or taught. All I can do is reflect on my experience of the path and hope that the knowledge helps you walk more securely. And I can remind you that however alone you may feel, you are not alone. All is one. That means that you never suffer alone. I have walked this road a long time – long enough to know that if I can make it, you can too. You are tenacious and courageous, generous and kind. I am so proud of you, always. And today, as we celebrate you, we do more than just celebrate that you are a year older, that you have survived another year; we celebrate that you are a beautiful part of this whole; that our family, our community, humanity, the planet and the universe as a whole are enriched by your presence. You may be a tiny cell in a very large organism, but tiny cells matter. If they didn’t, there would be no need for depression. You matter. You belong. We celebrate and love you. Happy birthday, my darling boy.