These words speak power. Their power comes in their ability to pull someone out from the busy stream of life and reach deep into their heart. As if to be plucked out of the chaos, even for just a moment. They are words that are easy to read, easy to write. But to say them with meaning, to deliver them with sincerity to another human being… it is something that many of us would struggle with. (Perhaps the bias may be toward men who typically aren’t steered by the society towards navigating these emotional waters.)

Making of the shells 🔗

It amuses and perplexes me how something that can be so positively powerful can feel out of reach for many of us. Throughout our relatively short time on this planet, it is easy (and sometimes necessary) to create a shell around ourselves. A big, hard, strong shell that protects us from the hurt, the pain, and the sadness that sometimes bubbles and oozes out from the earth. Fear of our neighbors becomes an insecurity that is targeted and exploited by the political powers of our day.

So of course, the world can feel cold. Or even dead. But those shells that we carry and build over our life can also be cold and hard themselves. When we are surrounded by coldness and hardness, it is naturally difficult to expect that compassion to flow like a river out from the world. The shells cover over our hearts with coldness and hardness, so if enough time passes inside the shell, we might conclude that the world is a cold and hard place.

Leaving the shells 🔗

But the only mistake in our human existence is to never leave the shell. Sometimes it is necessary and sometimes it is required. There are awful things that ooze out of the cracks of our fragile yet interdependent society. But if we make the shell our home, we sacrifice the warmth of the sun. We refuse the possibility of the beauty, the love, and compassion that also exists in our planet. We can find beauty in the smallest of things and most unusual of places. But if we are stuck in the shell, we are hidden from what is uncomfortable and difficult, but also what is joyful and empowering.

May we all come to know our shell, and also to know when we are in our shell. If we stay in it too long, we might forget what it is to take it off. What it feels like to feel joy. What it feels like to feel love. To accept love and give love. The most powerful, transformative, and awe-inspiring experiences on this planet called Earth will pass over us if we allow our hearts to harden.

Choose to love, not to hate.

Choose to trust, not to fear.

Always forgive, but never forget.

Follow the joyous path of light, and avoid the cynical path of darkness.

Know when to wear our shell for necessary protection, and know when to take it off for being vulnerable and human.

Breathe.

Background context 🔗

This reflection came after a bike ride. The rides are typically my most reflective time. There are no screens, no notifications, no distractions. It is me. The path. And my breath. After a week when I was feeling overwhelmed and stressed, this reflection came from a meditative mood and my desire to use my blog as a place to express myself better. (I think writing this post was more therapeutic than the tweet I was originally writing.)

A special thanks to Thich Nhat Hahn and this El Ten Eleven track for guiding my thoughts while writing:

In those moments, I think about how lost I truly was. Running away from anxiety and an unhappy past by keeping myself busy. Overthinking and ruminating on all my social interactions with others. In many ways, living in under the shadow of generational codependency. Yet through all of that, I still maintained a simple desire to be good and help others.

I think of the interactions that you and I had in those same moments. I am brought back to that evening, laughing in our hearts and hearing each other as we sipped wine under the setting sun on the river. A late-night taxi trip back to the hotel after a night out with old and new friends. The gifts you shared with me.

They are memories I do not only see in my mind, but also feel with my whole being. Even this long after they have passed. For that, I remain grateful.

While I was saying “yes”, I was afforded opportunities that I had known only as unaffordable. I had a chance to live out and explore my heart, and the unusual circumstances that make up my life. For the time I said “yes”, I am grateful for the people and things that subtly shaped my subconscious mind and what I learned about myself in the process of learning about others.

But I was not the first one to say “no”. I found both the closure I needed after a frustrating final year, and the luck to find a better way to live according to my values through my work.

So it was surprising when the conversation restarted after so long. It caught me off-guard for a number of reasons. Of most interest to me, I had never valued my community management work in an annual salary range like that. This experience put the value of my work into perspective; the context of the “who” is also significant in this way. Not only did it change my perspective on the value of this work, but it made me aware to what the upper bounds of salary ranges may look like for those privileged few organizations with huge talent development budgets and incentive programs.

Why? 🔗

But this stroke of fate also made me question my “why”. Why do I do what I do? For what or for whom do I do it for? These are deep questions that I have a privilege of asking myself. When I looked inward and sought to understand my feelings, I knew that I measure employment offers in my ability to live with an abundant heart. The salary range is secondary.

Every day, I wake up and get to ask how my daily work and practice impacts the lives of children. While there is more complexity and metrics in play, the ultimate purpose of what I do is centered first on real human impact, not stock prices and operational profit. There is no salary in any dollar range that I would trade for what I have.

So this time, it was my turn to say no. Not out of spite, nor out of anger. But the seasons I have changed, and so have I. My old leaves have fallen and new ones are in their place. I am grateful for the mentorship and guidance I received for those years I said “yes”. As alluring as it is may be to imagine a 250% pay increase…

I’m happy to continue making good from where I am with the things I already have.

Blogs were (mostly) safe spaces where we could share our thoughts and views. We were often influenced to think we were sharing our thoughts and views with the world, but really we were writing to a known audience. We were writing to the people who read our blogs; unless you were a 2006 Internet celebrity or mom blogger, our audiences were small and narrow. Perhaps both to our benefit and to our detriment.

How does this compare to today? Most online content by the masses is condensed into bite-sized thoughts: tweaked for the tweet, fed to the feed, and longing for the likes. Our thoughts and ideas are in competition in a race where attention is sparse. But to blame this solely on social media is not fair either. More consumers and producers exist today than we had fifteen years ago. We have more means to produce content today than our bandwidth-challenged dial-up connections at the turn of the new millennium. Social media went mainstream in our society because it was at the right place, at the right time.

As we progress further along in this decade, the art of blogging as a vehicle for human expression becomes sidelined further in nostalgia. Maybe in part because we have less collective time than we did before. Perhaps also because we became lost in this mirage of how we are supposed to appear and how we are supposed to act when our lives are lived out in this strangely self-controlled yet algorithmically influenced existence. Blogging, as a form of expression dating back to the earliest times in the Internet, exists partially outside this algorithmic existence.

Yet it still exists. For me, my blog is still online. But my blog maintains an absence of these kinds of emotional, artful expressions that better show me as a human being, not just a contributor or participant in some technology projects or communities.

So, lost somewhere in that cyclical loop of (self-defeating?) nostalgia, I push my thoughts out into the sea of the Internet; a message in a bottle without a final destination. Just a thought: here for a moment and gone in the next.

Balkans and Bosnia. 🔗

My time abroad was counted in months, not years. Yet those five months in the Balkans gave me more opportunity to grow and discover myself than I could have anticipated. Living away from home is one step forward. But living away from your own country? Let alone somewhere you speak the foreign language? It is another three or five steps. I didn’t see it this way at the time, but my semester abroad broadened my passport and mind with each new stamp. Croatia first, then the Czech Republic and Belgium shortly after. Onwards then I went to Sarajevo, and then finally by bus to the company of great friends in Tirana, Albania. The end of my experience abroad would open an opportunity to travel and stay a short time in India, before returning once more to Albania and then finally back to the United States.

I remember my last-minute decision to travel over my spring break instead of studying in my apartment. The bus ride to Sarajevo was unforgettable. I was overcome by the thrill of learning something new and experiencing a city I had only read about. It was unexpected and wonderful all at once.

Patterns. 🔗

What strikes me now is the monotonous pattern of daily life. The opportunities for these learning experiences are fewer. On one hand, it was inevitable in some part due to a global pandemic. On the other hand, I have also been working on psychological well-being this year. Shockingly, it takes more energy and spoons than I originally anticipated (even with the great benefits and insights enabled by this work). The days when I counted the airports and train stations I passed through in a year is paused… but it is also difficult to imagine these places running at full capacity again.

My challenge in a virtual-first world is discovering new ways to restore and replenish the soul without being able to easily travel and connect with others face-to-face.

But over time, I blurred the lines between personal and professional communication. The emotional words in my vocabulary were gradually phased out through my formal education. There were many influences on the sculpting of my voice. High school teachers critiqued writing styles for A.P. exams. Communication professors clearly outlined how to write business emails in a level of detail I didn’t know was possible. These experiences showed me one way communication could be more direct and effective.

But I believe I may have mistaken professional communication as the only kind of communication. My education prepared me to understand scientific research studies and how a compiler works, but didn’t teach me how to listen to my heart and put words to the emotions I was feeling.

So, now looking back at my blog history, it feels like reading a news site instead of these personal slices into my thinking and what is going on for me at any given point of time. I retained some of it in the beginning, like with my annual Year in Review posts that last published in 2017. But now, there is little here that I think gives meaningful insight to who I am outside of the context of technology or open source.

Indeed, despite being the sole author, publisher, and editor of my own blog, there still seems like a great deal is left unsaid. I cannot speak words where there was already silence, but I can choose to break the silence. So, here is to breaking silences and finding your voice.

Grief is a strange emotion. One text message read early in the morning can send your day into a long walk down the beach of your own memories. Memories flood back, making us conscious that these lost moments of time were never really lost to us, but locked under deep layers of interlocking memories and contexts that only had to be connected back together, like a broken circuit. Today, my memories and heart are on my former summer camp roommate and friend Hannah/Honor Loeb. (I knew her as Hannah in her life, but at time of death, she identified as Honor, so that is the name I will use for this post.)

When I think of you, Honor, a mixed spectrum of emotions comes over me.

First, I feel selfish for making a post that is probably as much for me as it is for you. A great irony in death are the many interpretations of an explanation it brings. It is impossible to know exactly how the deceased would wish for their death to be remembered, because they are not present. Yet those who were connected to the deceased also experience their own spectrum of emotions. Perhaps it is human for us to make the death of someone else about ourselves, where we become included in the attention that death brings. But perhaps it is also the natural experience of how we process grief and trauma, in that making someone else’s death about us, it affords us the privilege and opportunity to reflect on the meaning of their life, and how we will continue to live our life in light of their absence.

Second, I feel happiness and joy. I remember my first experience living together with you as roommates at the Duke University Talent Identification Program at the University of Georgia. I remember the trips from Georgia to Alabama to visit and stay with your family. I remember the time you showed me Battlestar Galactica for the first time, and staying up with me to watch episode after episode. Even though you had probably seen these episodes countless times before. I remember the warm sunny mornings in Montgomery when we would go out for breakfast and we would talk about life. I remember when at the end of every meal out, I never had a choice of whether I would pay for myself or not.

Third, I feel guilt and shame. I remember being afraid to invite you to my home in Georgia, because my home was not a safe place then. I remember when you drove from Ithaca to visit me in Rochester, and you let me interview you as a member of the trans community for a class assignment. Then, months later, I remember not replying to your texts, missing your calls, and always putting off invitations to meet. I remember seeing our lives slowly drift apart, and how I felt powerless to do anything about it. Even if the powerlessness was imagined. I remember not knowing how to help you with your emotional burdens when I was still figuring out how to carry my own experiences and traumas. I remember the random times in my life where you did come across my mind, unprompted. In those moments, I thought of all I learned from you and how you lived in life. In those moments, I remember hoping you were well, but I also remember my fear and hesitation about reaching out to you after so long. I remember consciously deciding not to try the phone number or the email I had saved for you from 2013. Maybe your contact info changed eventually. But maybe it didn’t. I’ll never know.

Today, I learned that you passed away. You are dead. I will never get to see your smile, I will never get to hear your voice, and I will never get to have a warm hug with you again. These are all hard truths that I must acknowledge. Like I said, grief is a strange emotion. We all handle and process grief in unique, personalized ways that reflect our life experiences. For me, I have to define and understand the losses of this experience in order to practice gratitude and appreciation for the positive moments and experiences we shared.

The end of a life is never black-and-white. As you always exemplified in being a powerful trans voice from the socially-conservative state of Alabama, a binary understanding of complex social issues is rarely sufficient. Experiencing my grief from the end of your life is a wide spectrum of emotions because your life spanned several different emotions. Instead of categorizing my different emotions into their categorical boxes, I am allowing them to all wash over me. The happiness, the joy, the sadness, the anger, the selfishness, the guilt, and the shame. I know I cannot deny any of these emotions because they are all a part of you.

I have to accept these emotions as feedback to what your life means to me in this moment. I appreciate the great ways you expanded my mind and taught me to see the world differently. I lament the ways I let our connection fade and sputter, and that the last significant moment I have to connect with you is in your death. From what you taught me as a teenager, I began to see beyond the binary belief instilled in me from my youth. From what you taught me as a young adult, I know that how we carry our relationships, friendships, and love throughout life is always in some part our own responsibility.

When reading the news of your death, I have to be honest with myself. A part of me was not surprised or entirely shocked by this news. In a world where queer and trans folk are often treated as second-class humans, the pandemic of mental illness and suicide are undeniable in LGBTQ+ communities. I don’t understand how I feel even now to learn that your death was from a “non-COVID infection”. You fell sick. To what degree this infection inflicted pain upon you, I don’t know. All I know is, the path in life I followed brings me to this point where the first thing I hear about you in a number of years is your death.

Part of me knows I cannot assign myself blame for these circumstances. I know I alone cannot wear all blame because we live in an interdependent world, where every effect and outcome is linked by several smaller causes. But if only for myself, I have to acknowledge what my role is in your life and how I will choose to continue my life in the knowledge that yours ended too soon. I acknowledge that I probably played differing roles in your life, sometimes a loving friend, and sometimes an apathetic jerk. But again, life is often not so binary, not in life nor in death. I only hope that if you had the opportunity to read this, you would be able to forgive me for the ways I wronged you in your living life, and for you to know how much I really did love you.

(Dr. Gordon, if you find this: I hope you don’t mind, I mean the best!)

What are some ways in which media interlocks with other institutions? What does this interlocking suggest about the role of media in society? 🔗

Media is a fundamental aspect to other institutions, if media is considered a form of communication. Media is defined broadly: pictures, videos, interactive content, games, social media, and journalism, to name a few. Media interlocks with other institutions as a tool that fits into other categories of work, in an intersectional way.

To use social media as an example, the government of Iran is an example of how a totalitarian institution manipulates media to influence popular opinion and perspective, and also to drown out voices of activists and those fighting for social justice. The Washington Post is a newspaper owned by the world’s wealthiest man, who also runs one of the companies that wields increasing reach over many aspects of our digital life. The relationship of media institutions as reliable and trustworthy platforms of information and perspective is jeopardized by the corrupting role of power, often in the form of money and capital.

Identifying how the role of media is influenced by power is a vital skill to be a consumer of information in the 21st century. At an unprecedented rate, we consume information more than any other generation before us. The availability of information at our fingertips on the Internet and the advent of ephemeral media requires us to process more information than our brains can handle. In lieu of a surplus of media, content, and information, it is important to be able to question our media, its motives, and to understand biases that may be at play to persuade us to view a topic or issue a particular way.

Justin Wheeler (Dec. 13, 2019)

Many times, I’ve sat down to write this. The same number of times, I never finish and delete it all. Many times, I’ve wondered how to say the things I want to say. I’ve been doing this for years. However, the motivation this time is different.

Two important events made me realize that writing this is important. A conversation with one of my friends about what was happening in my life reminded me of the critical, psychological benefit of communicating and being honest and open about myself. The second thing was an insight from an article I saw on Twitter, about Sheryl Sandberg and dealing with grief. The profound insight in the article to me was the intersection between effective leadership and expressing emotion. “Expressing emotion when you’ve gone through extreme pain is not weakness. It is humanity.”

This post isn’t like anything I’ve written before, but it is a necessary next step for me to move forward.

I live with depression.

It’s a battle that has various turns and twists, and different highs and lows. There are days, weeks, even months where I don’t feel its weight. But there are also long periods of time where it envelops me and becomes my world.

There are some insights I’ve learned over time, though. In the spirit of being more open and true to myself, I want to share some of my experiences and also some advice from those experiences.

In my own world 🔗

Others who have experiences of their own can recount similar details to the looming feelings that overtake them. Sometimes it comes at the most unexpected moments, even if everything around you is going right. Yet, there it is.

The looming feeling deep in your stomach.

The heavy weight that presses down on your consciousness.

Sleeping early and waking up late, or not sleeping at all.

The sucking of your productive energy towards meaningless tasks, like spending more of your time reading about the lives of other people instead of living your own. The feelings have a wide range. Regardless of the specifics, anyone who has walked this quiet path can take these general points and recount them into their own story.

The most difficult part is the creeping feeling when the depression begins to take hold, but it feels like there’s nothing that can stop it.

Now that I’ve had more years to reflect on my depression, I’m better able to pick out some of its origins and characteristics. Even knowing these things, there isn’t one form of depression or one way it looks like. What form it takes on depends on contextual evidence and what’s happening around me.

Depression is… 🔗

Sometimes, depression wears the mask of incompetence. It’s not uncommon for me to set too high of a bar for myself to reach. When I don’t meet those expectations or if I fall behind, my self-esteem slowly erodes. One missed assignment or deadline turns into two, then four. What was a small problem is exacerbated into a chain reaction of many problems. This builds the feeling of incompetence. Navigating the web of problems after it is spun becomes difficult and drains all energy. Personal motivation decreases leaving me wondering why I bother at all.

Sometimes, depression causes you to cast poor comparisons. It’s looking at the highlight reel of other peoples’ lives while you’re going through the cut-out reel. I wrap myself up in the achievements and successes of others. It’s an echo chamber of negative thought, where the lives of friends, family, or acquaintances remind me of my self-perceived incompetence. Everyone seems smarter and brighter. It looks like everyone else has it together when I’m struggling to meet deadlines and remembering to eat. Social media aggravates this. The entire premise of social media is to share the “highlight reel”, to show off when everything in your life is going right—which is why social media is the worst thing to look at when you’re in the trenches.

John Green shared a video recently about how we frame our lives that describes this well.

In which John discusses the ways we frame reality, the distance between the selves we put online and the selves we inhabit, and the challenge of understanding public lives as self-portraiture rather than reality.

There are other forms that it takes too. But underneath its form, the emotions are usually the same (at varying intensities). It’s a spectrum of feelings and activities, ranging from loss of interest, difficulty finding motivation, worthlessness, unusual sleep patterns, nail-biting, and at its worst, wanting a permanent way to escape. This goes without saying, over the years, I have become more adept at pushing out the harsher thoughts by recognizing them and reaching out to a close friend when I feel that way. But the spectrum varies depending on the surrounding events.

Invisible 🔗

My biggest challenge was how I kept it all hidden. Only a handful of people knew about some of my difficulties and what was going on behind the scenes. There were two critical fears that always prevented me from stepping out of the dark.

If I were to be honest about what I was going through, I didn’t want to be treated differently by others, personally or professionally. I’ve always felt that if I presented an idea or had a conversation with someone, agreements or disagreements were because of the ideas being conveyed, not because someone cast judgment on what they think I can handle. This was and is valuable to me.

But why was this a fear of mine? We have a problem of “talking about it”. The stigma is that it’s wrong to “feel bad”. It’s not comfortable to talk about. It’s difficult for others to sometimes relate. The tone that people speak to you changes. This stigma created the fear that every conversation would become heavy-handed with special treatment. What I realized is that this fear isn’t justification to keep the lights off.

By becoming transparent about it, my hope is that this won’t be the case. I don’t want to be treated differently than how anyone has already treated me. If you’re wondering about how you can help, this is one of the best ways: to treat me the same way. (Although more hugs are never something I complain about!)

However, there was one more fear that kept me in the dark.

To become more comfortable with sharing these emotions, it means being honest when someone asks how you are and reaching out for help when you need it. But it can be a lot to ask someone to help untangle the thick cobwebs when you’re having a hard time seeing through. From being on the receiving end before, I knew how it can be draining (even if it’s worthwhile and makes a difference in the end). My fear was putting too much burden on others and draining their energy on problems that don’t concern them. Everyone has their own stress and problems too. As a result, I rarely shared my pain and difficulty with others to avoid placing more stress on others.

When you’re afraid of adding more stress onto others, it impacts the type of actions you make. It might look typing out a long message when someone asks if everything is okay, then deleting it to say, “Everything is fine!” Other times, it’s the confusion over how to answer a simple question like, “How are you?” Sometimes it’s simply feeling alone.

But even though this is a fear, there is also a balance and a way to prevent adding so much stress to a close one’s life. Real relationships don’t flow like a river, in a single direction. It’s like a two-way road where traffic passes in both directions. It’s unsustainable for one person to only lean on one person. It goes both ways and the communication has to be two-way to be successful. However, letting everything out at once after it’s built up for so long isn’t the answer either. This is that overloading stress that creates this fear of sharing in the first place. Communication needs to be early and often. You have to share and you have to be honest.

I realized these fears shouldn’t keep me from sharing my story. The benefits of being open and sincere outweigh the perceived negatives from these fears. It takes a lot to throw yourself out in the open, but once it’s out, some of the extra weight falls off.

Opening the blinds, turning on the lights 🔗

But my purpose with this post wasn’t to only reflect on my personal experiences either. I hate raising problems without offering means to solving them. There are plenty of ways to learn about how to deal with depression. You can talk to a therapist and seek medicine too. But I wanted to share some of the things that have helped me get out of the hole and fight back.

However, none of this advice should be taken over professional medical advice. I am not a doctor and I won’t act like one. If you are experiencing severe depression, please take the first step and talk to a doctor.

Seriously… talk about it 🔗

Maybe this seems like common sense. Maybe you are afraid of what others might think of you if you tell them “the truth”. What talking about it looks like is up to you. Whether it’s a trusted friend, a family member, or a trusted individual, psychotherapy (or talk therapy) has significant benefits for helping you put your best foot forward. Whether it’s formal or informal, professional or friend-to-friend, getting it out there helps. It lets you have a chance to decompress from the build-up of stress. It also gives someone else a chance to remind you of the positive counterpoints to the negative thoughts.

Sometimes the best responses I’ve received is just an affirmation of love. Telling someone that you value them and that you love and care for them goes a long way.

Find your detox 🔗

Your “detox” activity depends on you. Everyone has a different form of what helps remove them from the negative emotion and feelings. The purpose of detoxing is to give yourself a chance to separate from what’s providing the stress and to step away, even if for a short while. Usually, one of the best first steps is unplugging from the laptop, the phone, or other digital ties. Some time off from the grind will help you to refocus and bring your mind to a better place.

For example, some of my detox activities are listening to the right music and taking a walk. My music might be my best therapy. Sometimes it’s having a conversation with a close friend about something completely random. Other times, it’s writing a few lines into a notebook. What the activity is depends on you. But it’s important to find those positive, uplifting experiences and remember them when your vision becomes cloudy.

Look up, even if it feels wrong 🔗

One of the things that I’ve started to practice is persuading my mind how to think. Even when everything looks or feels completely awful, I make myself look up. I tell myself that I’m feeling good, and I make myself genuinely believe it. I put my entire faith into that positive energy, of what I know things should be. It’s a challenge. It’s not easy. I can’t always do it. But it’s an art of persuasion. And with any art, it takes practice.

The challenge is to sincerely look for the positivity and happy emotions that are around you. You have to tune yourself to the same emotional frequency as the positive energy. Like a radio signal, you have to turn your channel to receive that positive energy and emotion. And if you’re ready to receive, it will present itself.

In the more difficult times, this is the hardest advice to follow. The negative thoughts creep back into your mind. But recognition is key. To see and identify those thoughts and consciously acknowledge them for what they are is the first step. After identifying the negative energy, you have to turn your own channel. Instead of thinking, “I don’t want to feel that way,” think of the way you do want to feel. Think of the positive energy, emotions, experiences, or memories. Tell yourself, “I want to feel this way,” or “I want to feel good.” Even if it seems trivial and impossible, invest your energy and focus into attracting that positive energy. If you convince yourself that it’s there and you are going to find it, circumstances change. They have a strange way of working themselves out. But you have to know what you want.

Even when it feels like you’re in an emotional headlock straight to the ground, twist a little more to look up. At the sun, the light. The positive emotions and energy in life. And keep looking up.

Remember what’s good 🔗

Depression isn’t a one-time illness. You don’t have a revelation one magical day and are suddenly “cured” of depression. It’s a cycle, with ups and downs. It requires balance and powerful support systems to stave off its hardest moments. The first step is recognizing the tug-of-war and identifying when things start to feel wrong. Make the steps to pull back from the things that bring the negative thoughts and energy. Remember what you do want and how you want to feel. Remember what’s good.

It took me a long time to write this. For six or seven years, I’ve tried to find the right words. But what I realized is that if I wait for the right words, I’ll wait forever. Even with the advice I gave, I’m not perfect and I’m not always able to fight it every time. This is something I actively live with. I have good days and I have bad days. The bad days are what brought me to write this in the first place. But the sun always comes up, one way or another. That’s what I always have to remind myself.

There are many stories out there. But this one is mine. Thank you.