Free Books for World Bipolar Day

To mark World Bipolar Day 2025 Fran and I are offering our books for FREE on Kindle for five days between Saturday March 29 and Wednesday April 2, inclusive.

In High Tide, Low Tide: The Caring Friend’s Guide to Bipolar Disorder we share what we’ve learned about growing a supportive, mutually rewarding friendship between a “well one” and an “ill one.” With no-nonsense advice from the caring friend’s point of view, original approaches and practical tips, illustrated with real-life conversations and examples. Buy it here.

Friendship is a beautiful part of life and an important component of long-term wellness. No One Is Too Far Away: Notes from a Transatlantic Friendship is a collection of articles from our blog which shows that mental illness needn’t be a barrier to meaningful connection; indeed it can be the glue that holds people together. Buy it here.

Once the free offer is over the prices will go back to normal.

World Bipolar Day is celebrated each year on March 30, the birthday of Vincent Van Gogh, who is thought to have lived with a bipolar condition.

The vision of World Bipolar Day is to bring world awareness to bipolar conditions and to eliminate social stigma. Through international collaboration, the goal of World Bipolar Day is to bring the world population information about bipolar conditions that will educate and improve sensitivity towards the condition.

For more information check out the following websites.

• Bipolar UK
• bpHope
• International Bipolar Foundation
• Rethink Mental Illness

 

Every Day of Every Month: An Open Letter to My Best Friend for World Bipolar Day

If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the almost fourteen years we’ve been friends, it’s that living with bipolar disorder isn’t a one day at the end of March thing. It’s an every day of every month thing.

Dear Fran.

It’s World Bipolar Day in a few days, and I wanted to do something to mark the occasion. This letter is my gift to you. For World Bipolar Day, yes. But really for each and every day. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned in the almost fourteen years we’ve been friends, it’s that living with bipolar disorder isn’t a one day at the end of March thing. It’s an every day of every month thing.

That’s something not everyone realises. There are reasons for that. You have better days and worse days, and are more likely to engage with other people on your better days. You choose not to share everything with everyone all the time. It’s also true that the impacts of illness on your life are not equally obvious to others. As well as bipolar you live with chronic fatigue syndrome and fibromyalgia. We hang out together every day, but I’m generally unaware how badly the pain and fatigue are affecting you unless you specifically mention it. The same can be true of bipolar when the symptoms are less than extreme. The fact that you present well on a given day doesn’t mean you’re not dealing with the realities of illness beneath the surface.

Your life is lived on a precipice, balancing your energy and mood and pain on the one hand, and on the other hand your meds and therapies and all the other work you do to stay as well as possible. Do you remember a while ago when I commented on how you well you were doing?

“You’re living your best life,” I said.

“Thanks to my meds,” you replied. “And thanks to sixty-four years of working my ass off to get here.”

You were right on both counts. The meds are important but they’re not enough on their own. I learned that in the first six months or so of our friendship. When we met you were in wild mania. That was a ride, for us both. It took me a while to recognise how unsafe it was for you. You saw it first. You and your psychiatrist. He was a good match for you, even when you didn’t like what he told you! Together, you agreed a change in medication. Your mania receded, overshooting into the deepest of depressions. You saw it coming. You warned me and your other friends. You knew how hard it would be, and gave us permission to leave before it got too bad. Most of us stayed. I stayed. That winter was both less awful and far worse than you predicted. But we saw it out. Sat it out. One day, sometimes one hour, at a time.

In the epilogue of our book you said “[Marty] did not reach down a hand to pull me up from my dark hole. He came down and sat with me while I began rethreading, bit my bit, what could be mended.” That means a lot to me because often that’s all I know how to do. Yes I help with practical things — we work well together! — but often the only gift I can offer you is my presence. Anaïs Nin expressed it well. “I weep,” she said, “because you cannot save people. You can only love them. You can’t transform them, you can only console them.”

You say you wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for me. I take that seriously. But I know also that I can’t keep you here on my own. I can only lend my support, my energy, my heart, to help you keep yourself as well as possible. As safe as possible. You have a great support team, meds that work for you, and strategies and techniques you’ve learned over decades of illness. I’m proud to be part of that team — Team Frannie — but like everything else of value, that’s not by accident. I found an old note from 2017 where you said “You are in close, but only because you fought for it.” Yes I did, and always will. You let me in, and I’m not going anywhere.

Thankfully, it’s been years since you were in prolonged episodes of mania or depression. There have been occasions when you’ve veered off the central path, as it were, but you’ve brought things back to centre. The ability to recover the middle ground is a sign that you’re better able to manage your illnesses. It isn’t easy and it doesn’t happen by luck or chance alone. To paraphrase a line generally attributed to Thomas Jefferson, the price of stability is eternal vigilance.

Those not on the inside, as it were, see someone living life, engaging in the world, seemingly unaffected by illness. It’s a sad indictment of these times that someone who’s lived with debilitating and life-threatening illness all their life can have their diagnoses dismissed, simply because they don’t present as ill enough to be believed. Belief is the first and most fundamental gift we can offer anyone courageous enough to share their reality with us. That’s as true of illness as it is of trauma, abuse, or anything else. I believe you, Fran. It never occurred to me not to.

Our friendship doesn’t depend on how well or badly things are going for you. We’ve navigated some pretty dire times in the past fourteen years, and shared times of delight, success, and joy. It’s all equally valued and valuable. And our friendship isn’t all one way. You’re there for me every bit as much as I’m there for you! I may not have a mental health diagnosis but I have my dark times, my doubts, my insecurities, as much as anyone else. At such times, you remind me who I am and what I have to offer. As you told me once when I was doubting myself, “You wrote a book. A whole fucking book. Don’t you give yourself credit for that?” On another occasion, you reassured me, “You’re just fucked up, like the rest of us.” That’s a reminder I cherish!

On World Bipolar Day and every other day, I’m happy and proud to be your friend, Fran. To have you in my life and to be in yours. There are no guarrantees. As you wrote fifteen years ago in Lessons of the Night, illness doesn’t go away. “I still have chronic fatigue syndrome. I still have fibromyalgia. I still have bipolar. I manage them. They don’t manage me. They are part of the package instead of who I am.” That essay is an extraordinary testament to your spirit and the realities of living with illness. It deserves to be read by everyone wanting to understand. It helped me to understand.

I hope you never again experience the wild mania and crippling depression you knew when we were first friends, but if that ever happens, I will be here. In the immortal words:

“You’re stuck with me now, Fran.”

“Like gum on my shoe.”

 

Your best friend,

Marty

 

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World Bipolar Day

World Bipolar Day is celebrated each year on 30 March, the birthday of Vincent Van Gogh, who was diagnosed with bipolar after he died. The vision of World Bipolar Day is to encourage understanding about what bipolar is — and isn’t — and to banish stigma from the face of the planet.

 

Photo by sq lim at Unsplash.

 

The Old Man and the Ducks

Walking in the park,
I saw an old man sitting on a bench.
He looked sad.
So I wrote him a poem about the ducks.
It’s for your wife, I said.
He looked at me. At the poem.
Thank you, he said.
She loved the ducks.
He was crying as I walked away.

 

Photo by Guilherme Garcia at Unsplash.

 

Are You Okay Talking About This? Trust and Boundaries in Caring Friendships

This blog post was inspired by a recent conversation with my friend and fellow mental health blogger Aimee Wilson. On her blog I’m NOT Disordered Aimee draws on her extensive personal experience. We were discussing some of those experiences when she stopped and told me she had something important to say before she continued. She said sharing what she’s been through in the past — and in some cases still goes through — is incredibly valuable and helpful to her. But she wanted to check that I was okay hearing the details. I told her I was fine, and reassured her I’d let her know if that ever changed. Afterwards, it struck me what an important exchange that had been. It said a great deal about our friendship.

Difficult Topics

That kind of trust isn’t unique to me and Aimee. It’s relevant to a wide range of relationships and situations. It’s particularly valuable where conversations touch on “difficult” topics such as mental illness, trauma, rape, addiction, abuse, self-harm, overdose, loss, death, bereavement, or suicidality.

I put “difficult” in quotes deliberately. These subjects are too often considered taboo. We avoid talking about them at all if we can. Where that’s not possible, we discuss them as briefly as possible, keen to move on to safer topics. Holiday plans. The weather. The mundane happinesses and problems we all experience at one time or another. Life isn’t always mundane, however. Being able to share and discuss the difficult, messy, awkward, and painful aspects of our lives can be profoundly validating. It can also deepen and reinforce our connections with those we love and care about.

It’s worth pointing out that everyone is different. What might not be problematic for one person to hear or talk about may be triggering for someone else.

Am I Really Okay?

I was being honest when I told Aimee I didn’t have any issues with what she was sharing with me. That’s also true of me and Fran, and other friends. If they feel safe sharing with me, I want to hear. That’s the case no matter what they want to tell me, or whether those experiences are historic or current.

It’s worth exploring how I can be okay hearing about what are sometimes very serious, traumatic, even life-threatening experiences and situations. The following is excerpted from High Tide, Low Tide: The Caring Friend’s Guide to Bipolar Disorder.

In the early days of our friendship Fran was manic, wild, and unpredictable. Many people — including some who had known her a long time — were fearful and worried about her behaviour. I was unsure whether my ability to remain calm in her presence was healthy, or a sign that I was ill-equipped to support her effectively. The following is from my diary.

I never know how Fran is doing, not really. She can seem so fragile, so close to the edge, so hurt and hurting . . . and then the next moment we are laughing, or mad at each other. I’m learning not to be scared, not to worry, but instead to care. So many people are scared for her. They can’t deal with her, can’t cope at all. Perhaps I should be like that. Am I a danger to Fran because I am so calm? Perhaps I am being naive. Or perhaps it makes me precisely who she needs.

That final sentence was the turning point in my understanding. Positive, supportive and vigilant care is far healthier for Fran than any amount of fear-based worrying.

This message is captured in our mantra don’t worry about me, care about me. It’s a principle that has informed and guided my caring relationship with Fran and other friends over the years. As valuable as the reminder is, it doesn’t explain how I can be okay with friends sharing the “messy” details of their lives with me. There are two key aspects to this: my lack of equivalent experience and my sense of curiosity.

Lived Experience

I have little or no first-hand experience of mental illness, trauma, or the other “difficult” topics I mentioned earlier. This can be an obstacle to communication. Some people feel safer and more comfortable discussing things with people with similar lived experience. They don’t have to spend time setting the scene, explaining or justifying themselves, because the other person gets it.

There are other reasons someone might turn elsewhere when they’re in need of someone to talk to. I’ve discussed some of these in It’s Time to Talk. But What If You Don’t Want To? I used to feel sad if I wasn’t my friends’ go-to person, but I get it now. What matters is whether my friends have someone or somewhere to turn when they need help, support, or guidance. It doesn’t always have to be me.

Paradoxically, my lack of equivalent experience can be helpful. I’m less likely to assume I know what’s going on for my friend or imagine that what worked for me is relevant to their situation. I’m also less likely to be triggered by the details of what my friend has gone through or is going through at the time.

Curiosity

On more than one occasion I’ve told Aimee and Fran that it’s very educational being their friend. That might sound as though I’m trivialising their experiences, but I’m genuinely interested to learn about their lives and what they’ve gone through. Being curious helps me appreciate their situation and makes me more able to support them effectively. I’ve written about this previously in How to Educate Yourself about Your Friend’s Mental Health Condition.

You might wonder why you’d want to take the time and trouble to learn about your friend’s health condition. What’s in it for you? Fran never asked or expected me to educate myself about her situation, but our friendship has benefited enormously in many ways. Yours can too. [...] Most important of all, you will demonstrate your commitment to your friendship. Your friend is far more than their illness and symptoms, but by taking time to learn what you can, you’re acknowledging the impact they have in your friend’s life.

An important aspect of curiosity is asking the right questions. That’s certainly true of me and Aimee. She once wrote in an open letter to me on her blog, “I love that you ask me questions when I’m struggling because it’s much more helpful than you just sitting there and nodding along, pretending to understand.”

What if I’m Not Okay?

I told Aimee I’d let her know if I was ever not okay with her talking about her experiences. There’s nothing I’d refuse in principle to discuss, but it’s conceivable something might happen that I’d have difficulty with. I once asked her to check in with me before sending me photos or content that could be problematic. Her “Do you want to see?” means a lot. It reminds us both that there are — or could be — boundaries. It hasn’t happened so far but I’d feel able to say “No thank you” or “Not right now” if the situation arose.

The same is true with other friends. “There’s no TMI [too much information] between us!” feels great in a friendship, but there are times when I’ve hit that boundary. That’s not a problem. Quite the opposite. Being aware of your respective boundaries is valuable in any relationship. There have been times when a friend has asked me not to talk about a particular topic because they’ve found it triggering, or because they’ve not had the capacity to handle it there and then. On at least one occasion they told me later they could discuss it now if I still needed to.

Aimee’s Perspective

I invited Aimee to contribute her thoughts on this important topic.

As a survivor of rape and sexual abuse, I’m incredibly aware and cautious of the fact that sharing my story and talking to others about my trauma can be upsetting to a lot of people. I also recognise that it can trigger other survivors to think more about their own memories and to perhaps experience very upsetting and potentially de-stabilising flashbacks of their experiences.

In all honesty, I find these factors difficult because sometimes I find myself feeling a bit jealous and resentful in thinking; “I wish I didn’t know about any of this too!” It’s also challenging because I had an incredibly naive childhood, which meant that the rape and abuse were both shocking and unbelievable. I didn’t have much knowledge about just how wrong it was. It was therefore difficult to realise it was something that I actually needed to report to the Police. The fact that the naivety had such a negative impact has influenced my opinion of how detailed I should be disclosing the rape and abuse in my blog posts and other public content I create and the work that I do.

— Aimee Wilson

I’m grateful to Aimee for her contribution. Check out her blog I’m NOT Disordered.

Over to You

In this post I’ve discussed the importance of honesty and trust when discussing potentially difficult topics with friends. I’ve touched on some of the reasons people might not want to share, and described how I’m able to hear friends share their experiences without finding it triggering or distressing. Finally, I’ve mentioned the importance of respecting each other’s boundaries.

Do you have people you can discuss personal or difficult experiences with? Is it easier for you to share if they’ve had relevant or equivalent experience? What makes you feel safe — or unsafe — with people? Do you find it hard listening to friends or loved ones talk about what they’re going through? How do you deal with that?

Fran and I would love to hear your thoughts, either in the comments below or via our contact page.

 

Photo by Roberto Nickson at Unsplash

 

What Makes You Feel Powerful?

Everything changes. This is the key to feeling powerful, but also to being creative in the world.

— Robert Greene

Most of my blog posts are inspired by conversations with friends or things I come across online. This is a little different. Unsure what to write about next, I searched the vast selection of images on Unsplash. This one by photographer Toa Heftiba caught my attention, although I wasn’t sure how I’d answer the question. When have I ever felt powerful? Is powerful even something I want to feel? I mentioned it to my friend and fellow blogger Aimee Wilson.

M: Here’s the title and image for my next blog post.

A: I love that. What are you thinking about for content?

M: I’m not sure. One thing I’m thinking about is music. Certain songs feel empowering. Also validation. I think that’s empowering too. I’m trying to think of times in my life when I’ve felt powerful or empowered. Not many come to mind! That’s what made me think it’s a good topic to explore.

A: What about blogging and social media, in the sense of having influence with your audience?

M: I wouldn’t say that contributes to me feeling empowered or powerful at all, no. Valuable or valued, yes.

A: That’s interesting. I thought you were going to say it was a good idea! Can I ask why?

M: I guess it depends what we mean by powerful or empowered. With my writing, I write something and put it out there and maybe someone sees it and it resonates with them. But that’s more about them than me. Did that make sense at all?

A: It did… Sort of! Perhaps one way of looking at it is that you have the power of writing something that resonates with someone else?

M: I like that, yes. I take it from the fact you asked the question that blogging contributes to you feeling empowered/powerful?

A: I was going to say “one hundred percent” then, but it’s more funny to say “two million percent!” Well 2.2!

M: I see what you did there! [Aimee’s blog I’m NOT Disordered has over 2.2 million page views.] What does “feeling powerful” mean to you?

A: I think like I said, about being in a position where I can influence a lot of people. But also in mental health terms, it’d be about saying what will help me and just asking for help.

Aimee helped me identify three aspects of feeling powerful: empowerment, agency, and validation. A conversation with another close friend, Jen, established the distinction between healthy and toxic power.

M: The very fact that I can’t think of ever feeling “powerful” convinced me it will be a good topic to explore. Maybe if I reframe it as “empowered” it will be easier to address.

J: I like that. I think it works with that shift. It’s like turning the word upside down.

M: Yes! It’s funny that it should be that way. It’s essentially the same thing (or one aspect of it anyway) yet it makes a difference. When I think of feeling powerful my instinctive response is “Oh, I’ve never been that.” I’m not sure I want to be “powerful.” It feels too aggressive. Forceful. Masculine (in the sense of toxic masculinity).

J: What about empowered?

M: With empowered, I’m like “Well, yes. I guess so. At times ...”

Toxic Power and Empowerment

I’ve written previously about toxic masculinity and gender identity. It’s all too easy to find examples of toxic power in the world today. Turn on any news channel and it’s there. Power employed wantonly, destructively, abusively, on every level from personal to global. That kind of power is born of greed, fear, hatred, and division. We’re all subject to it being wielded by those in political, institutional, or financial power over us. It’s not something I would ever want to own or manifest.

Empowerment is quiet power. It arises from a place of inner strength, grounded confidence, self-knowledge, and self-awareness. It’s the focused power of the martial arts master rather than the thug or mob. For the essence of empowerment in martial art practice, read Karl Douglass’ account in The Gentle Art of Losing Myself. The distinction is clear. As Fran expressed it to me recently, “Powerful is not bullying.” A potent and public example of empowerment was provided recently by Rev. Mariann Budde. The Episcopal bishop of Washington spoke truth to power in her sermon at the Washington National Cathedral, attended by newly inaugurated President Donald Trump.

Agency and Validation

Agency is the ability to influence or affect others, making a positive congribution to and difference in the world. Reframed in this way, I can engage more readily with the idea of being powerful. The book Fran and I wrote, the blog posts I publish here each week, the other content I post on social media, all are shared in the hope they’’ll find an audience open to our message. We don’t do it for kudos or reward. It’s fair to say we’re not inundated with messages from readers eager to let us know how we’ve transformed their lives! But we know our voice is heard, and from time to time someone will reach out to say we’ve helped them or given them food for thought.

Validation reinforces our sense of agency and gives us confidence that we’re doing something of value and relevance to others. It’s a truism that helping other people helps us too. As Robert Ingersoll said, “We rise by lifting others.” A close friend told me recently, “You make a difference in my life Marty, know that.” The feeling is mutual (Hi, Andi!) and I knew it without being told. But there are times when we feel ineffective, powerless, disempowered. A reminder to the contrary is the antidote to disillusionment and apathy.

Being open to receiving compliments, gratitude, and recognition is natural and healthy. It feels good to know we’re valued and making a difference. Needing validation from others is less healthy. Paradoxically, it saps our sense of power and agency. At one time or another, we’ve all found ourselves in that position, waiting nervously for other people — perhaps one person in particular — to acknowledge our contribution or affirm our actions. It’s not a healthy place to be.

What About Me?

So, all that said, what makes me feel powerful, empowered, and validated? As I mentioned in my conversation with Aimee, music can evoke a sense of potency and empowerment in me. I listed some of my favourite tracks in Ten Anthems for Comfort, Celebration, Inspiration, and Healing. Of the ten, the most empowering for me are Eminem’s Lose Yourself, Hammer and Nail by the Indigo Girls, and Let It Go from Disney’s Frozen. To these I’d add Defying Gravity from the 2003 original Broadway cast recording of the musical Wicked with music and lyrics by Stephen Schwartz.

I’ve mentioned validation and encouragement. That’s incredibly important to me and helps keep me on track. It’s worth pointing out that my friends are as likely to challenge me when I get things wrong as they are to acknowledge when I get things right! Both kinds of feedback are valuable to me. They help set the boundaries of my path as I navigate my way through life. Speaking of paths, a few years ago I found myself at something of a crossroads. For various reasons I’d come to realise that many of the ideas and plans I’d held previously were never going to come to fruition. Not so much from lack of trying (though partly that) but because they didn’t align with my strengths, skills, and abilities. In a note to myself I worked through what I needed to cede, and what to focus on. The following is excerpted from those notes, with a few edits for clarity.

Cessation of Illusion

Things to cede because I’m not good at them

• The idea of myself as a mental health speaker.
• The idea of myself as running a Mental Health First Aid team or organisation in the workplace.
• The idea of myself as an organiser of events.

What am I good at?

• One-on-one connections.
• Writing and blogging.
• Listening.

Things to focus on and develop

• Myself.
• My writing.
• My relationships and connections.

Why / benefits?

• To lose the anxiety and stress of trying to do things I’m not good at or struggle with.
• To align with my abilities.
• To focus on what I am good at.

Checking in with myself like this helps me develop my strengths and address areas where I’m less skilled or effective (less powerful). Another approach I use is to tune into what was going on for me when I’ve felt most strong, confident, and good about myself. That said, there’s a difference between what makes us feel good and genuine empowerment. I asked Fran what makes her feel powerful. Her answers are below, but what interested me most was her follow-up question. “Is that what makes me feel powerful, or good? Because there’s a difference.”

Speaking for myself, I think the difference is partly down to ego. Some things, situations, and people help me feel good about myself by pandering to my ego. I feel good, strong, self-confident, and empowered when I feel acknowledged, heard, loved, and valued. There’s nothing wrong with those kinds of feelings, but they are temporary and conditional. Genuine empowerment is rooted in our connection with ourselves rather than the approval of others.

Other Voices

I invited a number of friends how they’d answer the question “What makes you feel powerful?” Here’s a selection of their responses.

Physically: when I go to the theatre in winter and get there without slipping on the ice. When I go to the gym and make it through my boot camp class. When I’m cooking in the kitchen. Emotionally: when I don’t react negatively to people or situations I find triggering. Mentally: when my mind works. Is that what makes me feel powerful, or good? Because there’s a difference.
— Fran

Doing things that have caused me fear (overcoming fear).
— Angela

When I’m playing a computer game and I can be my own god.
— Mike

“When you arise in the morning, think of what a precious privilege it is to be alive — to breathe, to think, to enjoy, to love.” (quotation attributed to Marcus Aurelius)
— Lisa

Being physically fit, mentally organised, anticipating events, knowing it could all go wrong in a flash, knowing it is probably gonna go okay, being informed through listening to people and reading as much as possible 24/7. Being religious. (Baha’i.) Being very careful around people, being very confident around people, judging my whole thinking and how I am with people against what I know to be right and wrong, listening to folk, knowing when not to listen to folk, knowing when to talk, knowing when to keep my mouth shut, trying to make every day better than the previous one. Stuff like that basically. Oh coffee — that should have come first! Enjoying humour both producing it but best of all hearing it from other people because that’s where the inspiration comes from! Mr Baker is a great supplier of humour!
— Paul

I once rode this horse and they warned me he was very naughty. I got him to behave. I felt powerful then.
— Pam

Knowing I am house bound and can still help others.
— Carol

I’m grateful to everyone who shared their thoughts and ideas. I’ll close with the Serenity Prayer, which Fran finds helpful and empowering. Originally composed by Protestant theologian Reinhold Niebuhr in the early 1930s, the prayer has gone through numerous edits and rephrasings. This is the arguably most commonly known version today:

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

Over to You

In this post I’ve explored what feeling powerful means to me, with contributions from friends who’ve shared their thoughts and experiences. What does feeling powerful mean to you? Is power a good thing? When have you felt most powerful or empowered? We’d love to hear your ideas, either in the comments below or via our contact page.

 

Photo by Toa Heftiba at Unsplash.

 

When the Clocks Change: How Daylight Saving Time Affects Our Transatlantic Friendship

Sometimes being a friend means mastering the art of timing.

— Gloria Naylor

Fran and I live three thousand miles and five time zones apart. For most of the year I’m five hours ahead of Fran, so that when it’s nine o’clock in the morning for Fran it’s two o’clock in the afternoon for me. This works well and we’ve built the pulse of our connection, our friendship, around this time difference. Our scheduling is thrown out twice a year, in spring and autumn, because our respective countries switch to daylight saving time on different days.

As I write this, we’re about to enter just such a situation. Clocks in the US advance one hour tonight, Saturday March 8. The UK won’t fall in line until the end of the month. For three weeks, we’ll be four hours apart instead of the usual five. Instead of calling each day at 7 am, 2 pm, and 6 pm (in Fran’s time) we’ll meet at 8 am, 3 pm, and 7 pm, assuming those times are convenient for her — and we know in advance they won’t always be. I could temporarily adjust my schedule but that’s not always workable either. It’s okay. We’ve done this twice a year since we met in 2011. But it’s something we need to take into account, an inconvenience that can’t be ignored or wished away.

I used to get so frustrated when things like this got in the way of us connecting. I’ve learned to let go of the need for things to always go the way I want them to or think they should. (That word, should!) Clock changes serve as an opportunity to practice acceptance. They are an example of the Serenity Prayer’s call “to accept the things I cannot change.”

I’ll endeavour to approach these coming weeks in that spirit. The different frequency and timing of our calls offers a chance to appreciate the ease with which our lives interlace for most of the year, and the value we each place on our friendship.

That’s something worth celebrating, whatever time it is.

 

Photo by Jon Tyson at Unsplash.

 

Looking Out: An Open Letter to My Best Friend

Dear Fran.

This photograph, Looking Out, is by Norwegian photographer Vidar Nordli-Mathisen. The moment I saw it, I knew I wanted to share it with you and explore its relevance to our lives and friendship.

You’ve always been a traveller at heart. A gypsy, as you expressed it once, contrasting your wanderlust with my nature as a stay-at-home, rocking chair loving, “comfort creature traveling vicariously.” I’ve loved being your virtual travel buddy. We’ve seen some places together, haven’t we! From that perspective, you’re the woman standing on the lake shore, pack on your back, about to head off on your latest adventure. I’m watching from inside the house, experiencing the world though your eyes and your words.

The scene is Hovden in Norway. We’ve never been there, but you stopped briefly in Stavanger and Bergen on your way home from travelling around Europe in the summer of 2013. The lake and mountains remind me of that trip, especially Germany and Austria. Those three months proved a massive challenge to you on all levels; emotional, physical, and mental. They also challenged our friendship and my ability to support you from afar. With decent Internet, it’s true what we say: no one is too far away to be cared for or to care. Without reliable connection, it was very hard. Sitting in my room here in England without the daily calls we’d become used to — I think we had only two or three in all the time you were away — I truly felt in the dark. We came through it, though. (Let’s not do it again!)

It’s not just the outer world I explore with you. Travel’s always been an analogy for your inner journeying. As you once said, “Just being willing to go into yourself is brave. Actually making the steps is a hero’s journey.” We used that quotation to introduce the chapter of our book where we described those months in Europe. As well as Norway, you stopped briefly in Reykjavík on your return journey. We drew a parallel between what you described as the “bleak harsh landscape” of Iceland and your depression. “Let’s use this part of the journey,” I suggested. “This Darktime. Feel the sadness, and then leave it behind on these shores.”

There’s another way of reading the photograph. The person inside the house is you, sitting in the dark looking out at the bright potential of the world outside. The woman on the lake shore is also you, but the person you might have been if life had been otherwise. Healthy. Fit. Free from pain and fatigue. Capable of anything she dares to dream. For all your achievements and adventures I know there’ve been times when your life has felt small, less than, more constrained than it might have been had illness not visited you. It’s hard to mourn a life you never had the chance to live.

I remember when you lived in your little house on Peaks Island. You’d take walks around the island or on Centennial Beach, then return to share with me what you’d seen and thought and felt, often expressed in haiku-style poems. At that time you were endeavouring to find a way out of the deepest depression you’d ever known. As you wrote at the time, “I was trying to save my life, to get out of the house onto Centennial and wait for the haikus to come. That was all I had.”

Looking at the photograph in that way brings tears to my eyes. You could only stand the brightness of outside in small doses before having to return to the darkness. Step by step, haiku by haiku, you found your way back into the world, but it wasn’t easy and success was never certain. I might have lost you then.

Another shift in perspective. The woman standing by the lake is still, contemplative. Perhaps she’s not setting out on new adventures but returning home from meeting friends or from the store, her backpack filled not with travel supplies but with wholesome ingredients for the meals she’ll prepare in her cosy home. She ponders her life, everything she’s seen and achieved, and questions whether one more adventure would add anything to her appreciation of life or her sense of self-worth. Perhaps, she thinks, it’s enough to stand in awe and take it all in. With a final glance at the mountains, she walks the narrow winding path to her little house. Opening the door, she calls out to say she’s home. I’ve already got the kettle on.

 

Photograph Looking Out by Vidar Nordli-Mathisen at Unsplash.

 

Our Top Posts of the Month (February 2025)

Check out our top posts for the past month. Posts are listed by the number of page views they attracted during the month, most popular first.

1. Shhhhhhh! A Friend’s Guide to Secrets
2. The Box on the Shelf: A Strategy for Handling Difficult Issues and Situations
3. It’s Not Enough / Never Enough
4. It’s Time to Talk. But What If You Don’t Want To?
5. One Must Imagine Sisyphus Happy: Encounters With the Absurd Man
6. Thank You Anyway: The Gift of Ingratitude
7. The Hidden Cost of Unreliability
8. Because You’re Worth it! A Curated List of Self-care Posts
9. IMHO: A Guide for Opinionated Bloggers
10. How to Be There for a Friend: Seven Suggestions for Time to Talk Day

Our most visited pages were:

1. Contact Us
2. Resources
3. Our books
4. About Us
5. News and Appearances
6. Testimonials

 

Photo by Eli Pluma at Unsplash.