seeing past the grey

Glancing out the window, I see only shades of grey, white, and brown.

Considering it's late in the afternoon on a frigid day near the end of January in western New York, this observation probably doesn't stun most of you.

It's that lovely time of year when, rather predictably, almost everyone in this small (did I mention frigid yet?!) corner of the world is slowly sliding towards negativity and sheer dullness.

Too much greyness, you see, silently but effectively wears a person out. It's hard to notice it happening, unless you're watching carefully for it.

You begin to fray around the edges, unraveling a tiny bit at a time. Imperceptibly, tirelessly, it whittles away at your energy, your creativity, even your sense of wonder surrounding life and this wide, wide world.

Not coincidentally, I noticed a lot of articles pop up in magazines and on the internet about "how to be happy." At the same time - and this was an actual coincidence - I read a book that explored happiness and success, and it laid out a formula (or series of steps, I guess) explaining how a person can reach that state.

The underlying theme in all these readings is about how happiness (and success, I suppose, since they were grouped together by some of these self-help writers) is a choice. Simple as that. It's a conscious shift in perception in which you choose to focus on the positive, keep moving forward, and throw off all your baggage from the past.

To some degree, I can agree with that. I've seen people who consistently choose to be miserable and discontent, fixated on the negative and refusing to open their eyes to all the good that surrounds them. I've also witnessed people in awful circumstances who choose to see the best in their situation and continue clinging to those crazy sentiments of hope, contentedness, and joy.

But right now, in this place, it's so grey.

Can happiness truly be reduced to a simple choice? Going with this idea a little further, is depression just some weakness of the mind? This is where I don't buy the simplified theory that happiness is purely a choice. You see, there's a girl I know who has been diagnosed with depression. She's a wonderfully kind human being (much nicer than me); I could hardly imagine meeting anyone more thoughtful and generous. I struggle to believe she's made a choice to be unhappy.

Greyness - whether the physical grey I used to describe my environment in late January in western New York, or the greyness that descends on a person who's chronically falling into depression - doesn't seem to always respond to our "choice" to be happy or not. Yes, I think some people decide to be grumpy about anything and everything, while others stick with being unflappably optimistic, but sometimes, greyness just settles in for a long, unwelcome stay.

I've never experienced the greyness that settles into a person's soul, blocking out the joy and hope that belong there, but I'm guessing it's something like the endless grey sky I'm peering at outside. There's no end in any direction and little variation in the bland color that stretches over the snow-covered landscape, but there's one thing I'm certain of.

Somewhere behind that formidable grey expanse, there's a sun waiting to burst through.