I'm sad today, melancholic and demoralized, acutely sensitive, choking up at songs on the radio, reliving old griefs.
When I'm like this, a few things help: woods, tea, friends, honoring my emotions. It also helps me to reread my own work, in this case, a short story I wrote a few years ago called "The Hand Holder." I don't think it's a narcissistic move, to read my own stuff again. I spent a long time -- weeks, really -- trying to capture this particular combination of sadness and solace, the sense of beauty that comes with grief.
I don't know if this story transmits that to other people -- response has been mixed. I do know it helps me. Perhaps this one I mostly wrote for myself.
I've posted it here: http://www.redroom.com/articlestory/the-hand-holder-ericka-lutz
Would love to know what you think.