The number one cure for depression (and how I should've known it all along)

​I visited my BFF in New York recently and shared with him and a friend about this depression stuff and my recent depressive episode which, thankfully, I am coming out of.

On the move for mental health

​I mentioned how happy I was when I was in Costa Rica in February for two weeks and how happily I flitted from one adventure to the next last fall.
 
First, I took my 14-year-old out to Denver and visited Pike’s Peak, Buffalo Bill Cody’s Museum and Burial Ground, and listened intently as an archaeologist told us how Dinosaur Ridge was the first location where things like stegosaurus and allosaurus were ever found. We meandered the majestic red rock formations at Garden of the Gods south of Denver and climbed in the Manitou Cliff Dwellings.

On the beach in Jaco, Costa Rica

​A month later I was meeting up with an old friend and her daughter in New York, exploring the Guggenheim and striding the city sidewalks like we did when we lived there 30 years earlier.
 
Then I was off to Dallas with my 17-year-old who, fascinated with JFK, wanted to see The Sixth Floor Museum at Dealey Plaza. From there we made a hardcore road trip to Jasper, Arkansas, to see an elderly friend of mine and my mother’s whom I hadn’t seen for many years, and whom I knew I’d never see again. My son was game when I coaxed him into the long drive with a promised stop in Oklahoma to learn about the Chocktaw Nation at an indigenous cultural center. The visit was sweet and poignant; a month later the friend passed away.
 
Next, I was off to Phoenix for the wedding of my college roommate. There, I reunited with our other college roommate—the three of us hadn’t been together since 1993—and instantly bonded with my friend’s new wife as well. It was profoundly sweet, fun, hilarious at times, and wonderful.

An Ahh-Duh moment

Relaying some of this to my friend in New York, he interjected.
 
“I think travel is your best medicine.”
 
I looked at him like he had just reminded me of who I was, and I have somehow been oblivious to what brings me to life. Maybe it’s just the way things have gone. The way the ball bounces. The routines I’ve gotten into. The work and home life I have chosen.

I think travel is your best medicine.

But DUH.
 
I should know…I’m a traveler. It has always been my spark. He should know. We’ve traveled the world together.
 
He continued.
 
“When you’re depressed,” he said in halting English (he’s Thai). “You go inward, right? Travel, you go out.” He motioned doors opening with his hands.
 
I couldn’t have gotten it any better from any therapist or psychedelic experience.
 
Off I go.

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