I think I’ve been experiencing a lo-fi form of functional depression. Which feels very strange to admit but quite a relief at the same time.
Everything’s felt harder, taking far more energy than usual. There’s this ever-present dullness to life where I’m unable to feel the same feels, high or low, like I normally would. An unrelenting inertia. The spark just hasn’t been sparking and now I’ve spent some time reflecting, I’m giving myself the grace to surrender.
2026 has been a heavy year.
I’ve had to exit the business I spent 4 years building from the ground up due to financial mismanagement that’s left me well-and-truly high-and-dry; we went through a complex bereavement of a close friend in the summer which was a shock to the system; and all that’s taken its toll on a relationship with a loved one that’s been suffering as a result.
When the floor drops from beneath you, you’re faced with numerous challenges that span the cold, practical, logistical types to the emotional, exposing, psychological ones – with the former being easier to quantify, clearer to plan, and easier to manage. The latter being a lonely, isolating, place that rejects open vulnerability or support seeking behaviours.
Compounding stress is profoundly disorientating.
It completely throws your navigational compass, the one you’ve so intuitively relied on for so long, akin to being lost-at-sea surrounded by a persistent haze, a fog of sorts, that forces a lowering of the sails. There’s a reason why it’s called the doldrums.
It allows unrelenting waves of anxiety to roll through at such a regular cadence that you learn to live with them; welcoming their arrival as the quiet nights draw in, starkly reminding you of an uncertain reality upon wakening.
When life really starts lifeing, you find yourself seeking solace in simplicity and reducing the noise – initiating survival mode - then you start looking for signs, slowly opening yourself up to support, leaning into the more spiritual elements of being.
First principles of being human.
If this feels familiar to you, and you’ve navigated those waters, you’ll know how the mind searches the empty space for bearings, for subtle signals, and they can come in all shapes and sizes.
The European robin redbreast, for example, is folklore’s most famous feathered friend when it comes to fleeting meetings with loved ones passed – and there’s some surprising science behind their divine timing.
Deep within a robin’s eyes lies a light-sensitive protein called Cryptochrome 4, rather aptly abbreviated to Cry4, that reacts directly to the Earth’s magnetic field. It’s not like a compass needle per se, it literally sees the planet’s geometric contours as subtle patterns of light and dark through its vision. Robins use this to navigate at nighttime to avoid threats when migrating as they can’t rely on visual landmarks or the positioning of the sun. This guidance system stays completely dormant while the bird sits comfortably nesting, it only wakes when the journey begins and the route demands it.
We share more with that quiet calibration than we realise.
While most birds flee human presence, robins have an ancient memory of sharing close ground with large mammals in the woods, waiting nearby without fear. And when grief is bestowed upon us and becomes a close companion, our faster pace slows down. We stop rushing. We fall still. The noise quietens, and without realising it, we drop straight into the same frequency that aligns with these very unique avians.
You could say that robins stay because sorrow has softened our threat.
It feels particularly poignant writing this today, on Remembrance Sunday, as the entire nation holds silence together, honouring those lost before their time, keeping their memories alive.
Yesterday was Josh’s 35th birthday and we never even got to celebrate his 21st together. His energy, his unrelenting desire to create, and his brotherhood have been, and continue to be, a powerful driving force since his passing. Sharing two beautiful nieces with him is one of life’s greatest privileges and it’s comforting to know that as close families we’re never too far away from him.
We also shared a love for music that allows me, as a man often stunted by his damned physiology, to lean into grief and really feel. A track that I keep replaying but never really tuned into the lyrics is Goldie’s I Adore You from The Journey Man album and I’ll leave you with this verse…
When all is settled dust
After the storm has passed
Let me be the one to shine on you
Better to let, better to let you know
Cheers to loved ones lost.
Charlie
A special thanks to Marnie for the gentle encouragement to put pen-to-paper again after an astonishing 1,350 day hiatus of Sunday Night Slides – promise it won’t be that long until the next edition!
“There’s one more thing I’ve got to say, as a 43 year old woman, I can just tell you this – that life goes by really really fast. Life is short. It thunders by. If you like your music you’ve gotta get up and dance”
– Annie Mac
Hi there Charlie, you have such a gift with your words and the emotions and description of how "lost at sea" doldrums feel resonates so keenly with me. My fondest memory back in 2021 is our journeying together down the last leg - a memory that soothes and still brings a smile. So we keep on going despite the absence of loved ones lost but cherishing the moments when they check in if we can just be aware and tune in. Life throws some pretty heavy curveballs along the way and I hope that by sharing your story helps you find clarity for the way forward and peaceful acceptance of things that are past. Take care of yourself. Big hugs, Jeannette x
You write so beautifully 💙