Melancholia to Me, And Its Praise

I recently had to explain my take on Melancholia to a friend, a few hours ago.

Ever since, I’ve been thinking that Melancholia to me is a more optimistic view towards an aware life than optimism itself, and ergo, also by pessimism of course. I remember reading something like this somewhere, but I can’t recall.

Modern society, and many people, tend to emphasize cheerfulness, carefreeness, and perpetual happiness to a great extent. Their tendency to medicalize or dismiss melancholic states is a symptom of profound ignorance. One must acknowledge that even a well-lived life is never immune to sadness; grief and loss are not merely possibilities but inevitabilities woven into the practicality of human existence. It’s not a disorder that needs to be cured.

Melancholy, for me, is an impersonal take on suffering; that we are not alone forced to carry the grievings of us and what the world throws at us; that we are not singled out; that we share a fundamental human experience, which belongs to humanity in general; which in turn, detaches us from our personal weight of suffering.

Melancholy deviates from the pain of failure – to a link of admirable emotion. Often, sadness simply makes a lot of sense. In its quiet moments, it allows for a deeper understanding of the human condition, opening us to understand empathy, forgiveness, kindness, and focus; that often eludes our hurried existence.

In those states, without anger or emotion, I think one can accept that no one can truly understand each other, and that loneliness is universal, and that every life will have its own measure of shame, grief, sorrow, and regrets.

I find it to be realistic, and detached often leads to the truest form of optimism. An awareful within optimism.