A wounded knee...

Through most of my younger years, I had a party trick that would come out whenever the evening reached a certain point.

 I would Cossack dance.

You know - crouched down, arms folded, legs kicking. You get the idea. Apparently, I'm featured on the closing credits of at least one wedding video...

Several years ago, I found myself in Munich, negotiating a deal. It was September so, at the end of a long day of meetings, our client's lawyers invited us to Oktoberfest. It was a great evening full of song, food and, yes, beer. As the evening went on, I thought it was time to pull out the party trick.

At the time, it seemed OK. Not my best performance, by a long shot, but it worked.

In the morning, though, something was clearly very wrong. My right knee was in agony, I could barely walk. I hobbled across Munich to my next meeting, then slumped on the S-Bahn on my way gratefully, if gracelessly, home.

My knee healed, but I didn't trust it to take the strain of a full-on Cossack dance. The party trick would be shelved.

Regular readers will know of my experience of depression. Those were dark times indeed, but in much the same way that my knee healed, so would my spirits. 

Yet, just as I felt I could not trust my knee to be strong enough to Cossack dance, so I would feel I could not trust my mind to be strong enough. I knew too well the circumstances that had led me into depression, the ways I had been tested and, so it seemed, found wanting. I had little confidence that I would hold up if faced with the same situation again. 

So I would hold myself back, protect myself from the risk of pain. I might miss some highs, but at least I'd spare the lows.

Deep wounds leave deep scars. Scars in self-esteem can linger long after the depression itself has passed. Yet with time and care, scars can be treated.

Last year, I was asked to be best man at a dear friend's wedding. After the speech was over, after the dancing started, as the band played, I would - for the first time since Munich - Cossack dance.