The following is an excerpt from my book Mountainside, on the Blessing of Melancholy. Near the end of our journey, we had come nearly to the top of the mountain. The sweeping deserts could be seen in the east, the distant ocean in the west, and the mountain peak just up ahead. But we were struck in that moment by something strange:

“A time comes in every man’s life when he at last comes to grips with the dissatisfaction of life. To some, it comes only once or twice, wreaking havoc as a midlife crisis when finally a man is willing to say to himself, I have not found meaning, I have not found anything of true value. In others it comes more often as a despairing feeling, whispering that life ought to be something more than what they have made it. That is the blessing of melancholy. Alas that in some it comes so rarely, little more tangible than a gently flowing breeze. But such melancholy is a blessing I say, because it is the foundation upon which to build the truly finer things in life.

The fool believes that happiness is somewhere out in the world for him to find. But when he reaches the peaks of his achievement he will find the curse that comes with placing all one’s hopes in human accomplishments. For when he finally reaches the end of some goal, the view from his peak will be vast and the world will open wide before him. He will see other peaks, mountains laying both far and wide, other goals and heights more tantalizing than the one he now stands upon. The prospect of happiness on a thousand other hills will fill his mind and he will set quickly off to conquer each in its own time. But he will never find what he seeks. For happiness is not found upon the peaks of mountains.

The wise man knows that happiness and peace are not somewhere out in the world for him to find but are already within his heart and soul, waiting for him to delve to the depths where character grows to see what he and God together can forge in the refining fire. For consider the words of the ancient teacher. “I have seen another evil under the sun, and it weighs heavily on men. God gives a man wealth, possessions and honor, so that he lacks nothing his heart desires, but God does not enable him to enjoy them.” The heart often finds peace in unusual things and the most uncommon places.

The most selfless thing the average person could ever do is better themselves–not their circumstances or their position in life, but their character, the state of their heart. Most would never consider such a thing because the average person lives with many false hopes. With so much to settle for, so much proclaiming that this or that will truly satisfy, most care little to search for more than happiness and subsistence. We never come to experience what I call the blessing of melancholy because there is always something new to sway our eyes away from seeing our own true state. But such hope is false.

False hope has built a tattered city within the soul of every man. Without a thought, we spend our lives wandering from building to building in this strange and desolate city, finding each one empty and cold. Nevertheless, we march diligently on, pushing aside the nagging thought that all the structures are just as empty as the ones we have already seen. And that is why the blessing of melancholy is so valuable. To realize at last that simple pleasures and selfish desires will never satisfy or bring true meaning–that is the wrecker the human soul needs to tear down the tattered empty buildings that can never hold anything of lasting worth. When a person finally realizes that there is not much in this life to be hopeful about, then they have tasted the blessing of melancholy, and it is then that they stand on the foundation to a better world. And though the foundation lay empty now, it will not be so for long.

It is hard to realize that false hope is cheaply bought. But wise souls know that hope that is cheaply bought is hope cheaply wasted. I would rather live life without hope than with false hopes deceiving and cheering my heart. Hopelessness is at times good medicine for the heart. It teaches us that the stars shine even in daylight, though only at night can they clearly be seen–that when all seems lost, all is waiting patiently to be found again.”

Life often whispers, in the quiet hours, that somehow we ought to do better – that though we have loved, we have not loved fiercely, that though at times we have struggled and fought, so often have we settled for mediocrity and the mundane. That’s why I love the melancholy of quiet hours. I love being reminded, as the breeze gently blows beneath the starry skies, that life was always meant to be lived to the full. There are many threads of this throughout classic poetry. One of my favorites is the simple poem by Langston Hughes:

“Sometimes when I’m lonely,

don’t know why

Keep thinking I won’t be lonely

by and by.”

The melancholy of the quiet hours comes as a whisper that convicts the heart of all the cheap and simple things we have spent the wages of our lives upon. Most of us don’t like thinking about such notions, dismissing them as idealistic fancy. But I cannot dismiss it. And why? Because the time is short. Life lasts for only a little while, and then is gone.

“Gather ye rosebuds while ye may

old time is still a’ flying

And this same flower that smiles today

Tomorrow will by dying.”

Robert Herrick

Language is a poor tool of communication compared with the melancholy of quiet hours. There is more to say–things which speak to the tale of our lives and the stirrings of our hearts–which cannot be expressed in words. To sit alone in a quiet park at night speaks volumes more than anything words can say. To stare up silently at the stars and let the night fill up and invigorate my spirit–by that action I proclaim I too can see the beauty and mystery in the world; I too can feel the presence of that grand and mystic scheme intertwining all of man; I too have felt the subtle tug of destiny rouse the spirit asleep within me.

Those feelings and passions are what draw me toward all the lonely places of the world and testify to who I truly am in ways that words can never proclaim. We speak of what we know and count what we don’t understand as unimportant. But that which we do not understand could very well be the most important thing about us. If you wish to speak to me of things truly important in life, come and find me on a lonely cliff, wander awhile in the places where roads end. And though we may not speak, we will learn much of one another. Until then, I will continue to speak as a man content to watch the stars.