There is a truism that I've heard specific to writers: that writers are frequently a depressed lot and that only in their melancholy state are they motivated to spew forth insightful thoughts; that nothing kills the motivation to write (or read) as much as a good mood or a sunny outlook.

I'm not at all a religious person, but I imagine I could refer to writings describing the Devil in attempting to articulate the various and changing guises of Depression that have followed me throughout life. During a 'good' year, Depression would be more like a low-level haze, a melancholy not at all bad - a way of living with its own mysterious 'other', an avator, that quietly observes and comments in my ear. At other times, and particularly earlier this year, the feeling could be so bad that my body, brittler than rusty iron and colder than galvanized pipe, hurt as it moved through air heavier than my skin.

But like with a fog lifting mid-morning, the Depression has burned away, cautiously gone since mid-summer. Cautious because there was no apparent reason for the change. Perhaps only certain, obvious aspects have dissipated. Perhaps other Demons remain.

One significant Devil seemingly expunged has been an acceptance of my surroundings. I could not describe how or why or what factors, if any, that suddenly changed my attitude about Dayton. I did not visit a Shrink and took no mind-altering drugs. There is nothing--and perhaps more importantly, nobody--that swept clear my earlier dour outlook of this place.

Not that there has been a total transformation in feeling: Dayton still has its faults; I'm still planning on moving away. But somewhere this year I came to the conclusion It's Not That Bad and have come to accept Dayton as it Is.

Perhaps the Demon that represented Dayton, Ohio was a false one. The real Demon was learning to accept getting older and being single. And like any avid churchgoer, perhaps it is better to face these Demons in a place like Dayton rather than anywhere else. I hope it has made me stronger.

For the first four years here, I felt more alone than at any time in my adult life. I still do not have a wide circle of friends outside of work. Maybe it has been nothing more than the natural progression of time that I have become first accepting, and then comfortable with, "Table For One".

It would be so nice to have someone in my life. Even in the last few months, the idea of "being single", perhaps for the rest of my life, means waking up with a pang - the Demon back at work. I think of my parents, married for nearly fifty years, riding out the storms life sent them and still being able to laugh together. Did I miss learning an essential skill or block a significant genetic imprint from them that makes coupling impossible?

Perhaps so.

But the Demon put to rest is content to remain single rather than to take a step sideways or backward.