Buddhism teaches us that life is suffering. James Hollis builds on this timeless wisdom with a stark but liberating insight: as humans, we don’t escape suffering—we choose between its forms. Depression or anxiety. Anxiety, he argues, is the more purposeful form of suffering, the price we pay for growth. His invitation is clear: choose anxiety.
I’ll admit, I’ve spent my fair share of time with both. There have been stretches of deep low mood where the world felt heavy, my energy waned, and I struggled to engage. And there have been moments of white-knuckle anxiety—before a big speech, stepping into an unknown opportunity, or, frankly, just staring at a blank page knowing I’m being called to write more vulnerably.
Hollis’s insight—that (non-biological) depression arises from avoiding the truth of our inner self while anxiety comes from expressing it—has been a guidepost for me. Depression, he says, is the psyche’s protest against the refusal to live in alignment with our soul. Anxiety, on the other hand, is the natural discomfort of stepping into the unknown, of choosing a life that enlarges us.
This insight changed how I see both depression and anxiety. They are not enemies to be eradicated but signals to pay attention to. Depression often whispers (or shouts), You’re playing small. You’re avoiding the truth. Anxiety says, You’re growing. Keep going.
Depression arises from avoiding the truth of our inner self while anxiety comes from expressing it.
As I write this, I notice how easy it is for me to lean into the safety of the expert position—explaining concepts, offering insights, quoting the thinkers I admire. It’s what I know, and it feels safe. But when I step into the witness position—sharing my vulnerability, my process, my missteps—I feel the weight of anxiety. It’s unfamiliar, exposing. And yet, it’s the path that enlarges me.
This is the paradox Hollis invites us to consider: Does this choice enlarge me or diminish me? The truer path, the one aligned with our soul, will often feel risky. It will stir up anxiety because it’s new territory. But the safer path, the one that avoids risk and stays small, often leads to depression—a kind of slow erosion of the self.
If you’re feeling depressed, consider this: what growth, what truth, have you been avoiding? Depression is not a moral failing; it’s an invitation to turn toward the anxiety you’ve been resisting. What could stepping into the unknown look like for you?
For me, that unknown has been finding my voice in new ways—writing with more vulnerability, speaking with less polish and more heart. For others, it might be taking a risk at work, initiating a hard conversation, or pursuing something deeply meaningful.
Anxiety isn’t easy. It asks a lot of us. But it’s the price of admission to a life that feels purposeful and alive.
So, the next time you’re at a crossroads, ask yourself: Does this choice enlarge me or diminish me? Choose the path that enlarges. Even if it scares you. Especially if it scares you. That’s where life is waiting.
