David Foster Wallace died a few days ago, and I’ve been reticent to post this moment of silence. I know very little about the man other than the voracious appetite that people smarter than I am have for his work.

However, I do know a little bit about fighting mental health issues. Depression is a serious illness, and Wallace, like many other geniuses before him, succumbed to it. Depression is beyond rationalization or logic, a difficult notion for those who are capable of putting words to the indescribable.

Life itself, though, is too great a thing for one mind to comprehend. At some point in every person’s time here, we give up trying.

Some become pleased with what they have.
Some come to accept the limit of their understanding.
Some offer everything beyond their comprehension to God.
And some, unfortunately, lack the capacity to bear the weight.

When a person of genius takes their own life, I would like to believe they were so humbled by the vastness of the universe that they succumbed to their own futility. A comforting thought, but a silly one. Truth is, no matter how big you may understand life to be, when you suffer from depression, the sadness is always bigger.

David Foster Wallace surely still had a lot to say about our world. To his legions of fans who are rereading everything he wrote, I promise to pick up that copy of Infinite Jest* and try again.

Moment of silence for David Foster Wallace.

*A coworker pointed out this article. I share something in common with the writer:

In his honor, I plan to, once again, crack open Infinite Jest, make it about 15 pages in, then give up (again) and start reading that copy of Star (again).