depression - the counterweight

I turned 33 in late June and I had a whirlwind of fun. I thoroughly enjoyed my time in the seat of my ego wagon. I was soaking in as much treasuring as I could handle. At the same time, there was a long overdue success on the pitch, all the while my wife provided endless support and understanding. Last week I visited the race shop for the first time since I parked my ride. After accomplishing as much as I could to prep it for sale, I rolled the garage door down, turn the key to lock it and grimaced. Working on a car that you don't get to race anymore is no fun. It's finally becoming more noticeable. The depression. I've always had an uneasiness to me when it's racing season and I'm not towing to the track. I'd like to think that racing doesn't define me, but it definitely modifies my personality, attention span, humour and overall temperament. Unfortunately, other aspects of my existence always suffered as I was engaged in the sport, namely being an attentive husband, responsible homeowner and wise investor (to name a few). This new found freedom has only made me keenly aware that other aspects of my life that have taken a backseat are now prominent and pertinent. I no longer have a central mental focus to prioritize above that which I can put off for another day. Add to the cauldron the impending birth of my first borne. This is creating a definitive timeline for the experiences and tasks that I must accomplish. Experts say that this is common among expecting fathers. What I can't put my finger on is whether the finality of the racing is driving the depression or if it's the weight of the impending lifestyle change. Possibly its a combination. Either way, I'm not lighthearted even though I know that I have an amazing life. I feel almost guilty that I'm that sophomoric to let that which I can define, control my actions via my emotional state. My mantra has consistently been one of balance. Perhaps the feelings and reactions from depression are stabilizing. An expected result from the euphoria of a the month past. A preparation for the coming joy of my child and a redirection of my focus beyond my selfish desires.