Hi. It’s me again.
And I’m not talking about those crazies, you know, the ones that seem to have swept up the world, again, over the last few years; I’m referring to that insanity that’s happily within and handy: the “madness” inside.
And I’m not talking about those crazies, you know, the ones that seem to have swept up the world, again, over the last few years; I’m referring to that insanity that’s happily within and handy: the “madness” inside.
A little decaf perhaps...
I am an “idiot.” I am weird, and I do not fit in. I know this. I thought I knew how things operated, but moreover I thought that by now I had enough of an inkling as to the inner workings of change, that I’d be able to ride out any energetic shifts the world might throw at me with relative ease. We all know at this point how it seemed that a new set of “life guidelines” took over round about the end of 2012. But this year it feels as though that event has happened again, but rather than discretely, this time it occurs in continuous fashion. It’s the sort of exponential acceleration that, to me, feels like, what I imagine the shift from warp one to warp two must theoretically feel like. Perhaps in retrospect it will seem simple, but for now, the results of dealing with these shifts have been both fascinating and unnerving.
Steady as she goes... Weeeeeeee...
Through this I find myself reverting to an old state, one that, I’ll be honest with you, I truly hate. It’s the nervous, unsure me, the one who questions every decision, takes far too long to understand concepts, and waffles and dithers and does all those things I wish—I *thought*—I had left behind in the last emanation (#Voyager reference lol). The me who people make fun of for being over-polite, over-apologetic. The me who can barely rest outside his useless, fragmented mind long enough to run a simple two-hour rehearsal, only to return to it again and be at half-efficiency for the remainder of the day, if that. It gets to the point where I’ve considered massive and potentially destructive shifts this year, just to get out of the unbearable me-ness of it all. Please stop the bus: the driver is an idiot. I’ve considered strategies that would be career-ending (which is not I suppose much of a threat when you’re self-employed, but for those of you who know my commitment to the mission will get the implications of this), marriage-ending, life-ending even. And it’s when vehicular suicide once again starts looking more appealing than folding your laundry, that you really do begin to question certain things.
I write this and I share it and maybe you’re uncomfortable. I do it because, well, it’s my damn blog, but also I would vouch that by now we have an elegant sufficiency of “top five times Chris Pratt showed us his bum” (or such like) articles. Not that I don’t like “top five” posts and I have little to no opinion on Mr. Pratt’s behind; in fact it (the former, to be clear) gives me an idea for a future entry. But for now, the terminally hilarious misadventures of this clinically depressed oddball continue with this thought:
Oh fuck.
I write this and I share it and maybe you’re uncomfortable. I do it because, well, it’s my damn blog, but also I would vouch that by now we have an elegant sufficiency of “top five times Chris Pratt showed us his bum” (or such like) articles. Not that I don’t like “top five” posts and I have little to no opinion on Mr. Pratt’s behind; in fact it (the former, to be clear) gives me an idea for a future entry. But for now, the terminally hilarious misadventures of this clinically depressed oddball continue with this thought:
Oh fuck.
Whaaa...?!
Why are we back here? We were doing so well. And, again, I assure you I’m not giving some sort of editorial on what’s going on in the world, though I might understand if some (not all) of you thought I was. To that end, I’m currently of the feeling that any sort of commentary on current events in this ever changing world in which we live in right now is probably above my paygrade, so I’m adopting more of an observer’s stance; a strange, “Good fortune, bad fortune, who knows?” kind of neutral clarity that seems to resonate right now, while I again work to sort out the morass that is my mind and do my best to do cool and worthwhile things. So, it’s funny. There’s ostensibly a crapload going on the outside world which doesn’t bother me, and seemingly nothing—to the casual observer at least—going on in my world, but it’s the latter what’s got me hung up.
Bizarro Gandhi for a bizarro world.
I’ve been working my way towards the center of my experience by first limiting, then eliminating, things like the “news” (such as it is), then doing the same for things like social media (#shamelessplug), from which I took a LONG break from February to arguably this present moment. With the barrage gone I find myself able to more fully focus on what’s happening, particularly what’s happening inside, and the main observation is that whatever compass I was using before as my primary guide-to-life has pretty much vanished. The resulting not knowing which way is up or down, south or north, is likely what explains the doubt and fear from which all other symptomatology stems (the apologetic-ness, the over-politeness, depression, etc.). But what is the result?
You have a large energetic shift, the by-product of which for anyone paying attention (which I am told on good authority—Reader’s Digest—is more and more of us) is that old assumptions are no longer relevant, and that what might have been working perfectly well in your life, for your life, may in dramatic fashion turn out no longer to work at all. Depending on your personality you might: i) deal with it without a hitch (lucky you) or ii) collapse like a dying protostar into a black cluster of self-doubt, fear, and loathing.
You have a large energetic shift, the by-product of which for anyone paying attention (which I am told on good authority—Reader’s Digest—is more and more of us) is that old assumptions are no longer relevant, and that what might have been working perfectly well in your life, for your life, may in dramatic fashion turn out no longer to work at all. Depending on your personality you might: i) deal with it without a hitch (lucky you) or ii) collapse like a dying protostar into a black cluster of self-doubt, fear, and loathing.
Not I. I iz at one with the universe.
Assuming the latter (because honestly, if the former, you probably spend most of your time in your home, giggling and thinking: dang it I’m SO happy!) what happens next? Because the loathing in itself is not the end goal; I’ve spent most of my life living with varying degrees of self-doubt, fear, and loathing, so what’s the big cheese here? What’s the outcome we’re looking to prevent? Simple: giving up.
This is the edge I’ve teetered on for almost this entire year. I have not felt so close to giving up all I care about creatively, professionally, and personally as I have this year. I can honestly say that. And I hope I never come this close again, and moreover I wish I could guarantee it, because it was, it is, awful. You’ve possibly read about the sense of both commitment and joy that I feel towards the mission of creativity and positivity that is BlueDorian. I started it twelve years ago, and it persists, still, at this point mostly self-funded and with a miniscule staff (I could use the word “both” and it would apply), and with very little by way of things like recognition or else validation. But it does persist, holding vigil as it shall, until we have the resources such that by our words and actions we make the stars align to our will. Yes, that BlueDorian. This year, for nearly all of the year, I have wanted to throw everything away, even to have it all physically destroyed, just to make the world make sense again, so great was the distance I needed to reconcile between what was and what is, so much I felt in need of guidance, of the old compass.
This is the edge I’ve teetered on for almost this entire year. I have not felt so close to giving up all I care about creatively, professionally, and personally as I have this year. I can honestly say that. And I hope I never come this close again, and moreover I wish I could guarantee it, because it was, it is, awful. You’ve possibly read about the sense of both commitment and joy that I feel towards the mission of creativity and positivity that is BlueDorian. I started it twelve years ago, and it persists, still, at this point mostly self-funded and with a miniscule staff (I could use the word “both” and it would apply), and with very little by way of things like recognition or else validation. But it does persist, holding vigil as it shall, until we have the resources such that by our words and actions we make the stars align to our will. Yes, that BlueDorian. This year, for nearly all of the year, I have wanted to throw everything away, even to have it all physically destroyed, just to make the world make sense again, so great was the distance I needed to reconcile between what was and what is, so much I felt in need of guidance, of the old compass.
"You gotta be effin kidding me."
Oddly enough, I experienced my first momentary “uptick,” meaning it was a period of a few days when, for the first time in the year, I didn’t want to throw my creative studio into the compactor, and saw a glimmer of hope, in, of all times, early November, which was an interesting time to be in this part of the country and feeling celebratory :) but, hey, like I said: good fortune? bad fortune? who knows?
To be continued in Part 2...
Enjoy! -AF
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