I don't do anything without music. I write, I paint, I dabble, I drive, I deliberate, I annoy people, everything I do I set to music. I have decided to set my midlife crisis to music as well. I haven't set the exact soundtrack yet. I figure I have time as I haven't grown the disgusting moustache yet. I don't have any money so I can't buy a sports car. Unfortunately, on that front, I may settle for a really bitchin' model of an Audi TT convertible and pretend I'm not a total loser while I sit on the end of my bed making vroom vroom noises out loud pretending I'm behind the wheel.
Yes, it is early spring in the life cycle of my midlife crisis. I am off to a horrible start really. No money for a car, and I love my wife and can't imagine having an affair. I am far too ugly to pull it off anyway. God, I hate being so predictable. There is nothing I hate more than being just like everyone else. This is just like a man who has everything including the luxury of sitting back and over analyzing his life wondering why you made the choices you have. Wondering why you didn't follow through on doing the things you really wanted to with your life. How do you stop it? It must end on it's own. For me all this thinking is just about work. The crisis is my way of pushing myself to do more, try harder, make something more of myself.
What else is there to this thing anyway? Besides the unattractive facial hair (which I refuse to grow because I may get food in it - see last post), the young bimbo (no thanks), and the car. What else is there? I think I am going to sculpt something. And instead of doing it out of marble or something complicated I have decided to sculpt my image in chocolate. I like chocolate, and in the past three months my new favorite thing to do is tell people to "eat me". If I pull this off I can toss the person a candy version of myself. Besides, my wife loves chocolate and after she reads about the midlife crisis and the bimbos (which for the record I said 'no thanks') it may be the only thing that keeps her from punching me in the face. She can eat my chocolate face. Any one else want to eat me in chocolate?
Wednesday, 31 August 2011
Friday, 12 August 2011
Bodily Fluids, Vomit, and Other unclean Stories.
I have had the same editor for 17 years. Sue has been the voice in my head for as long as I can remember. We worked together at one point in our lives, and she continuously corrected me. I used to write long winded emails full of grammatical errors and run on sentences. I think I was about 20 at the time. I remember being frustrated because the hilarity of what I was writing (in my mind) far out weighed the fact that there were things wrong with the structure. So why she needed to point out my mistakes, forsaking my greatness, was a severe slap in the face. I mean I was a bloody genius. Who cared that there were spelling mistakes, or who really cared that I was in the work place and should have been working rather than dubbing myself the 'King of Coffee Land' and belittling people (including the owner of the company) using the company directory to tell everyone off for taking the last cup of coffee and not making more. Since that job I quite often still get bored and create emails that are generally not very constructive which highlight the faults of my co-workers. I have also used my meager writing skills to tell off a supplier or two (or a hundred-ish). When you slowly become mentally ill the sickness in your head tends to spill out and infect everyone around you. It's like a leaking tap you just can shut off.
This will be the first book of mine that Sue has edited (she doesn't edit my blog so don't blame her for my mistakes). She is very particular which is a nice way of saying she is a pain in the ass. Still, when I was young and rambunctious and the words that flowed from me had sharp edges, she helped me to realize that style meant just as much as meaning. For the past ten years I haven't given Sue anything to edit. Life ticks on and I got lazy, but today is not yesterday and I hope in the future she will continue to point out my flaws, I will continue to get my hackles up from time to time, and in the end she will be right and everything I do will be better because she was there to help.
Sue is the voice in my head. The teacher standing over me tsk-ing away, and I thank her for it. I am still not a great writer, I still don't have the elements of style down. I just know I can rely on the voice in my head, the lady with the booming voice and the kind heart to shove my inconsistencies and errors in my face. Don't get me wrong, she is very nice about it. She pushes me to be better where often those that know me are just very kind. When someone in your life has the balls (sorry Sue poor illustration) to tell you when you're wrong because they want to see you succeed, you can wilt or brace yourself. If you can take the knocks to the ego you come out the other side a much better writer/person.
Now I need to satisfy the other editor in my life, that being my wife. God knows that the last hundred words were somehow depressing in a way I can't see. Every time I write a blog I envision thousands (OK 10 or 15) people weeping and tearing their hair in sorrow based on my wife's reaction (notice how well I take criticism).
I feel like the unassuming comedian out for dinner and someone wants him to 'be funny' or 'tell a joke'. As I have sat here trying to think of a joke that would hopefully satisfy my quota, I have come up blank. So instead of telling a joke let me tell you something about myself that most people find funny.
I don't like seeing food on people's faces. You know those commercials where a fast food joint decides that some dude with burger seeping out of his mouth will somehow entice the world to buy their junk food. I would honestly like to know who thinks this is appetizing. The entire situation makes me want to throw up. Someone asked me last week if my disgust for things on peoples faces extends beyond food. After very little consideration the answer is yes. If you would like a list of things I find repulsive then include spit, and anything involving children being dirty, soiled, or unclean. In fact, if you ever need to torture me you don't need pins under my finger nails, you simply need to spit on my face, wait ten seconds, and I will tell you anything you want to know.
This will be the first book of mine that Sue has edited (she doesn't edit my blog so don't blame her for my mistakes). She is very particular which is a nice way of saying she is a pain in the ass. Still, when I was young and rambunctious and the words that flowed from me had sharp edges, she helped me to realize that style meant just as much as meaning. For the past ten years I haven't given Sue anything to edit. Life ticks on and I got lazy, but today is not yesterday and I hope in the future she will continue to point out my flaws, I will continue to get my hackles up from time to time, and in the end she will be right and everything I do will be better because she was there to help.
Sue is the voice in my head. The teacher standing over me tsk-ing away, and I thank her for it. I am still not a great writer, I still don't have the elements of style down. I just know I can rely on the voice in my head, the lady with the booming voice and the kind heart to shove my inconsistencies and errors in my face. Don't get me wrong, she is very nice about it. She pushes me to be better where often those that know me are just very kind. When someone in your life has the balls (sorry Sue poor illustration) to tell you when you're wrong because they want to see you succeed, you can wilt or brace yourself. If you can take the knocks to the ego you come out the other side a much better writer/person.
Now I need to satisfy the other editor in my life, that being my wife. God knows that the last hundred words were somehow depressing in a way I can't see. Every time I write a blog I envision thousands (OK 10 or 15) people weeping and tearing their hair in sorrow based on my wife's reaction (notice how well I take criticism).
I feel like the unassuming comedian out for dinner and someone wants him to 'be funny' or 'tell a joke'. As I have sat here trying to think of a joke that would hopefully satisfy my quota, I have come up blank. So instead of telling a joke let me tell you something about myself that most people find funny.
I don't like seeing food on people's faces. You know those commercials where a fast food joint decides that some dude with burger seeping out of his mouth will somehow entice the world to buy their junk food. I would honestly like to know who thinks this is appetizing. The entire situation makes me want to throw up. Someone asked me last week if my disgust for things on peoples faces extends beyond food. After very little consideration the answer is yes. If you would like a list of things I find repulsive then include spit, and anything involving children being dirty, soiled, or unclean. In fact, if you ever need to torture me you don't need pins under my finger nails, you simply need to spit on my face, wait ten seconds, and I will tell you anything you want to know.
Tuesday, 19 July 2011
If you can't say something funny...
Anyone else forget just about everything you learned in high school? A friend of mine recently went back to school so she could enter the health care system and help people. I find that an amazing feat. Not to mention the act of wanting to help sick people goes against my germ-phobias and my complete lack of ability to think about anyone other than myself. 'Let them eat cake' I say, but thankfully there are good people in the world who want to do good things for others. The thought of going back to school fills me with terror and angst plus the fear of failure. She is someone who found a passion in life and had the courage to take a risk and find her own way. She is also the type of person you tend to like so much you want to scrunch her up and put her in your pocket so you can take her anywhere you go. Perhaps that doesn't sound right - she's just fun to have around - let's stick with that.
Now a writer would have changed parts of that intro, but in this blog I have decided to show the warts of my writing. You should see how my mind works before I actually edit it. Otherwise I might sound intelligent and seem talented. What the hell good could come of that horseshit I ask you? I have people in Germany and France who seem to be tuning into my little peep show here. Welcome to you all and would it be too forward of me to ask you if you would like to marry me and have my babies? Too forward? Why string people along for a whole career when I can alienate them within minutes of them finding me? Why wait to have a comeback when I can start rebuilding my failed career before it even gets started?
The first draft of my 3rd novel is now complete and this will be my last blog for a week or two as I need to get my head back on straight. The thrill of being finished and getting a little rest for my meager imagination. The elation that I finished step one of the process feels good. I intend on getting down to my studio to throw some paint on canvas. I suggest we all stand up and do a little happy dance. I am currently doing a naked Electric Slide. Unfortunately, for those of you who know me you may have formed a mental picture of said Naked Electric Slide (I apologize for that).
My question for the day is - if you are stuck in a beautiful prison - are you still in prison? The real prison is a hostile and dangerous place. But let's say you are in a prison of bright vibrant colours and although you can't leave you can satisfy the occasional whim. You live well enough, you eat well, you still go on vacation from time to time. At the end of the day within your beautiful prison you have little contact loved ones, and hardly any access to your passions - is that prison? If you have half of your free will, but not all of it, does it still count as being free? Is living a half life really that much better than no life? Just wondering...
My next blog will be funny. My wife tells me I need to stop being depressing. I have been trying to take this advise to heart. Although one last question - does a woman who revels in the likes of Jane Eyre, a woman who thinks Jane Austen is the greatest story teller whom ever lived, does she really get to judge who is depressing? My humble answer can only be "yes". What about you?
Now a writer would have changed parts of that intro, but in this blog I have decided to show the warts of my writing. You should see how my mind works before I actually edit it. Otherwise I might sound intelligent and seem talented. What the hell good could come of that horseshit I ask you? I have people in Germany and France who seem to be tuning into my little peep show here. Welcome to you all and would it be too forward of me to ask you if you would like to marry me and have my babies? Too forward? Why string people along for a whole career when I can alienate them within minutes of them finding me? Why wait to have a comeback when I can start rebuilding my failed career before it even gets started?
The first draft of my 3rd novel is now complete and this will be my last blog for a week or two as I need to get my head back on straight. The thrill of being finished and getting a little rest for my meager imagination. The elation that I finished step one of the process feels good. I intend on getting down to my studio to throw some paint on canvas. I suggest we all stand up and do a little happy dance. I am currently doing a naked Electric Slide. Unfortunately, for those of you who know me you may have formed a mental picture of said Naked Electric Slide (I apologize for that).
My question for the day is - if you are stuck in a beautiful prison - are you still in prison? The real prison is a hostile and dangerous place. But let's say you are in a prison of bright vibrant colours and although you can't leave you can satisfy the occasional whim. You live well enough, you eat well, you still go on vacation from time to time. At the end of the day within your beautiful prison you have little contact loved ones, and hardly any access to your passions - is that prison? If you have half of your free will, but not all of it, does it still count as being free? Is living a half life really that much better than no life? Just wondering...
My next blog will be funny. My wife tells me I need to stop being depressing. I have been trying to take this advise to heart. Although one last question - does a woman who revels in the likes of Jane Eyre, a woman who thinks Jane Austen is the greatest story teller whom ever lived, does she really get to judge who is depressing? My humble answer can only be "yes". What about you?
Tuesday, 5 July 2011
Terminal dumbness and the art of always being wrong
I have these pictures of my pets that dredge themselves up from time to time. They are hidden in my computer or on my phone and due to my complete lack of competence with anything computerized these things tend to vanish, and then I happen upon them when I am trying to fix something or find something I have lost. These little moments in time exist because we were able to get one of the dogs or cats standing still for long enough to capture their life on film (do we still call it film?). I have been thinking about the fleeting life we all live, and the moments that seem endless are really just seconds that pass, and one day these moments will catch up with me. I suppose it's melancholy or just self-indulgence. I don't like to dwell on the eventualities of life, but sometimes you just can't help it.
Suz and I have lost pets. Most of us have I'm sure. Unfortunately, for us they were just babies. I don't want to decide whether it's harder to lose a long time friend or a new one. Either way it's just too hard to want to think about. Currently, I am sitting in my den while Angus is being a clown, Sadie and Anna just want to be left alone, and Bronte (or Bubba as I call him) is convinced that unless he actually sits on my wife's face life will just not continue. This is the beautiful moment that will last a lifetime.
This is the only room in the house in which we all sit together. This is also now the only room in the house in which I write. I have about 3 hours worth of work to do on my current book, but life has gotten busy and I just haven't made the time. I have promised myself that I will finish tomorrow so I can get copies out for the weekend and start looking forward to the first draft party. I plan on coming dressed as a banana. Actually, it's just a full yellow spandex suit with a pointy hat, but I call myself Banana Man when I wear it. The festivities include the 'limbo under a banana' competition, and the 'two legged banana' race.
I honestly have no idea why I write this blog - I have gone from a man who feared the release of his name into the world - to a man who claims to invite people over to his house to limbo under his banana. It is a startling turn of events, but honestly these words seem to make small waves, and there are people who know me now that didn't before. The goal is to find enough people who think these words or the artwork have value. Lord knows I've questioned the value of what I do most of my life. I was wrong to spend the last twenty years accepting the solitude and hiding from possible rejection. If I am the only one who tells myself I'm not good enough - then I will never really know for sure if that's true. The growing pains are difficult sometimes, but look at me now - spandex and all baby.
Suz and I have lost pets. Most of us have I'm sure. Unfortunately, for us they were just babies. I don't want to decide whether it's harder to lose a long time friend or a new one. Either way it's just too hard to want to think about. Currently, I am sitting in my den while Angus is being a clown, Sadie and Anna just want to be left alone, and Bronte (or Bubba as I call him) is convinced that unless he actually sits on my wife's face life will just not continue. This is the beautiful moment that will last a lifetime.
This is the only room in the house in which we all sit together. This is also now the only room in the house in which I write. I have about 3 hours worth of work to do on my current book, but life has gotten busy and I just haven't made the time. I have promised myself that I will finish tomorrow so I can get copies out for the weekend and start looking forward to the first draft party. I plan on coming dressed as a banana. Actually, it's just a full yellow spandex suit with a pointy hat, but I call myself Banana Man when I wear it. The festivities include the 'limbo under a banana' competition, and the 'two legged banana' race.
I honestly have no idea why I write this blog - I have gone from a man who feared the release of his name into the world - to a man who claims to invite people over to his house to limbo under his banana. It is a startling turn of events, but honestly these words seem to make small waves, and there are people who know me now that didn't before. The goal is to find enough people who think these words or the artwork have value. Lord knows I've questioned the value of what I do most of my life. I was wrong to spend the last twenty years accepting the solitude and hiding from possible rejection. If I am the only one who tells myself I'm not good enough - then I will never really know for sure if that's true. The growing pains are difficult sometimes, but look at me now - spandex and all baby.
Thursday, 23 June 2011
No one looks good in a broken mirror
Apparently the girls at work took a poll and I look better a little fatter than a little thinner. I find two things interesting about this fact - the first obviously being that the poll took place, and two the outcome was just randomly said to me like I knew it was taking place. It doesn't bother me - although I do wonder if the outcome of the poll had been - I looked better a little thinner - if I would have been told the result. Something tells me the cold hard reality would still have been handed to me. I have put on about ten pounds in the past two years after being at a very svelte weight for a very short time. I think I still look good, but I would certainly feel a bit more comfortable with a Pitt/Clooney makeover/takeover of my body.
I finished the half marathon this year and I finished a full marathon last year. I have a trainer I see twice a week, and I do cardo more often than I care to think about. Still I manage to be a bit heavier than I really want to be. Mostly due to the fact I compare myself against the likes of Clooney and Pitt, and I have a severe carb addiction that occasionally rules my life. I definitely shouldn't compare myself to movie stars and carbs although I love them like the children I never had - are the bane of my existence. However, I work out so hard I think it may just kill me, and lets just say if I work any harder and don't achieve the Greek God physique right this minute I will be incredibly disappointed, I live in a beyond exhausted state, and I will continue to find the act of working this hard and looking this normal - a very difficult pill to swallow. I reread that last bit and it is poorly written, doesn't make sense, and I refuse to change it because it's how I feel, and that doesn't make sense either - so there.
The fact of the matter is I wrestle with things we all do - self-image, and self- worth to name just two. I often find I am very hard on myself despite the fact I have accomplished some fairly heady goals. Liking the person I am is far from an easy thing to do when I know myself so well. I can't hide behind the excuse of not knowing who I am, and not knowing what I want out of life, so judging my successes and failures just happens to be something I excel at. To date I have never succeeded to a full 'pat on the back', but occasionally I do give myself a 'that's not bad'. Funny how if I am judging others I am very keen to give maximum allowances for things I would never tolerate about myself. Therefore the fact I have lost 120 pounds counts for very little, but the fact I have gained 10 in two years is a glaring blot on my self evaluated minor success. Ah the lack of that making any sense is not lost on me friends, but I have never denied the fact I need deep analysis and psychological help.
For the record we should all use the same scale when evaluating ourselves (that way we will be on the same page):
1 I am awesome
2 Good Show Ole Chap
3 Pat On The Back
4 That's Not Bad
5 You Have Got To Be Kidding Me
6 Is That The Best You Got
7 I should have stayed in bed
8 I Don't Even Want To Talk About It
I guess what started me off on this was the people I work with. As you can tell they are interesting people who do not feel that boundaries are located in quite the same place as most people do, and frankly I'm good with that. Between rude jokes that make you feel like you've been transported back to an office in the fifties (minus the ass slapping, but still keeping booze in the desk for an afternoon nip); to the general and regular homoerotic banter between male counterparts, it is a very strange place to spend a work day. That is what makes the place special and I have been sad recently to see the things that make it unique start to die away. There has been a general cleanse with the aim to make the place I work just as homogenized as every other work place in the world, and two things will no doubt result:
1) It will no doubt be successful and wash away all that was once great about where I worked.
2) It will be the loss of something I love.
Honestly, the thought of living in the idealized fifties when people seemingly said what they meant and lived to an honor code rather than living in a world where we all pretend to love each other and let true feelings fester (this is all minus the actual world where women were not equals and race was what made you great - there is always a downside to everything). So go ahead and tell me I look good a little heavier, just don't ask me to be happy when no one will tell me the truth. I don't need those kind of friends, and I would rather know you hated me for who I am and what I stand for. It would make me love you even more if you slapped me in the face when you said it.
I finished the half marathon this year and I finished a full marathon last year. I have a trainer I see twice a week, and I do cardo more often than I care to think about. Still I manage to be a bit heavier than I really want to be. Mostly due to the fact I compare myself against the likes of Clooney and Pitt, and I have a severe carb addiction that occasionally rules my life. I definitely shouldn't compare myself to movie stars and carbs although I love them like the children I never had - are the bane of my existence. However, I work out so hard I think it may just kill me, and lets just say if I work any harder and don't achieve the Greek God physique right this minute I will be incredibly disappointed, I live in a beyond exhausted state, and I will continue to find the act of working this hard and looking this normal - a very difficult pill to swallow. I reread that last bit and it is poorly written, doesn't make sense, and I refuse to change it because it's how I feel, and that doesn't make sense either - so there.
The fact of the matter is I wrestle with things we all do - self-image, and self- worth to name just two. I often find I am very hard on myself despite the fact I have accomplished some fairly heady goals. Liking the person I am is far from an easy thing to do when I know myself so well. I can't hide behind the excuse of not knowing who I am, and not knowing what I want out of life, so judging my successes and failures just happens to be something I excel at. To date I have never succeeded to a full 'pat on the back', but occasionally I do give myself a 'that's not bad'. Funny how if I am judging others I am very keen to give maximum allowances for things I would never tolerate about myself. Therefore the fact I have lost 120 pounds counts for very little, but the fact I have gained 10 in two years is a glaring blot on my self evaluated minor success. Ah the lack of that making any sense is not lost on me friends, but I have never denied the fact I need deep analysis and psychological help.
For the record we should all use the same scale when evaluating ourselves (that way we will be on the same page):
1 I am awesome
2 Good Show Ole Chap
3 Pat On The Back
4 That's Not Bad
5 You Have Got To Be Kidding Me
6 Is That The Best You Got
7 I should have stayed in bed
8 I Don't Even Want To Talk About It
I guess what started me off on this was the people I work with. As you can tell they are interesting people who do not feel that boundaries are located in quite the same place as most people do, and frankly I'm good with that. Between rude jokes that make you feel like you've been transported back to an office in the fifties (minus the ass slapping, but still keeping booze in the desk for an afternoon nip); to the general and regular homoerotic banter between male counterparts, it is a very strange place to spend a work day. That is what makes the place special and I have been sad recently to see the things that make it unique start to die away. There has been a general cleanse with the aim to make the place I work just as homogenized as every other work place in the world, and two things will no doubt result:
1) It will no doubt be successful and wash away all that was once great about where I worked.
2) It will be the loss of something I love.
Honestly, the thought of living in the idealized fifties when people seemingly said what they meant and lived to an honor code rather than living in a world where we all pretend to love each other and let true feelings fester (this is all minus the actual world where women were not equals and race was what made you great - there is always a downside to everything). So go ahead and tell me I look good a little heavier, just don't ask me to be happy when no one will tell me the truth. I don't need those kind of friends, and I would rather know you hated me for who I am and what I stand for. It would make me love you even more if you slapped me in the face when you said it.
Tuesday, 14 June 2011
The sound of one hand clapping
A reflection for my young friends who have graduated or will graduate in the near future . Let's think of this as a valedictorian speech from a 37 year old who was never smart enough to have been valedictorian.
In my opinion school is not about what you learn - it is about who you start to become while you are attending school that will matter the most about twenty years after you've left. The possibilities are endless when it comes to the type of person you are becoming. There may be a job or career you feel partial to, but the reality of becoming that person may seem impossible. People will tell you being a musician is impossible - in fact you will be told that being any type of artist is impossible. You may be told that choosing a certain profession will cost you thousands of dollars to attain a degree and when you graduate you will never get a job in the field you've studied in or that the job you get will pay you nothing and reap you no benefit.
Let me - let you - in on a little secret. Anyone who deters you from becoming who you want to be. Anyone who tells you how hard something will be. Anyone who tries to persuade you that who you want to be is not possible or realistic is no friend of yours. They are not worthy of you. They are not thinking about what is best for you. They do not have your best interest at heart. I would advise you - whether this person or these people are friends or family - I would advise you to run. Whether friend or family, confidant, teacher or advisor - you need to run. You need to plug your ears and not listen like when you were six years old. You need to plug you ears and run.
I could go off on the type of person who would give you advise to NOT follow your dreams, but this is not about them. This is about you and your life. What will happen if you listen is eventually you will awaken from a dream. It's actually not a dream it is the reality of what life will become for you if you don't follow your actual dream. Your life will drift by. Your days will be filled with paying bills and doing things you hate so you can pay your bills. You will amass more bills and debt while trying to purchase things that will soothe yourself. The reason you need soothing is due to the fact that you do things you hate for a living because you amass debt and purchase things. It is a sad reality for most of us, and even more sad is the reality that all we had to do to avoid this fate was to follow a dream when we were your age. It doesn't mean that everyone will or would have become a rock star. It means that on the road to becoming a rock star you would grow as a person, and a life that begins in the right direction will most likely continue to follow the right direction, and eventually you will end up in the place you were supposed to be - instead of the place you had to manufacture because you didn't follow your dream.
Your dream may be to become a doctor, but maybe your grades are not good enough or perhaps it will just take too long and you need to feed yourself so you think you need to get a job first. Don't do it. Don't trust yourself to 'go back to school next year'. At every corner you will fight the path of least resistance. You will struggle. You will buy things you don't need, and then the excuse will be you will go back when your VISA is paid off, or when you get a new computer. Don't give yourself a chance to make excuses. You will end up forever trying to feed yourself as a bus driver or a salesman and everyday you will think about where you could have been or what you could have done if only you put your energy into doing what you wanted rather than focusing on a part of life that you will always find a way to get through anyway. So starve a little (trust me you will starve in other ways anyway). Trust yourself to find a way. Go to the damn food bank if you have to. Hell if you know me come to my house and I will feed you. Just don't let the things that jealous petty people say take you aback. Don't trust anything other than the little voice in your head that is telling you what to do.
So maybe your 'little voice' is quiet. Maybe you are the final type of person who doesn't know what you want to do. Well I call bullshit, but o.k. let's play the game. Research the job that pays the most amount of money and doesn't require you to work full time. Find the job where you can consult and work from home. Find the job that will allow you the most amount of leeway to choose projects you want to work on. Google it right now. That way you can go to school for the best job. God knows those of us working stiffs do all the shitty jobs so there is no need for you to join the ranks. Basically if you are going to work do the research and get into something that will allow you to follow your passion down the road when you figure out what it is.
In summation and trust me I know this is a total cliche, but nothing is impossible
In my opinion school is not about what you learn - it is about who you start to become while you are attending school that will matter the most about twenty years after you've left. The possibilities are endless when it comes to the type of person you are becoming. There may be a job or career you feel partial to, but the reality of becoming that person may seem impossible. People will tell you being a musician is impossible - in fact you will be told that being any type of artist is impossible. You may be told that choosing a certain profession will cost you thousands of dollars to attain a degree and when you graduate you will never get a job in the field you've studied in or that the job you get will pay you nothing and reap you no benefit.
Let me - let you - in on a little secret. Anyone who deters you from becoming who you want to be. Anyone who tells you how hard something will be. Anyone who tries to persuade you that who you want to be is not possible or realistic is no friend of yours. They are not worthy of you. They are not thinking about what is best for you. They do not have your best interest at heart. I would advise you - whether this person or these people are friends or family - I would advise you to run. Whether friend or family, confidant, teacher or advisor - you need to run. You need to plug your ears and not listen like when you were six years old. You need to plug you ears and run.
I could go off on the type of person who would give you advise to NOT follow your dreams, but this is not about them. This is about you and your life. What will happen if you listen is eventually you will awaken from a dream. It's actually not a dream it is the reality of what life will become for you if you don't follow your actual dream. Your life will drift by. Your days will be filled with paying bills and doing things you hate so you can pay your bills. You will amass more bills and debt while trying to purchase things that will soothe yourself. The reason you need soothing is due to the fact that you do things you hate for a living because you amass debt and purchase things. It is a sad reality for most of us, and even more sad is the reality that all we had to do to avoid this fate was to follow a dream when we were your age. It doesn't mean that everyone will or would have become a rock star. It means that on the road to becoming a rock star you would grow as a person, and a life that begins in the right direction will most likely continue to follow the right direction, and eventually you will end up in the place you were supposed to be - instead of the place you had to manufacture because you didn't follow your dream.
Your dream may be to become a doctor, but maybe your grades are not good enough or perhaps it will just take too long and you need to feed yourself so you think you need to get a job first. Don't do it. Don't trust yourself to 'go back to school next year'. At every corner you will fight the path of least resistance. You will struggle. You will buy things you don't need, and then the excuse will be you will go back when your VISA is paid off, or when you get a new computer. Don't give yourself a chance to make excuses. You will end up forever trying to feed yourself as a bus driver or a salesman and everyday you will think about where you could have been or what you could have done if only you put your energy into doing what you wanted rather than focusing on a part of life that you will always find a way to get through anyway. So starve a little (trust me you will starve in other ways anyway). Trust yourself to find a way. Go to the damn food bank if you have to. Hell if you know me come to my house and I will feed you. Just don't let the things that jealous petty people say take you aback. Don't trust anything other than the little voice in your head that is telling you what to do.
So maybe your 'little voice' is quiet. Maybe you are the final type of person who doesn't know what you want to do. Well I call bullshit, but o.k. let's play the game. Research the job that pays the most amount of money and doesn't require you to work full time. Find the job where you can consult and work from home. Find the job that will allow you the most amount of leeway to choose projects you want to work on. Google it right now. That way you can go to school for the best job. God knows those of us working stiffs do all the shitty jobs so there is no need for you to join the ranks. Basically if you are going to work do the research and get into something that will allow you to follow your passion down the road when you figure out what it is.
In summation and trust me I know this is a total cliche, but nothing is impossible
Thursday, 19 May 2011
Tom and the Rubber Chicken
I have a flaw in my writing which mostly involves my want to start in the middle of a story and work my way into the beginning and then attempting to find an end. There is no sequence that really works for me - I mostly just listen to the voice in my head. The voice of the character I am writing about becomes real to me. So real that I start to convince myself that the character exists. The voice becomes a real and separate being - so the question is whether that voice is mine or if it really belongs to someone else. I would like to take credit for the words I write, but truthfully I don't feel they really belong to me. I don't think the words I write will show you the root of my soul - they will simply give you a glimpse into the hamster wheel. I am not really trying to be self-effacing. I just want the truth to be known so if there ever comes a time anything I have ever said or written comes up for debate it will be widely known that the words were just thrown out. They weren't crafted or etched into existence they were spit out like a lunatic in an asylum just seconds before a fresh set of meds are injected.
What starts a story I write is a lone voice which gets me moving forward and what happens next is based on my perception of people. I put them in places and allow them to work themselves out of a situation or further into one. The way the words form and the way the story evolves always centres around human nature. You would think that this ability would allow me to have some extra insight into myself, but unfortunately the X-ray vision only works on others. Mostly it only works on fictional characters.
I am not an easy person. My view of myself is often very dim and I suppose the people I write about have the same dim view of who they are as well. That is the thread that holds us together. My flaws are deep and endless and they mount with each passing day. I have been ruthless in my own self-evaluation and yet I give people I don't know and do know the benefit of the doubt. I have not been hard enough on myself in my own opinion. I have a great life, but I walked into it. I have allowed myself to follow the path of least resistance when it comes to my career. I got lucky and a great girl loves me in spite of my flaws. I bought a house before it got so expensive I couldn't afford to even rent it in today's market.
Overall - when I have failed I have been lucky. Now looking at life I realize that every success I have had could have been magnified if I had followed my dreams. I could go to work every day and make something of my own. I could give more of myself to the girl I love. I could finally wear dread locks and shoot heroin just like I always dreamed (just kidding). I realize that if you are brave your falls will be larger than when you are safe, but when you are brave your successes are larger too. Nothing is perfect, but keep one thing in mind - you have to look yourself in the mirror at the end of the day. Who do you want to look at? I seem to be avoiding the mirror quite a bit recently. Don't get me wrong I am proud of who I am - but a little voice keeps telling me that if I just try a little harder and put myself out there a little more that I could be more like the person I want to be - not just the person who settles for good enough.
I turn 37 next week. In general birthdays have never bothered me because I have always felt younger than my actual age, but this one has twinged my normal sensibilities. I feel a bit more 37 than I ever did 36 (if that makes sense). If you are wondering about the rubber chicken thing it's a long story, but at one point in my life when I was younger and thought I'd be famous one day I told a friend that when the day came to write my autobiography I would call it 'Tom and The Rubber Chicken'. It seemed just as ridiculous as the thought of me becoming famous, but it's a commitment I'm prepared to keep should the day ever come.
'Don't confront me with my failures - I have not forgotten them' (Jackson Browne)
What starts a story I write is a lone voice which gets me moving forward and what happens next is based on my perception of people. I put them in places and allow them to work themselves out of a situation or further into one. The way the words form and the way the story evolves always centres around human nature. You would think that this ability would allow me to have some extra insight into myself, but unfortunately the X-ray vision only works on others. Mostly it only works on fictional characters.
I am not an easy person. My view of myself is often very dim and I suppose the people I write about have the same dim view of who they are as well. That is the thread that holds us together. My flaws are deep and endless and they mount with each passing day. I have been ruthless in my own self-evaluation and yet I give people I don't know and do know the benefit of the doubt. I have not been hard enough on myself in my own opinion. I have a great life, but I walked into it. I have allowed myself to follow the path of least resistance when it comes to my career. I got lucky and a great girl loves me in spite of my flaws. I bought a house before it got so expensive I couldn't afford to even rent it in today's market.
Overall - when I have failed I have been lucky. Now looking at life I realize that every success I have had could have been magnified if I had followed my dreams. I could go to work every day and make something of my own. I could give more of myself to the girl I love. I could finally wear dread locks and shoot heroin just like I always dreamed (just kidding). I realize that if you are brave your falls will be larger than when you are safe, but when you are brave your successes are larger too. Nothing is perfect, but keep one thing in mind - you have to look yourself in the mirror at the end of the day. Who do you want to look at? I seem to be avoiding the mirror quite a bit recently. Don't get me wrong I am proud of who I am - but a little voice keeps telling me that if I just try a little harder and put myself out there a little more that I could be more like the person I want to be - not just the person who settles for good enough.
I turn 37 next week. In general birthdays have never bothered me because I have always felt younger than my actual age, but this one has twinged my normal sensibilities. I feel a bit more 37 than I ever did 36 (if that makes sense). If you are wondering about the rubber chicken thing it's a long story, but at one point in my life when I was younger and thought I'd be famous one day I told a friend that when the day came to write my autobiography I would call it 'Tom and The Rubber Chicken'. It seemed just as ridiculous as the thought of me becoming famous, but it's a commitment I'm prepared to keep should the day ever come.
'Don't confront me with my failures - I have not forgotten them' (Jackson Browne)
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