A few thoughts are in order

I just looked back, as I'm morbidly apt to, at some older posts. Particularly the ones around the time that things pretty much imploded in my life, late 2007 and into 2008. Maybe subconsciously it occurred to me that next month it will have been five years since I moved to New Jersey. Five years, even at my age, is an extraordinarily long time. I think there's still a lot to come, and hopefully a long, slow climb up the mountainside, through the cloud cover and into clear sunlight.

Looking back at '07-'08, I'm reminded of just how messed up I was emotionally, and how things were swirling down the drain. When I get nostalgic for Columbus now--and I do very often; I still wonder if everything would just go back to being wonderful if I moved back--I read how awful things were toward the end. I hated Columbus, was mortally desperate to get out. Somehow, my cozy design job became torture and the atmosphere there like sulfuric acid vapor...how? What happened that made me decide, very confidently, to throw it all away?

I think some of the same things I'm struggling against even now and for the past five years. What I wanted more than anything was control over my life. I remember thinking then that for once in my life I wanted to do something because I wanted to, not because it was prudent or convenient or safe or expected of me. I was tired of being a pawn for other people, I wanted to determine my own fate, chart my own path and maybe take myself up a notch or two, take a chance at a perhaps more glamorous life as a "creative professional" in that most titanic beehive of creativity, the New York City area. I wanted adventure, and boy, did I get it.

I couldn't have expected any of what I've been through, although I probably could have if I'd been a little clearer in the head, or more mature. One important lesson learned is never step over a cliff without a parachute, and definitely not if you're half nuts.

I'm astounded how much my life has changed in the last five years. Mostly it's been a story of loss. But I think when you're covered in years of grime you need to be forcibly stripped to the skin and blasted with the icy fire hose before you can dry yourself off and put on some soft, warm new clothes. Maybe a shave and a haircut, too. If you're lucky, you haven't lost what's really vital: your interests, beliefs, thoughts, and relationships with the ones you love and who love you. And maybe some of those loved ones will see you in a different way, and you'll both be better for it. But most importantly, you mustn't lose your belief in yourself, that you can ultimately learn the game and play with the big boys, even if it's not quite the same game you first set out to play.

There have been plenty of times when I did come dangerously close to giving up. How many times have I threatened to move back to Columbus? I've lost count of the frightening depressive episodes and the scary thoughts percolating through the bottom of my mind. I've kicked my own butt into porridge, punched my teeth out twenty times over, because I'm not doing what I want to do with my life and I'm a worthless wage slave and a hopeless failure at creative work and I did it to myself it's all my fault I'll never get there and etc. etc. It's still there. But you know, I'm still here. And I'm still learning. It has taken a lot of loss to get to where I'm ready, really ready, to start building myself back up. A lot of loss. Mostly of excess baggage. You don't carry three suitcases and a wardrobe across a hot desert.

It's been painful parting with so many of my toys--my Hammond organ and Leslie speaker, my cameras, my car--as well those nontangible things like my own creative space, being in bands and the dive club and the anime club and whatnot. And a career--oh god, an actual semi-prestigious more-than-a-job, which at its best felt like me being what I was meant to be. Other losses were more like healthy adjustments. My decade-long relationship with my now ex-comes to mind. Now we're friends and, for the time being, still roommates. We still have our squabbles like anyone, but this is probably the best way for us to be. Eventually we'll separate physically and I'll be back to living on my own. I think I can do it.

I think I've learned what not to do. I think that's one of the most important lessons of the last five years. And I've become increasingly aware of what I need to do. The challenge now is figuring out how to do it. That's why retreating to Columbus, tempting as it it, can't happen, at least not yet: because I still have some vital homework to do, tasks and exercises to complete. Moving back would be like cutting class to play video games. In spite of everything that's happened, I don't want the easy way out. I don't want to be taken care of, sheltered...I have something to prove, dammit! I have to prove that I'm intelligent enough, resourceful enough, creative enough, and mature enough to not only take the worst punishment they can throw at me, but to trample right over all the cocksuckers and accomplish what I set out to accomplish...and give all the nonbelievers, the haters and gatekeepers, a hearty laugh over my shoulder.

I'm going to win!

That felt damn good to write!

I need to make a habit of this.