Category Archives: Growth

Changing, Depression, Growth, Mental Health, Mindfulness, Writing

Happiness is Optional

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I might have thought I was done with therapy, but therapy wasn’t done with me evidently. As much as I discovered the first time around, and as much confidence as I gained the second time, there is still much more to uncover in what I consider to be the third go around. As you know, I started seeing my therapist again in September of 2022. And while I didn’t stop seeing her entirely, we had begun to taper off this past autumn and winter. But just as we reached what was meant to be the penultimate session, we began to discuss some things that I had ignored. They just hadn’t been relevant to the conversation up til that point.

What we discussed last year was centered around my writing career. I was doing well mentally and emotionally, but had stalled out in my writing so was looking for direction and guidance. I needed to find a way to get back on track. Needed to rediscover my motivation after suffering through a bit of burnout. Turns out what I needed was like-minded peers to bounce ideas off of and also an outlet where I could both give and receive feedback. In essence I needed to find a community that both helped me to figure out how I measured up, and also helped me to improve. Once I was able to find that, I was able to continue on my path of growth and my writing took off from there. 

I thought this would make me happy, satisfy me, fulfill me. And it did for a time. But I’ve started to feel an emptiness creep in again as of late. I wish it was a feeling that I could ignore, but I’ve already ignored it for long enough. I’ve tried to push it off to the back of my mind, but I’m afraid its run its course. Time to address it for what it is—it’s a wedge that’s driven itself between me and my writing. It’s something that holds me back from investing as much emotionally into it as I possibly can. Even though the true start of my writing career came when I quit my day job, it’s come back around to that point again. It’s something I didn’t want to do, and I hate to admit it, but I find that I have to. In order for me to move onto the next step in my journey, I have to return to the workforce, at least in part. As much as I hated being a member of it, and as much as I hate working for someone else, it’s time to jump back in. 

I’ll be honest, improvement in a craft is exciting and all, but lack of steady income is something that weighed heavily on my mind, as much as I tried to avoid thinking about it. While I’m less motivated by money than most, I still understand that it is a necessary evil. I need it to survive. I was able to make my savings last, along with some assistance, but it’s time for me to get back on the horse. I have no other choice. My time off while unemployed was fun while it lasted, but like anyone else my age, I need to find ways to make money. But let me be clear. It would be a disservice to my time and effort to say that, “I wasn’t working,” because I was. I still had a job to do, but it just so happened to be unpaid. I was and still am working harder than ever, so don’t get it twisted.

That being said, this doesn’t mean that I’m giving up on my writing career or even putting it off to the side. My novel (and the series to follow) is still my primary focus, and this here blog is still secondary. That much won’t change, but the time I allocate to each will. The truth is I’ve reached the point in my journey where my skill has progressed to where it needs to be. I no longer need to spend nine+ hours a day, five days a week developing my craft. I think it’s safe to say that while I’m still learning, growing, and improving, my craft is now developed. It’s just a matter of continuing to hone it, and getting words to paper. I can afford to give up some of that time to pick up a day job. 

But that’s the problem… While I have confidence in my writing ability and my skill set, I do not have confidence in the job search. That’s partially why I ended up staying at the same place for so long (along with a bit of bad luck/poor timing). It wasn’t just fear of the unknown, or the fact that I was risk averse. Yes, those played a role. But I think what it mostly came down to is that I didn’t know what I was doing, and I feel like I still don’t in some ways. Until I graduated from college, I didn’t have what I would consider a “real job.” It’d never been expected of me and no one had ever sat me down and told me point blank, “you need to get a job.” Although that would’ve been nice, no one is obligated to do that for me or for anyone else. Ideally you should be able to motivate yourself on your own without needing a push from somebody else. But by the time I turned sixteen I was already so caught up in my depression and was so lacking in self-confidence that I wasn’t able to find any ambition from within, and that continued on into (and past) college.

While I wasn’t born with a silver spoon, I was spoiled in certain ways, and was likely afforded better opportunities than most. Whether or not I took advantage of them is a different matter entirely. I didn’t have things handed to me per se, but they were there for the taking if only I would put in even an ounce of effort. But that’s where I was lacking the most. It was easy for me to give up and mope, because I was convinced that I wasn’t going to amount to anything. For the longest time I never had to face adversity head-on. I was often offered the easy way out and I would take it every time. I was able to run, hide, and/or ignore things that I didn’t want to address. Which I’ve mentioned before came back to bite me. And it turns out in more ways than one. We’ve already discussed the psychological damage it did to me in detail on multiple occasions, so I won’t touch upon that here. 

Unfortunately, other lasting effects of my evasion techniques have only just started to come to light in my more recent therapy sessions. As I said before, last year I spent nearly the entirety of the sessions discussing various ways of getting my writing career back on track. We spoke a little about the relationships in my life and my personal struggles, but not in that much depth. Our sessions were maybe a little too one-track minded but it was necessary at the time. My passion for writing turned out to be my saving grace. It helped to bring me out of my depression for good (or so I thought). Finding it was what helped me to feel happy and fulfilled for maybe the first time in over a decade. And for that I’m eternally grateful. This is what I want to do, and I’m going to see it through as far as it goes. But I have to admit, I lose sight of my vision at times, and I forget what I’m doing this for. I’ve had to take a step back from my projects for days or weeks at a time in order for me to refocus and revitalize. 

The unfortunate truth is that while I am seeing meaningful progress and improvement on my manuscript, the longer it takes the easier it is to get discouraged. I know that the hard work will pay off in the end. I’m confident in that, but the question is when. And I think that’s what worries me. A man can only work with no pay for so long. I started asking myself if this was really worth it. Deep down I know the answer to that. It’s always only ever been, “yes.” But it gets easy to conflate, “not getting paid in general,” with, “writing is not worth my time.” The mind starts to make a correlation between the two that shouldn’t exist. Which brings us back to the issue at hand. It’s time for me to find a day job, but what and how and where?

These are questions that I’ve already spent some time pondering, but I feel like I haven’t really gotten any closer to finding the answers. I just don’t know what I want to do or what I’m even qualified for. If only finding a job was as easy as they make it seem in video games. Where you can just talk to someone, then start working. But alas… that isn’t how it works. There’s a process that I need to go through, as does everybody else in the world. Eventually I’ll gather up the courage to start applying and waiting, but before I do that I need some sort of gameplan right? 

And that’s what’s left me sitting here with the wheels spinning. Problem is: what I went to school for isn’t the same as what I wanted to study, which isn’t the same as what I did in my previous two jobs, which isn’t the same as what I’ve been doing in my time out of the workforce, which isn’t the same as what I want to do when I rejoin. Confused? So am I! I’ve reached what I think is a midlife crisis. I feel lost and unsure of what to do. And sadly, I can’t reflect on previous experiences to guide me forward. The fact of the matter is I don’t actually have prior life experience that I can look at in regards to this—my work history is just too sparse for that. It’s a shame, because I’ve relied on reflection to help me through my mental illnesses recently.

I was able to think back on the past and point out mistakes I had made in regards to my mental health. I was able to use memories of past trauma to navigate my way around the field and avoid traps and pitfalls that I had fallen into before. Everything that had happened in my life I was able to use to guide me to a better, healthier future. When it comes down to it, that is the most important thing—my happiness and my healthiness. But that can’t be everything. Maybe my parents were right after all. Even though they never told me outright to pursue a career in something that was prestigious and financially stable, it was always heavily implied. Do something that makes us proud, and makes you money. Happiness is optional. 

If only it were that simple… I’ve done the thing that people “expected” of me, but I wasn’t happy or satisfied. I’ve done the thing that made me happy and fulfilled, but it hasn’t made me money as of yet. It almost feels like whichever thing I chose, I lose. So what comes next? I know I’ll eventually figure it out, but I don’t yet know, and it freaks me out.

Changing, Discovery, Growth, Healing, Mental Health, Mindfulness, Reflections, Self-Care, Self-Love, Wellness

Great Expectations

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I don’t do New Year’s resolutions. I never really have (aside from a handful of times). Truth be told “resolution” is a word that I’m not too fond of to begin with. It’s too definite and suffocating. It’s a results-driven word that sets up a pass/fail scenario. Did I see my resolutions through to the end? If yes, then I succeeded. If no, then I didn’t. For some, it’s not a huge deal. They might say, “oh well, I’ll try again next year.” Or use some other justification. But for someone who overthinks as much as I do, and used to struggle with self-confidence the way I did it could instead be quite damning. The prospect of failure was too much for me to bear.

Before I started seeing a therapist, I had a tendency to spiral. I’d replay scenarios in my head, wallow in self-pity, and I took failure personally. Every time something didn’t go as planned or ended in a negative result my confidence meter took a hit. As I’ve said before, I was not well-equipped to handle adversity, had no self-awareness, didn’t have an ounce of mental fortitude. When times got tough I withered. When the pressure was on I came up small. When misfortune hit everything cratered. So for me, a failed resolution became another reason for why I didn’t deserve to live. I took it as proof that I was worthless, and would always amount to nothing. 

So why bother making them if I was certain they would fail? Why risk it when disappointment was likely inevitable? Not a healthy train of thought in the slightest, but I was not a healthy person. As you know, in the past few years I’ve found my healing. I’ve changed and I’ve grown. I’m not the same scared kid that I used to be. I’m not the same person that used to break easily. I’m not the same guy that looked for excuses not to try. But as much as I’ve changed, a few things still remain. I don’t do New Year’s resolutions, and I probably never will. Perhaps deep down I’m still worried about the pain that failure might cause? Perhaps not. 

Either way, the tradition is results-driven, and as you’ve probably noticed by now I am much more process-driven. I hold myself to a certain standard and I’ll settle for nothing less. I’ve lucked into positive results in the past, but was never able to sustain the success, because I hadn’t set myself up for the future. In order to get repeated good results, you need to firm up your process. It’s hard to do that if you’re not meeting the standard. If I’m being honest, that type of outcome—success without meeting the standard—is futile to me. If the changes I make aren’t permanent, then it’s wasted effort. Everything I do henceforth would be done in hopes that I would hit the mark without knowing how I actually did it the first time. Which is only wasting time. Think of it like an experiment. You write out the steps you need to take in order to get the results that you want. If there’s a mistake in your process, you tinker then try again. And again and again and again. That’s how you learn and grow and improve. By finding out what works and what doesn’t work, and changing your process accordingly.

This is exactly what I lacked when I was in high school—the ability to adapt. I didn’t have a process whatsoever, let alone a sound one. But I still expected success to come of it. I still expected things to work out in my favor, meanwhile ignoring the fact that I had done nothing to ensure such results. You can’t get good grades unless you study the material. You can’t get a girlfriend unless you develop some sort of connection first. You can’t find success unless you put in the work. Sounds obvious, but it wasn’t to me. For whatever reason, I had thought I was a special case. I thought I could get positive results without putting in much effort. In truth, I think at times I was just too smart for my own good. Elementary school came easy to me, so I continued to expect more of the same. I should’ve known that eventually it would catch up to me. But I remained blissfully ignorant and unaware until it was too late.

By that point, I was in college, and in way over my head. Throughout Junior High and High School I had put in the minimum level of effort required to come away with mostly B’s, some A’s, and a handful of C’s. Which was acceptable to me, but beneath my level of care. I kept asking myself, “why put in all that effort if I can do less and still come away with adequate results?” I thought I was being smart, but little did I know that this was always going to come back to bite me. I approached my college courses with the same level of inattention, and I suffered the consequences for it—coming away with the first and last D I ever received. Which nearly ruined my college career right when I had just begun. But I put my head down and got serious, because what else could I do? I needed to right the ship immediately.

After some steady effort for the next three and a half years, I was able to bring my GPA back up to something respectable. But what could’ve been? How different would my life have turned out if I’d actually tried? What if I hadn’t talked myself into accepting a life of mediocrity? What if I had worked diligently the whole time, rather than only for the last handful of years? What if I had been as determined then as I am now? Unfortunately, these are not questions that we will ever get the answers to. Who I was then is not who I am now. I wasn’t someone capable of pushing through adversity. I was weak-willed, a quitter—someone who always took the easy way out. Someone who was used to running away or hiding. Someone who was pampered and sheltered. Someone who never took responsibility or held himself accountable. I thought that all mistakes could be covered up, and that I could lie and weasel my way out of the consequences. I lacked the self-awareness necessary to realize that I wasn’t fooling anyone.

And yet, I somehow lucked my way into mild success. Again, nothing sustainable because I didn’t have a sound process, but it was better than what I’d experienced up til then. For the first time in twenty-four years I was content. But the contentedness was fleeting. As I gained more responsibility at my job, the work became less fulfilling. And the little confidence I had gained whittled away again, and I was left with even less than I’d started with. Little did I know, but I wasn’t meant for the corporate world. I had only entered into it because, like always, I had taken the easy way out. When I left high school I didn’t have a plan—I hadn’t spent much time thinking about my future. Which is fine for someone of that age. It’s perfectly acceptable to start college with “undecided” for a major. But the thought had never crossed my mind. Instead, I pursued one of the career paths that I thought would be acceptable to my parents. I didn’t have the grades or the patience for a STEM major, so I studied Business instead.

But that was never my interest or who I was. It wasn’t what I was meant to do. I wasn’t a marketing analyst like I had thought. I wasn’t a salesman like my employer had told me. I wasn’t even a customer service representative even though I was good at it. I’m a writer and a storyteller. A creative and an artist. I was meant to craft sentences and build worlds. I was meant to wordplay. That is what I am and that is who I will be. I’ve learned a lot since I dedicated myself to this blog in 2020. It’s been a long journey with many twists and turns. Up until last year I was learning on the job, getting better incrementally but not getting good enough or progressing fast enough. That much changed when I found a writing community. I started to receive the feedback that I needed to hear in order for me to level up my ability. The year 2023 was a blessing, and I’m looking forward to seeing what 2024 can do for me.

So as the calendar crosses over, what am I hoping to accomplish? What am I expecting from the new year? As I said, I don’t do New Year’s resolutions. But I will set expectations. I expect to continue to improve as a writer and a storyteller each and every day. I expect to be able to write free of hindrance—no longer will I question whether or not I’m good enough. I expect my words to flow easier than they did before. I expect my story to be more coherent. I expect to continue to foster relationships with other aspiring authors. I expect to continue to learn from both the good and bad in life. I expect to become a better person this year than I was last year. But most of all, I expect abundance, growth, and blessings. Something good will come of your life if you only continue to work.

Art, Growth, Mindfulness, Poetry

Another Year Gone By

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Another year has gone by
And a new one has come
We welcome it as we’ve done
With each one prior to this one

Another year gone by
Another year older
Another year gone by
And we know better

We’ve grown and we’ve learned
We’ve improved and moved forward
Another year gone by
And we should be a year wiser

But alas, not all things are meant to be
Some people weren’t meant to grow
Not meant to evolve
Undone by their stubbornness

Another year gone by
And things are still the same
Still the same vices
Still making the same mistakes

We didn’t learn what we were meant to learn
Didn’t commit to change
Found it easier to give up or give in
So that is what we did

Another year gone by
Another year wasted
Another year gone by
We had an opportunity, but we missed it

Too busy making excuses
Too content with being lazy
Too caught up in the present
Never thinking about the future

Another year gone by
And life is dragging on
Monotonous and boring
Lacking passion and charm

Another year gone by
And the decades start to build
Another year gone by
With nothing to show for it

We wasted our time
Let the days pass us by
Did nothing meaningful with our minutes
And didn’t put up much of a fight

Another year gone by
And it’s starting to get old
Another year gone by
And I’m tired of this life

May this serve as a warning to all
Make the most of your time
Your days are numbered
So it’s high time to get on your grind

Another year gone by
Another year older
Another year gone by
And we are that much wiser

We did what we could
And we’ll continue on
We’ll grow and improve
And learn from our fathers

Another year gone by
And our legacy builds
Another year gone by
We will be remembered

Changing, Discovery, Growth, Mental Health, Mindfulness, Reflections, Self-Care, Self-Love, Wellness, Writing

The Best Things in Life

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So, it’s been some time since my last blog post. I apologize for that. I was working on something that I wasn’t thrilled about, which I ended up scrapping (I probably took too long to make that decision though). So we ended up with a break in the action. That wasn’t intentional. After that, I ended up hitting a bit of a rough patch, but I’m good now. Up until that though, I was still working hard and writing every day. Those few weeks were still really productive. But my time and focus was used differently. 

I’ve talked before about the ebbs and flows of the writing process. And it becomes steadily clearer to me each week. As I’ve mentioned before, I spend my time on four different types of writing: critiques, blogging, fiction, and poetry. In my head, each thing is weighted differently in terms of priority, but it doesn’t always work out the way I intend. The amount of time and focus I spend on each thing differs day by day and week by week. The interesting thing about it though is that you can be doing really well with one aspect of writing, while struggling with another. Or it could all be going well or all be going poorly. For a while it seemed like my fiction writing and my blogging kept switching places. It was almost like I could write a good chapter or write a blog post that I was happy with, but I couldn’t do both concurrently. 

It’s possible that I’m just spreading myself too thin, but I’d like to believe that it’s not the case. There are many other writers out there that work on multiple projects at once, some published authors, some not. If people that are much busier than I am can do it, then why can’t I? Truth be told, I’m still relatively new to this, so I think I just haven’t found what works best for me yet. I’m still tinkering around and trying to streamline my process. Unfortunately, as I’ve said before, things haven’t worked out quite the way that I anticipated. You can chalk most of that up to inexperience and setting incorrect expectations. But another part of it was also all that time that I had spent writing in isolation, which unbeknownst to me really hindered my growth.

When I first started writing in earnest in 2020, it started out as just trial and error. Testing out the waters to see if I could do it. I had naively assumed that God-given talent would be enough. If I could form a well-written sentence then I could write a blog post. If I could write a blog post then I could write a chapter. If I could write a chapter then I could write a novel. Technically, all that is true, but it’s not that simple. It takes more than that, which I learned the hard way in 2022. If you really think about it though, why should that come as a surprise? If we believe that the best things in life require maximum effort and dedication, then naturally if we want to excel at anything then we need to learn as much as we can about that topic. That requires you to work on your weaknesses not just your strengths. To also focus on the areas that don’t interest you at all or interest you less. To spend time on the tedious as well as the entertaining. But most importantly, you need to step out of your comfort zone. You need to ask yourself tough questions. You need to try new things. To change up your approach if necessary. 

For two and a half years, I did none of that. I cruised along thinking that I was ready for this, when in fact I was nowhere near. But pressure and expectations were low, which gave me the freedom to focus on writing consistently. Which at the very least was a good first step. For half a decade or more before that I blogged on and off, binge writing at times, but going through long periods of inactivity in between. At least now I was writing regularly in my free time either after work or on the weekends, which was good. But I was trying to crank through as many posts and chapters as I could. I valued speed over quality, which is somewhat ironic considering the length of time spent on some of those posts. I hadn’t yet learned what it meant to, “kill your darlings.” Thus I edited lightly without a keen enough eye. I grew attached to sentences and paragraphs, which led me on tangents that caused my writing style to read like stream of consciousness at times. Resulting in posts that were far too long and likely quite boring to read. 

I’ve always had a knack for wordplay and sentence structure, so I’d like to think that I started out with a higher base level of talent. Whether or not that’s actually true isn’t all that important though. Just because I had that in my back pocket didn’t mean that I was a good writer, let alone a great one. All it meant was that I could craft a sentence—nothing more, nothing less. In the first three years I was learning how to write, and writing more consistently, but I wasn’t improving enough as a writer or as a storyteller. I was nowhere near the level I needed to be at, and I wasn’t progressing towards that, which I completely failed to realize. That’s because I hadn’t yet stepped out of my comfort zone or started taking enough risks, as much as I wanted to believe otherwise.

Instead, I was already falling into bad habits, walking into traps, and blundering into rookie mistakes. But what did I know? I had never written creatively before aside from an ungraded course I had taken my freshman year of college. The purpose of that class wasn’t even to learn how to write, it was geared towards bonding with other freshmen! And outside of a required writing class I had taken that same year I had never critiqued peer work. That being said, the only writing experience I really had were papers and projects I had written for various classes, and the only feedback I’d gotten were the grades and comments from teachers and professors. Not much of anything to say the least. But that didn’t stop me from developing an inflated ego. Not my finest moment.

What I needed was a kick in the pants. Something to knock me off my high horse. I wasn’t some fancy big-shot writer. I was an amateur, same as everyone else. I thought I could make it work, but I hadn’t started from the ground up, so didn’t have a firm foundation. I didn’t have the right mindset. I knew better though, didn’t I? I should’ve taken the same lessons I had learned in therapy and applied them to this new hobby. My therapist had taught me to be even-keeled, not to be too high or too low, to reset to zero when needed. She had helped me become confident in myself while remaining humble. She had shown me how to act like I knew nothing, and that there was everything left to learn. That’s where I should’ve started—with no preconceptions, without conceit. I needed to learn how to write well before I could claim to be a writer.

No wonder then that things didn’t work out as planned. No wonder then that I found myself burnt out eight months after I quit my day job. I didn’t have what it took to live the life I wanted to live. And thus, I found myself in therapy once again. And as tough as it was to uncover things about my past yet again, it did me a whole lot of good. Without it I never would’ve found a writing community, and my writing never would’ve improved. As I’ve said before, the first four to five months of posting chapters for critique were difficult. But again, what did I expect? I had never done it before, so therefore didn’t have an accurate gauge on my writing ability. I needed to be put in my place. I needed someone to tell me the honest truth: you’re not the writer that you think you are—not yet. I needed to be shown the areas that needed improvement. 

Some writers were nice about it, and gave me constructive criticism. Others were more unpleasant. Of course, the former is so much more delightful to deal with, and leaves you feeling good about yourself. You need those types of people to help you maintain your confidence. But the latter was just as necessary for me. Without hearing the harsh reality I’m not sure if I would’ve been able to get to where I needed to get to. I needed to be broken down and reminded to keep my ego in check. I needed to know how I matched up with other writers. I needed to understand that I wasn’t anywhere close to where I thought I was, but I could get there in time if I put in the effort. I had to rediscover my humility. Without it I was nothing and no one—just a pretender.

Just someone who thought he knew how to write, but didn’t really. They say, “it takes a million words before you’re able to write something of good quality.” Early on, I would’ve scoffed at that notion, but I don’t think they’re wrong. I’ve been writing almost every day since 2020, but I consider 2023 my year one. This was the year I came into my own. The year I discovered my writing style. The year I finally knew what my story was about. The year I finally understood who my characters are. The year I found out where I stack up. The year I found a mutually beneficial writing partnership (which will soon grow into a circle of three). I’ve called myself a writer before, and I’ve felt like a writer before, but now I can say with certainty that I am a writer. I can finally put my money where my mouth is, because only now am I able to write well. I’ve learned how to write, so I just need to keep on keeping on. The only way I fail is if I stop.

Art, Changing, Discovery, Growth, Poetry

Young & Dumb

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I used to be so naive
So unaware of how things worked
But I was stubborn
Thought I knew best
My opinion was the only one that mattered
I knew better than the rest
My pride would be my downfall
My hubris sealed my fate
The wisdom of a hundred men
Could not compare to one young in age
“I am king, hear me roar!”
I would pound my chest
I always wanted a pat on the back
Thought I deserved endless praise
Full of delusion, full of jealous conceit
I thought I was the shit, as teenagers often do
Thought I was the center of the universe
Thought that I was always on your mind

But little did I know
Not even a seed of thought
Not even a blip on the radar
I was a nobody
Out of sight, out of mind
No one even knew my name
No one could pair me with a face
I was everyone and no one
Just a generic face
I was never meant for the foreground
Never meant to be a star
I only sought attention because I didn’t know my place
Misunderstood by all, including myself
Didn’t know what I was meant for, couldn’t save myself
I let my problems fester
Let them grow to immense size
I focused on the problem and never looked for solutions
Couldn’t even do the bare minimum
Couldn’t see past my pride
I knew that I was broken, knew I was in pain
But I didn’t want to look for answers
So of course nothing changed
Until I drilled to the root everything would remain the same
I was young and I was dumb

But at some point I learned
At some point I let go of my ego and my pride
At some point I admitted that I didn’t have all the answers
At some point I realized that there was so much more to learn
At some point I grew up and that was enough