The Therapy of Writing.

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I took a leap of faith recently and quit my stable full time job to pursue a career selling insurance. Slight back story: I have become increasing more unhappy with said job within the past few months due to a long commute, lack of proper compensation, and a myriad of other reasons. This opportunity fell into my lap — one that would completely evaporate my commute, pay impressively, and allow me to not only build a book of business that would be all my own; but actually be in a career path that would allow me to truly help people.

The issue is that insurance is a federally regulated industry. Meaning that you have to take a qualification exam in order to even start. And I am terrible at taking tests. Always have been. Always will be. For example, I’ve studied all last week (the week prior was my last week with the day job; so I didn’t exactly have a chance to study during that time) — yet I took the practice test five times and did abysmal each time. The highest score that I got was 58% and the lowest (just now) was 35%. For reference sake, the passing percentage is 70%.

And, of course, the real test is tomorrow morning. To say that I’m stressed is an understatement.

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What does that have to do with writing? With each word that I pound out in this post, I feel the anxiety slip away. With each syllable, consonant, vowel, and even just each letter, I feel the stress melt away. The production of language is something that I truly need to do. I crave it. I’m happiest when I’m the most well written. Each blog post that I produce is me getting my fix.

I know that no matter what else I do throughout the day, this is the one thing that I truly have control over. I manifest script and story.

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I am a writer. I live and breathe words. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

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So, do I have great trepidation over tomorrow, I am soothed tonight. The day job, the paycheck, the career, all of these have always been just what I need to do to allow me to write.

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Tomorrow will come and go. I have done all that I can to prepare. But tonight — tonight I write. Each day has enough trouble of its own, so I might as well embrace tonight.

Story Start (as of today)

The thing about Jacob Manslow was that he was, in his opinion at least, a good man. Not great. Not perfect. But definitely a good man. One who didn't exactly live his life to the fullest, but lived it nonetheless.

Jacob knew that he wasn't perfect. In fact, he relished on it. He knew that there was a fine line in being excellent and being mundane and he rode it with all of his might. Any tilt in either direction would mean change and Jacob Manslow feared that above all else.

Change mean facing all the things that he deliberately swept under the rug. Change meant finally facing his wife's criticisms. His children's doubts. His boss' bewilderment as to why he had not been promoted in the twelve years that he'd work for Sanson and Co. Change, in short, meant that he finally had to start living the lone life that he had been given.

Jacob wasn't a bad man. He wasn't great, or perfect, or extraordinary.  He would never, in his opinion, raise to the summits of Everest or spend a night in Antarctica. There was no lofty ambitions of backpacking through Europe or exploring the mysteries of the Amazon or Africa. There would be no soul searching in Tibet for him. Or pilgrimage to the Holy Lands.

Jacob, in short, wanted the most mundane existence in experience. Because anything beyond that would be truth. Anything beyond that would be owning up to his dead father's ideals. Anything beyond that would be breaking through the poor membrane of a shallow existence that he had worked so hard to create to cocoon himself in. 

There was a full life in front of Jacob and he was too fucking scared to embrace it. 

A User's Guide to the End of the World.

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“Inspirational quote.” — a person who is dead who you may have heard of, but probably not. But will pretend to have heard of said person and quote at a party. Or on Facebook.

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Step One: Life is rubbish. This may come as a shock. But, then again, as the world is currently coming to an end, what did you really expect? Sure, you may have your job. Your marriage (or lack thereof). Even your friends and family. But, one glance at any headline (or Facebook status) and it’s pretty evident that life is rubbish. 

So there you have it.

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Step Two: People are rubbish. This is a surprise to no one. Not even you — Mr. Optimistic. You spend more than two seconds interacting with the human race and you realize that people are rubbish. This has nothing to do with the end of the world. It’s just how things are.

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Step Three: The news is officially scary. Not in a “Mr. Peterson ran his car into a drug store because he was asleep at the wheel.” It’s frightening in a “what color is the terrorist watch at” or “how close are we to midnight on the Doomsday clock”. You take one glance at a headline and it’s pretty evident that the news will scare you. And will depress you to new ends.

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Step Four: Comedians are the new newscasters. The newscasters are the new comedians. This is our new reality and really, nothing is going to change that.

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Step Five: All of those depressing novels that you were forced to read in high school are now reality. The government is spying on you. Companies are spying on you. Your neighbors are, in some form or fashion, spying on you. Even if they don’t mean to. Just by living next to you, there’s tabs on you. 

Who can you trust? See Step Number Two.

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Step Six (Six, Six): None of what I’m saying really surprises you. I mean, sure, you’ll say that it does. You’ll say that this is all paranoia. But both you and I know that we only wish it was paranoia. And that things have never been this bad. And you don’t know how worse they can get.

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Step Seven: Vices!! Everyone has them. Even your dear old gran. Just don’t ask her what they are. Awkward…

But pay any attention and you’ll notice that everyone is running after their vices full steam. And, really, can you blame them?

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Step Eight: Everyone is mad. So mad. So angry at each other. And themselves. This is a surefire sign of the end of times. But, really nowadays, is there anything that you can’t not be bad at? Even double negatives?

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Step Nine: I’m bored. Are we still doing this? Were steps 1–8 not enough? Fine. Bird flu. Anti-vaxers. Holocaust and moon landing deniers. 9/11 conspiracy theories. Flat Earthers. The list goes on.

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Step Ten: Really, do we even need a Step Ten. One through nine were bad enough and things aren’t getting any better. 

In Mourning.

“ I have great sorrow and unceasing anguish in my heart.” — Romans 9:2

“There is no pain so great as the memory of joy in present grief.” — Aeschylus

“There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, and of unspeakable love.” — Washington Irving

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There’s no beating around the bush about this — today is not an easy day. Today marks the 14th anniversary of my Dad passing away. And, while that may seem like quite a long time; to those who have lost someone, especially someone who you were closed to and loved, fourteen years is nothing. Fourteen years may as well have been yesterday.

Because, as they never tell you in books or movies or anything of the such — grief never truly goes away. There’s no cure for it. It is a permanent scar upon the heart that only you can truly see. Can truly feel.

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The thing about grief is that it is much like it’s blood brother, Depression. It’s not always front and center. Sure, it never goes away, but most days (once enough time has passed), it plays quietly in the background like an ever-present, but ever so soft dirge. Some days, most days really, you don’t notice it. You go about your day as if life is normal. These are the blessed Good Days.

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The Bad Days are an entirely different story. Again, much like it’s blood brother Depression, when grief rears it’s ugly head, it is an unstoppable wave of sorrow and pain. The weight of loss beats you down and threatens to drown you in anguish and heartache. When you start crying uncontrollably over something seemingly simple — a lyric to a song, a line in a movie, a passerby who resembles too much like the person you lost, a smell of something that reminded you of them. Even a good event, such as getting married, giving birth, or a long awaited promotion, can bring about the torrent of remorse — because the one person who you wish you could share this moment with is gone forever.

Bad Days can (and most often do) start from the moment you wake up. You wake up sad (as if there were ever such an ineffective description as this) and no amount of attempted joy will ever bring you up from the true pits of despair. These are the worst of the Bad Days.

One of the worst aspects of Bad Days is that they can compound so quickly. Bad Days turn into Bad Weeks. Even Bad Months. When grief and depression share an unshakable suffocating bond upon your very being. When your heart is in an ever tight vice, slowly crushing you. 

And the worst part about the Bad Days, the grief, and the depression, is that it’s an Invisible Monster. One that is tearing you apart and no one else can see it. No one else can feel it. No one else can truly experience it. 

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Today is a Bad Day for me. I woke up missing my Dad and remembered the date. Today is not going to be an easy day for me in the slightest. But, I’m still going to go on living it. I’m still going to take care of myself as best as I can. And, as much as I have the deep desire to be alone, I know I’m going to go to a bad place mentally and emotionally if I allow myself to push people away. 

So I won’t. I know my Dad would want me to be happy. I know my Dad wouldn’t want me missing him and letting the despair crush me. I know my Dad wouldn’t want me to suffer. So, in honor of him and in despite of myself, I will make a day of today. 

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In closing, I leave you with one more quote. It’s from the last part of the seventh book of the Harry Potter series written by J.K. Rowling. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. The quote was by Dumbledore: “Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living, and, above all those who live without love.” 

The Catalyst of Focus

There is no such thing as a life without change. Cliche, I know, but true. To piggyback this, chaos, or what we perceive to be chaos, is just another form of change. Sometimes chaos is self-inflicted; but other times it is life forcing you to change. To move on. To move forward when you don't think it's possible. Chaos, in a way, can be a catalyst for new beginnings. If we let it, that is.

Chaos will either destroy you or rebuild you. And the only one to make the call of how that happens is you.

Which leads me to my other point: focus. The difference between a flashlight and a laser is how focused the light is. One of them can provide light and push away a bit of darkness. One of them can cut through stone. The sheer amount of focus you need to...rebuild, if you will, your entire life is comparable to that laser. To change your fate, you must hone in your focus to the point of cutting the chains that hold you back. Without focus, you cannot change. With some focus, you can change but a little. With full focus, with that laser intensity, you can change everything. Cut through the cloth of chaos and mold your fate into something you never thought possible.

Be the beam and break the chains.

An Open Letter to the Washington State Representatives on the Matter of the Possible Closure of Our State Parks.

Dear Washington State Representative,

I am writing you today voicing my concern on the possibility of the shutdown of our state parks. I only assume that I am far from the first to express their opinion on the matter, yet I am hoping that my conjecture will not fall upon deaf ears or be passed off as just another commoner with no valid speculation. As someone who frequents our state parks multiple times a year, I wish for my voice to be heard.

We, the people of the 42nd state to enter the Union, both love and highly value our state parks. Whether it be Flaming Geyser State Park near Black Diamond, Bridgeport State Park on Rufus Woods Lake, or Blind Island State Park off of Shaw Island in the San Juans, we use the parks to get back to nature and escape the rat race that we subject ourselves to most days out of the week. We the people use the parks for a wide variety of activities — from hiking and camping to weddings and photography shoots. While the state parks may be just an item on an budget report to you, they mean far more to the vast amounts of citizens that visit these parks each and every day.

Citizens, I might add, that voted you into your office.

If it is a budget issue that might cause the closure of the state parks, let’s look at how much money you’ll be losing, not saving. You will be losing 1.4 million day-use and overnight visitors to these parks. Included in that is nearly 11,000 paid camping and overnight reservations. Just one week of closure would cost the state $2 million in revenue. Not to mention that you would be shutting down the state parks at what is arguably the incline of the most profitable period of the year. Meaning that the numbers that I have given you might be on the more conservative side.

Not to mention that it would also affect 26,000 state employees. Twenty-six thousand. Individuals with families. Individuals with bills and debts. Individuals who would be forced to find work elsewhere in an already over-saturated job market. The impact of this alone would be staggering on the economy.

If you move to have the parks shut down, I move that you refund those who have already paid for reservations that they will no longer be able to use. If you deny us the privilege of the use of state land, then we should be reimbursed for our inconvenience. After all, there should be no reason that we should suffer both loss of time and money due to the choices of our representatives. I believe that would only be fair to all parties involved.

In closing, I hope that you reconsider the closure of the state parks this summer. While I fully acknowledge that the state of Washington must maintain a balanced budget, it would be far more detrimental than beneficial to shut down the 130 parks that we pay to visit. We the people risk more than the loss of spent income — we lose the experiences and memories that would have been made there. Encounters that we would have reminisced upon years later.

Please do the right thing and keeps our parks open.

Sincerely,

A Washington State Citizen

Off The Mat.

"What sweet melody that is the beating heart. What exquisite harmony that is the ticking clock that marks our time until the end. What felonious hope is it that we will live to see the end. What fools these poor mortals be." - Me (some Shakespearean inspiration. Not to mention Poe)

Ambition is a funny thing. We place so many of life's chips on a plan working out. We have goals. We have ventures that we plunge head first into - time and time again. What sheer hope and determination we place on the heavy fog that is our future. And, to what actual evidence do we sink our anchor into? Rarely more than the utmost of scant top soil. And, yet, as a species, we persevere. Despite all obvious evidence, like the bumblebee, we overcome and spite the odds against us.

"What fools these mortals be."

Don't get me wrong - there is nothing wrong against a dream. There is nothing wrong with giving life your absolute all. There is nothing wrong against going up against all odds.

My point is that we, as the human race, flat out refuse to cave to the audacity of success. We as a species has and will always be the underdog (in the grand spectrum of things). But, by gum, we will, time and time again, out think and out breed all of our obstacles. Why? Because we can. Because we do.

If I am currently sounding on the more cynical side, that's because success is a cruel mistress. The chips will always be stacked against you. The thing of it is, due to our quite ample population, we overcome all odds.

I mean, we walked on the moon and have sent satellites past our known solar system. What other terrestrial species can claim this? None.

The point of all this is that life and (and repeatedly will) give you a solid and swift kick to the proverbial genitals. Suffering, pain, unfathomable tragedy: that's all of the package deal of this existence. It can happen. It will happen. You are not, nor will you ever be immune to it.

So, the real question is not can you get back off the mat after life deals you a solid and low blow. The true quandary is how many times you will rise and rise again.

Because, suffering is inevitable. It's how you scrape yourself off and rise from the ashes is what truly matters.

And no one will ever answer that but you.