Don’t Doubt Yourself, Idiot.

I woke up the other morning with the blues. There was really no rhyme or reason for it. Nothing tumultuous had happened the night before to cause me to feel this way, nothing in my life had changed that much from yesterday and aside from the fact that it is unseasonably warm and dry this week and my hands feel like they can’t hold any moisture anymore, everything was pretty much the same, except for this wave of doubt and uncertainty that consumed me as I lay on the couch and did nothing the rest of the day.

Maybe it’s part of my self-sabotaging plan to talk myself out of plans that I plan to follow through with. Perhaps it’s in my nature to think that something is going to go wrong when nothing has had a chance to wrong yet. Maybe I’m in the middle of a mid life crisis that doesn’t seem so much of a crisis until I put all this unrealistic pressure on myself to have it all figured out.

I paid all my credit card bills in one day, and that was probably the catalyst. It’s depressing to shell out hard earned money for the lifestyle I bought myself the last year, and then realize that I’m still going to be paying for it well into 2016 and beyond. Those Nike Air Max I bought on sale in March don’t really seem to bring me the joy I thought they would in November. That cell phone bill that I’ve been hiding within my credit limit rears it’s ugly head once every month on the 17th, and the big idea that I have been creating since October that could move me somewhere new is the one mindset that I shouldn’t be allowing negative thoughts to creep into, but somehow, I find myself in the middle of a doubt, without the indecision of a falling out.

I don’t think things could be worse, because believe me, I know that they could and I’d be writing an entirely different blog if that were the case. I guess I just want to know that my plans will come to fruition, without this wave of hesitancy that is hanging around like a bad cough. I guess I just want to be confident of the perfect mess inside my head that makes sense to me, but may not make sense on paper. I guess I just want the security to know that everything is going to work out the way it’s meant to, even though I know that euphamism could go either way.

There have been too many signs of agreement about the ideas I’m putting into motion for me to start to doubt them now, but I think a small amount of uncertainty is healthy. It just makes me a little bit more particular about what I put out into the world, and it makes me slightly more energetic to talk to people about it, and it makes me have to write it down to define exactly what it is that I want to have happen.

The doubts that creep in are just distractions that are trying to sidetrack me. In the immortal word of Quentin Tarantino,”That’s pride fucking wit ya.” Ok, perhaps it’s not pride but regardless, the weather will change, and then change again and I will have to remember that the key here is not to listen to that noise inside my head.

I have to tell myself that I’m not an idiot, because idiots don’t write this well, and idiots don’t have precise thought out plans that they know are for the best, and idiots don’t have friends in places that appear when the time is right, and idiots don’t let doubts and confusion rent any more space inside their head.

I guess I’m not an idiot after all.


Losing Yourself to Find Yourself Again

I went through a tough time this summer. Not to be redundant, but you if you’ve been keeping up with my blog, you probably already know that.  I was texting with a good friend of mine from Seattle and something she said hit me on both a personal and a professional level.  

She wrote :

Your instincts are your guide.  You sometimes have to be in places that aren’t personally fulfilling.

I thought about what she said and how when the months of July and August were upon me, I was doing things and putting myself into places that weren’t personally fulfilling. They weren’t good for me and I knew it, but I continued to do it anyway. Those nights would always end with me calling myself an idiot and swearing I would never do it again, until the LAST time I did it again.  

Now, I’m out of it and I came out of it a better person, more determined and focused than ever before, and of course with the foresight to know that I don’t have to go through shit to get to heaven.   But, I came to a humble epiphany at the end of it, and that is the belief that sometimes you have to lose yourself to find yourself again. 

I had to lose ME to find “me” again.

Not the me that moved here 12 years ago, or the me that is telling me it might be time to go.  Not the me that says “Fuck me!” when I can’t get to sleep well past sunrise, and not the me that is enjoying this cooler weather as I lay in bed a few minutes longer every morning.

It’s the culmination of everything that makes up who I really am, and who I really am is someone who has the right people in his ear, and the power to make an instinctual choice that could change my life for the better, as well as the knowledge to know when to talk myself out of those other instincts that keep me where I am.

I wrote my first paid article recently for a new online men’s magazine and the website launches in a month. (please hold your applause till the end)  I’m pretty proud of myself for the story I wrote.  In the middle of my summer demise and even lately when things have gone slightly better I have asked the powers that be to give me one obvious, unmistakeable and blatant sign to let me know what the fuck am I supposed to do with my life now.   The last time I asked that question was on a Tuesday in October, and the very next day I got that writing gig.  

It’s not a lot of money, but that ongoing little job is agreement from the universe that I’m on the right track and even I’M tired of hearing about the “universe and it’s energy” too, but it’s totally what it was.

I don’t know if it’s for everyone, but I beat myself down so I can get back up.  I have the word “stronger” tattooed on my chest for a reason.  The last time I suffered from a similar self inflicted beat down was almost 10 years ago, and I came out of it a better man, a more powerful soul, and I felt stronger because I didn’t fucking die when I was making myself that way so I GOT that tattoo on my chest.  


I see it every day as a reminder, and today it reminds me of how much it didn’t kill me this time either.    

I guess the saying now has to go…  

You sometimes have to lose yourself to find yourself again…

every 10 years or so.