I thought on whether or not I wanted to write a blog post about the end of the year. The concept of new year’s resolutions seem somewhat formulaic and cliche. They also carry the idea that they are well meaning plans that never quite taxi down the runway and take flight. Gym membership in January, back on the couch by February. That sort of thing.

For me, I tend to look more toward the past on New Year’s Eve than anywhere else.

2016, as I’ve written about during its course and a post specifically reviewing what of the year I had experienced, was pretty momentous for me on a personal level.

The mad quest of self improvement and actualization that started in 2015 truly came into its own for me last year. And while I didn’t hit all the checkboxes I wanted to and I didn’t do as much as I feel I could have, I think I am a better person at the start of 2017 than I was at the start of 2016. Which is pretty neat, all considered.

When I think about what were the key lessons I’ve learned from 2016 I can think of two separate ideas; one I can take credit for, another is one I found in a book that really spoke to me.

In a book I read, the notion of thoughts, actions, and character was illuminated for me in a way I hadn’t theorized before. What someone does becomes who someone is. Their actions become their character. No action can be taken without first thinking about it to some extent. In that, your mind is the most important and impactful thing in your life.

If you want to become a famous author, but your thoughts all revolve around avoiding putting the proverbial pen to paper your dream never becomes a reality. And while it might be easy to blame other elements, at the end of the day your thoughts have a huge and pivotal part to play.

I’m not explaining it nearly as well as the book did, but it’s the idea that the thoughts you place emphasis on will ultimately guide your actions and your character. If I need to do dishes, there’s going to be part of me that wants to be lazy as Hell and not do them. Another part of me wants to keep my house clean and not let chores pile up. I want my character, who I am, to be someone that takes care of what he has and keeps up with himself and his responsibilities. To make that a reality, I have to water the seeds of thoughts that work toward that end. So the act of my cleaning the dishes becomes an almost autonomous effort of my thoughts working towards my character.

Again, I’m probably not explaining it very well, but that’s the idea. I’ve spent a lot of 2016 thinking about the first portion of that process; thought. Trying to adjust my viewpoint, how I look at the world and the people around me. How I look at myself. And while I’ll always have to work to do on that front, the efforts so far can be used towards shifting my actions. Acting on the thoughts that work toward my intended character will be a strong theme of 2017 for me.

The second idea is a bit nebulous, but it revolves around humility and equality. 2016 had a lot of celebrity deaths. For me, it had a very important personal death as well. But it wasn’t until I watched Rogue One and Carrie Fisher passed away did a light bulb of sorts shine brightly in my mind.

Slow and steady is the march of time. The 4th dimension (time) is ever moving forward. And we’re only along for but a portion of its ride. To lose someone you know on a personal level is devastating. Someone you’re close to, who was there for you through huge parts of your life. I can’t imagine a worse pain than that.

I thought on why Carrie Fisher’s passing had such a resonating impact on people, even myself and realized that it’s a shattering of perception and a return to reality.

For many people, Star Wars is forever. The original trilogy is a near-perfectly crafted adventure that taught young viewers the idea of heroism, adventure, bonding through circumstance, morality, and redemption. These iconic stories and characters are forever ingrained the psyche and fabric of popular culture.

Even though we all knew that Carrie Fisher is a human being, like everyone else, and would pass away someday, to have it happen so suddenly is a shock to the senses. The next time you look at Princess Leia laying down cover fire with a blaster you’ll be reminded of Carrie Fisher and how her youthful vibrance and beauty was immortalized on film and in a story. But that moment in time has passed. Like her, we all will grow older some day. We’re not always going to be here.

I’ve been watching Star Wars Rebels lately, and the main characters in that story are all compelling and protagonists in every sense of the word. Like Han Solo or any other charismatic icon in a story, you want these characters to succeed and live on forever. To never get old. You don’t want to think of them as people with a finite measure of time to be alive, young, and the center of attention.

But the Star Wars franchise is now becoming that sobering reminder. By virtue of the timeline alone, the characters in Rebels are either old or gone by the time Episode 7 comes around. We’re starting to see the span of time in something that was once timeless. It’s the double edged sword of not leaving a story alone. Only comic books have managed to effectively freeze time where Batman’s been looming over Gotham for 70 something years. But with the advent of superhero movies coming out, sooner or later the realization of time will make its way there, also.

At first, I found this notion to be pretty distressing. When you’re a teenager or in your 20s you don’t think about this kind of stuff. You’ll always be young. Even in my 30s part of me feels ignorant to the march of time. But then I’ll play a game with someone literally half my age and think, “Damn. You didn’t even exist when I was going through things that shaped who I am today. You weren’t even alive when I was growing up.” It’s an interesting realization to make.

But I find it to be more invigorating than anything else now. We are here. Right now. Alive and (hopefully) well. But knowing that we won’t be isn’t something to be sad about it. It’s something we can celebrate right now. We can make the most of times now, whether they feel good or bad within their own echo chamber, because we will not be here forever. We can appreciate the things and people in our lives. We can stop taking them for granted, because we’re not blinded by the notion of forever.

And that can be a very empowering thing, in my opinion.

Tomorrow is not promised to anyone. Not our friends. Our family. Our idols. Our celebrities. Our actions, adventures, and legacies can be immortalized through Facebook, Twitter, or in the hearts of those around us but we ourselves are only here for but a short moment.

So make each day a thing. Each and every day. Even if you’re just going to be a lazy couch potato on a day, appreciate that day. Look around and consider how we won’t always get to do this.

My resolution is to stop throwing days away. To start appreciating them for the gifts they are.

It’s really easy to become absorbed and immersed in the emotional perils of our lives. We don’t have the job we want. We’re not in a relationship. We don’t have a million dollars in our bank account.

But you know what? You’re fucking alive. And you have people in your life that care about you. You have things to appreciate. They’re there. You have a lot to be happy about, and focusing on what you feel you don’t have is just robbing you of time with the things you have.

Do me a favor. Watch the end credits to Predator. This movie came out in 1987. Now? Thirty years ago. Look at how young the cast is. How full of life and in a natural context they are. I don’t think it’d be too much of a stretch for one of the cast members today to look back on that and think, “Damn. I was so young. I remember that. Being there. I should have really appreciated that time more. I probably could have done more. Not worried so much about shit I can hardly remember now. Damn.”

I don’t want to have that sense of regret and longing. I want to look at myself as though I was 62 looking back on 32 year old me now and appreciate life through that perspective.

An interesting paradox that seems easy to grasp but is something I’m sure a lot of people fail to act on is that experience comes with time. We could learn a lot from our elders, but as teenagers and young adults we think we have the whole world figured out. By the time we kinda do figure it out, we’re probably much older than we were when we thought we had it all down and there’s that sense of ‘Damn. If only I had this perspective back then’.

Well you can. It’s called listening to your elders. Asking them questions. Your grandparents weren’t born 50+ years old made specifically to act as another parental figure in your life. They were your age and they dealt with a lot of the same emotional things you did.

Life is a test and there are study guides, cheat sheets, and sources of research all around us that we fail to utilize until we become one of them.

I don’t know. This has gone off on a tangent I’m sure, but the idea that the present matters is something that is becoming more and more important to me.

Happy New Year, whoever takes the time to read this. Let’s make 2017 a good year and a start to better ones ahead.

Disclaimer: This post largely revolves around the recently released movie Star Wars: Rogue One. It has spoilers, so if you haven’t seen the movie you may not want to read this.

Last night, I decided to go see Star Wars: Rogue One. I had a bit of an adventure getting there, involving me driving to the wrong theater after finding the most perfectly timed available parking spot in my life, driving in a rush to the actual theater I bought a ticket for, and getting lost in a stairwell. Fortunately, movies run 19 trailers at the start these days, so I was able to reach my assigned seat before opening credits.

Star Wars has always represented adventure to me. Self-actualization. Morality. Friendship. Perseverance. It carried an almost innocent interpretation of good and evil. I didn’t actually watch the original trilogy until I was in my early 20’s, but I read a few of the Expanded Universe books growing up, and really enjoyed the video games set in the universe.

The Force Awakens was able to capture a lot of what I felt a child must have felt when seeing A New Hope for the first time. There’s this uplifting sense of adventure. An idea that the protagonist could rise to greatness and save the world and everyone they care about. They just had to believe in themselves.

Rogue One is the first Star Wars movie that didn’t leave me with that feeling. If anything, I walked away from the theater feeling a morose sense of contemplation.

Don’t get me wrong. The movie was really good. The action was top notch. The story, also. Cinematography, the musical score, and everything involved with its presentation blew away all the expectations I had. I think where I stumble is that the movie was too good at accomplishing its message.

Heroism comes at a great cost.

Throughout the course of the movie, you start to develop a rapport with a largely relatable and likable cast. After the third act stage is set, the characters are emboldened with a sense of inspiration that will swell the chest of any viewer paying attention. You truly feel that David can defeat Goliath. That there is hope.

I think one of the most positive aspects of the original trilogy is that the main cast is presented with the same opportunity to hope against tyranny. The main difference is that they are rewarded by victory and the promise of a new chapter.

The members aboard the Rogue One only get one of those luxuries.

That difference has startling implications for me. It really struck a chord. I was anticipating a more serious tone. One free of the Skywalker family. Of the Force. Of Jedi and Sith. I wasn’t exactly anticipating Saving Private Ryan in space.

As you watch these characters commit daring acts of heroism in the name of hope and the cause for good, there’s a sense of inspiration that is dashed somewhat as they each make the ultimate sacrifice. I imagine how a kid must have felt walking out of Return of the Jedi, seeing Luke Skywalker overcome the obstacles in his way and the Rebellion claim victory over the Empire. Anything is possible, right?

Compare that to a kid walking out of Rogue One, and the message behind heroism is selfless where the former is selfish. A viewer identifies with Han, Luke, and Leia because they see parts of themselves in these characters. They are charismatic. You want to root for them. And when the original trilogy’s arc concludes that reflection is rewarded with a sense that if you can relate to the hero that you subsequently then relate to the result of the story’s arc.

The difference between Return of the Jedi and Rogue One is stark and jarring to any viewer used to the hero winning the day and living to tell the tale.

It’s easy to want to be the hero when you see them having these daring adventures, beat the bad guy, and celebrate at the end. Not so much when the hero dies for the cause. What does a viewer identify with that? There is no celebration at the end of Rogue One. By virtue of the original trilogy’s place in the timeline, the movie had to be zero sum in some ways. But it casts a dark shadow over the plucky adventures of a whiny kid, a smuggler, and a princess.

Characters died in the original trilogy. But Ob-Wan was not really absorbed by the audience by the time he became one with the Force. You weren’t rooting for him. He was a guide. Soldiers died during the aerial battles and ground warfare, but seldom did any of them have names. They were there to present action and tension for the cast of characters you actually care about. That fate could happen to them. This is dangerous stuff that they’re doing.

Rogue One doesn’t offer much padding to the realities of war and what selfless sacrifice for a cause really means. There’s no pat on the back payoff.

If Jyn Erso is the character the viewer puts themselves in the shoes of and is the viewfinder for the world you’re being shown, is there not a moment where the connection you feel with character severs when it’s made clear that the general sense of heroism and excitement one normally feels at the end of an action movie?

If you, even subconsciously, deviate from aligning yourself with the character and values of the hero, is there a hero within you? Would you make such a sacrifice? Or would you be like the Rebel Alliance leaders who wanted to surrender, choosing to live a life under Imperial rule over dying for what, by all measures, looked like an impossible task?

The concept of what you would die for and what you would live with underscores almost every moment in Rogue One. It makes real the power wielded by the Empire and the insanity of the Rebel Alliance’s hope.

At the beginning of A New Hope, R2’s message and schematics are a simple plot device to kick off the story. After seeing Rogue One, the contents of that droid’s memory banks represent a lot more.

There’s no going back now. Star Wars has been made a darker, grittier, and more tragic place with the release of Rogue One. There’s still a sense of a large world, of adventure, of morality, and the battle of good and evil. But there’s no glossing over the deaths on the side of the good guys. That innocence and streamlining is gone.

Before now, all of the Star Wars movies have had either a positive or inconclusive ending. But the characters in Rogue One all have a beginning, middle, and end. No celebration, no medals. Only peace made with knowing up until your dying breath you fought not for yourself and not for fame, but for a cause greater than yourself.

In fact, outside of the Death Star’s schematics being sent out, no one knows by exactly how small a margin was found. But again, these characters weren’t doing it for a reward, or even an ending. They died to continue the hope that there could be an ending. It’s not glamorous, and it carries a different message than the traditional presentation of a hero.

The threat of death has always been there in these movies, but it has not come to collect in the way it did in Rogue One before.

I wouldn’t imagine kids would jump around pretending to be Jyn Erso in the same way they fantasized about being Luke Skywalker. It’s easy to want to be the hero that lives and is regarded by everyone as a hero. It’s a touch more difficult to want to assume the role of a hero that dies to move the yard stick in a noted, but understated way. But aren’t they both heroes?

The moment you detail the differences through that viewpoint, I think the real message of the movie becomes clear.

Again, maybe I’m just overanalyzing, but… Rogue One has changed Star Wars and my perception of its world for me. I’m glad it did.

 

Dexter Gordon – I Guess I’ll Hang My Tears Out To Dry

It’s interesting.

I think about myself, pretty often. Perhaps too often. I think, however, that there’s something to be said for introspection. If I can’t understand who I am and where I’ve been, how am I to at the very least appreciate where I’m going? Would I not be doomed to repeat the same mistakes? To walk through the same lessons? If I didn’t take time to reflect?

I suppose the converse to that is if I spend TOO much time reflecting do I ever really move forward? Do I ever truly afford myself the opportunity to act on the benefits of past experience? Am I stuck in some mausoleum of the mind? A fixed point of my life where I relive a moment of joy, pain, success, or despair? Am I really moving forward?

Moderation is key, would be my answer to the both voices at either ear. I don’t want to get so lost in my head that I fail to see the world around me as it is. But I don’t want to get so far away from my introspective nature that I never truly grow or process my experiences.

I’ve come to some interesting realizations over the past day or so. Scary, thought-provoking, terrifying realizations.

My struggle with depression has been well documented in this blog. Long has it been something I’ve worked diligently to avoid talking about, let alone sharing, with anyone. My vivid, negative-slanting imagination would manifest instances of rejection, revulsion, and disappointment at even the idea of me talking about depression to anyone.

And that was why I spent so long trying to suppress it, unsuccessfully so. When something nestles itself at the base of almost every thought, ignoring it is a pretty fool-hardy approach. You practically invite it to have the full run of things.

I’m glad that as I was turning 30 I went about seeing a doctor about it. Taking anti-depressants has definitely helped me to manage my feelings.

As I’ve described in the past, taking anti-depressants has taken things that would make me sad and turning them more into things that I just found saddening. I’m not so directly affected by things, and that allows me to better process them before they’re able to settle in my mind.

They feel, to me, as a filter of sorts. A stop-gap that allows me to prepare myself before things solidify.

I’ve taken the same anti-depressant for a couple of years now. In the past month or so, I’ve started to notice something within myself.

Having always been something of a robot, taking a clinical and logical approach to things most would find more organic or human ways to talk about or express is not a new concept to me. It’s how I make sense of things. It’s how I articulate things. I may come off hollow, or perhaps even not particularly genuine, but it’s as authentic as I know how to be.

Only I fear the authenticity has started to fray in some areas.

Lately I’ve felt such a distinct barrier between myself and my emotions that it’s a very seldom occasion where things actually get through. And for the longest time that’s been exactly what I needed; time away from my emotions in the raw, unfiltered sense I had felt victim to most of the time.

It’s come affect almost every emotion, and I hadn’t even realized it. Being sad was muted. Being happy was muted. Being… Anything, was muted. To the point where emotions at all felt somewhat alien. The good and the bad of emotion felt so distant and far away. Neutrality had won. Has won.

Is that really what I want?

To truly become a robot? What really makes me me if all of my thoughts and interactions are born from an extrapolation of what I used to feel? How will I ever truly feel love? Happiness? Anticipation? Anything, if it’s through this thick filter that distorts what once felt like the basis of human existence?

I don’t feel that it’s what I want. Not anymore.

Antidepressants shut out a lot of white noise; enough that I was able to find space to evolve, mature, grow, and better handle my emotions. I’ve come to miss them, even the shitty ones.

I’ve made the decision to start to shift away from taking antidepressants, as a result.

It’s a scary proposition. Pandora was, as impossibly as it once seemed, locked back in the box. But along with it was the essence of my soul I’ve come to find. I’ve gotten to a place mentally where I once again long for that essence. But to get it back would be to unleash everything once again.

In some ways, this feels like one of the most important things I will ever do for myself. I put my hand to gate, close my eyes, and feel the warmth of my soul on the other side. It reaches out, too. It senses me. It knows that I’m there. But so is the cold of my negative inner monologue. Its essence awaits to return, too.

I’m better equipped. I’ve leveled up. I have better armor. Better weapons. Better tools to deal with it. But will it be enough? Have I prepared myself enough for this floodgate to be reopened?

I honestly am not sure.

But I hope so. If I’m to have the kind of life and sense of self I deserve, I have to be.

I just have to be…

I am.

My emotions have been grayed out for a long time. I don’t want them to be anymore.

I was in middle school. Couldn’t have been more than 12 or so. A friend of mine and I used to play a lot of SNES RPG games together. I still remember the first time we played through Secret of Mana. I liked that it was more action-oriented than other RPG games.

One game that, until recently, I hadn’t thought much about was Final Fantasy 3.

My friend let me borrow his copy of the game, as I had never played through it. He spoke very highly of the game, and I thought it’d be pretty cool to play.

The story, at its core, had a basic premise. An unlikely band of protagonists get into mischief and peril along their way towards stopping an evil emperor. A lot of the details of the game elude me, in fact, but there comes a critical point in the middle of the story where the unexpected happens. This band of characters rally to put an end to the emperor once and for all.

And they fail.

The world literally breaks because this team of people put forth every effort to be the hero and failed. Countless people die. Geographic regions are irreparably changed or destroyed entirely. The social and economic climate tank. The culture dies. The happiness dies. The world is, for all intents and purposes, dead and in a barren post-apocalyptic state.

I remember being so shocked and blown away by this. This wasn’t how stories were supposed to go. The good guys were always supposed to win. They try their hardest. Things get rough, but in the end they win. Right?

…Right?

The story advances some months later. One of the characters in the group comes to from a coma they’ve been in. They wake as though their failure just happened, in a panic. Slowly they start to realize the state the world is in, and the true extent of their failure.

Knowing the emperor is still out there somewhere, she again sets on a quest to try to bring the former group back together to stop the emperor.

These characters are, one by one, reintroduced in a different light. Gone is most of the boundless optimism. In its place is defeat, self-loathing. Despair. They are desolate shells of the heroes they once were. Disgraced. Defeated.

But slowly this band starts to come back together. Even though they tried and failed, miserably, they start to reform. They search for each other and try to do what they feel is right.

Somewhere along this part of the story, the emotional gravity of what the world, and these characters, had been through hit me hard. Even though they were 16-bit sprites, the vivid imagination of an introverted kid painted a vivid picture of a world that’s long given up and given in to evil.

And these few people, battered and beaten as anybody, struck the flint with whatever they had left in a bid to once again fan the flames of hope. They had no reason to believe in their  cause anymore. They hardly believed in themselves, but some intangible thing willed them forward regardless.

This emotional cascade dawned me. I found myself wholly immersed in the plight of these people. Their struggle. Their pain. Their arguably baseless endurance.

And tears came to my eyes.

I felt a tightness in my chest. My breath became shallow. I just sat there and thought about what these people were all going through.

As someone who primarily played video games at this point to walk from left to right beating people up in jazz clubs and on the streets  to take down Mr. X or jumping on Goombas to be told my princess was in another castle, this all proved to be a bit overwhelming.

At the time I barely had a full grasp on what emotions really even were, let alone any experience how mine would feel or how they would be affected. I hardly had the proverbial nob up to 2 and here this game is cranking it up to 7.930234 at least.

It freaked me out, and I stopped playing Final Fantasy 3 cold turkey. Right then and there. I literally turned the game off, gave it back to my friend the next time I saw him, said I thought it was a good game, and never spoke of it again.

Considering that I’ve spent most of the year trying to better understand my feelings and myself, recalling my time playing Final Fantasy 3 is something of an interesting experience.

Did that game and my subsequent adverse reaction to feeling anything stunt my emotional growth? Did that have a hand to play in the emotional wall I’ve been so arduously trying to tear down in my adult years? Why, exactly, did I run away from this game? Did I think I would be ridiculed if I told my friend that the game made me cry a little?

Near as I can remember, I haven’t told a single soul that that game had an emotional impact on me. It’s been my secret, buried so deep that I forgot it. A seed, planted in my subconscious at a critical point in my maturation and development.

I don’t know. I’m no stranger to overthinking things and making a mountain out of a mole hill, but as far as therapy sessions unearthing since-forgotten memories go I can’t help but feel like I’m on the couch right now, startled over the light bulb that’s just gone off in my head.

If I had a time machine, I’d go back and tell that big-headed kid that it was okay to feel something while playing that game. To feel anything at all in any context. It was actually pretty cool. Your predilection for analysis and comprehension spans more than just the logical. You harvested true understanding of emotion, of the human condition, from a video game. There are people in the world able to tell a story through a 16-bit medium, any medium, so well that its impact transcends the screen and touches the very soul. You could tell a story like that someday.

Embrace that level of understanding, kid. That is nothing to hide or be ashamed. I say be proud of it. If someone laughed at you about it, it says a Hell a lot more about them than it does you. What, would you rather be emotionally closed off? Some supposed tough guy incapable of feeling anything?

To feel those emotions is to see the beauty in the world, and in art. It’s to foster the imagination, and to connect yourself to everything else. Great storytellers were influenced and inspired by the storytellers that came before them. You can be a great storyteller someday, and someday you might affect someone else. Someday someone may be influenced or inspired by you.

To feel is be human. To share that feeling is to be human. So be human, kid. Be human. Trust me, the alternative isn’t what you think it’d be. I wouldn’t have showed up in a friggin’ time machine otherwise.

I think I’m going to play through Final Fantasy 3. I probably should have a long time ago.

Is it really there?
A question whose answer vexes
An illusory notion on the tip of my tongue
A quandary that, to me, perplexes
Is it really there?

I cannot extend my hand to touch it
I cannot hold it, mold, or shape it
If only I could just reach out and take it

Is it really there?

It builds me up and tears me down
Swells my chest and makes me smile
Or wilts my spirit and sets a frown

Is it really there?

Intangible as it may be
It certainly has a hold on me
It shows no sign of letting go

But is it really there?

Abandon or embrace it
Flee from it or face it
I’m perpetually at a fork in the road

Is it really there?

Light as a feather, buckles my knees
Crushes me and sets me free
Why won’t you just let me be?

Is it really there?

---

Without me you’re a hollow husk
I am your connection to the world
Be free of me if you must

But I’ve always been there.

You may never understand
In some ways that’s part of the plan
Simply complex, small and grand

I’ve always been there.

To sort me is to sort yourself
I know you better than anyone else
For years you left me on the shelf

But I’ve always been there.

Inside your heart, behind your mind
Search deep enough and you will find
From the start ’till the end of the line

I will always be here.

---

Let me go.
No.
Leave forever.
Never.
Never leave.
Never.
Explain yourself.
Only you can.
But I don’t know how.
Until you can, I’ll be here.

I had been meaning to write a blog post pretty much all week. Some thoughts have been stewing in my head over the past few days (big shocker, I know), but I just hadn’t set aside the time to articulate them in any particular way.

Earlier this week some maintenance guys came to my place to assess some damage done to the ceiling of the condo I rent. One of the guys come into my house, and looks at the red accent wall I have at the back of my living room. His expression sours a bit as he looks at the dark maroon before looking to me and asking, “Who painted that? I wouldn’t want them painting my wall.”

I painted that wall. A few years back. It was something I had been wanting to do for a long time, but like that dead TV I would just keep putting off until I was just like, “Screw it. This is happening.”

My sister and a friend that’s more like a brother to me helped me get the supplies and ladder and what not to paint it. It took an entire afternoon, but I think it turned out pretty neat.

It is imperfect.

One side of the wall has more layers of paint than the other. The center section in particular has a once over or two too many, to the point the texture of the paint itself runs a bit coarse. At best, it’s the work of an amateur and it would raise the brow of anyone that holds interior design in any sort of regard.

But I did it.

It feels like my soul laid bare on a wall, in a lot of ways. Someone walks into my house and upon a slight inspection you think, “Okay. That wall is red.” If you take a closer look, you can see how awe inspiring the actual work is not. And that’s okay.

And it was okay when this maintenance guy frowned at my accent wall. A year or so ago his comment would have stung. I might have felt some measure of embarrassment or shame. The perfectionist in me would roaring out of the gates, chiding me for failing to paint the wall perfectly.

Instead, I just smiled at the guy and said, “I painted it, and I like it how it is.” He just kinda shrugged at me and went on about his business, but there was something in that moment for me. Where I felt comfortable showing imperfections, that was pretty cool for me.

Maybe I’ll start to feel more comfortable in my skin yet someday.

I had been meaning to write about this for a few days now. While I was streaming this weekend, someone who visits my channel with some form of regularity mentioned that they read my blog post about my trip to BlizzCon; him and his wife both. He said they found what I wrote to be relatable, and that they even read a few other posts. When he asked if that was some infringement on my personal privacy, I said that it wasn’t at all.

An interesting side effect of this blog is that people actually do read it, and to my surprise they can find some common ground over my random musings. So when I hear a thing like that it makes my day, because it takes a lot for me to express my feelings or thoughts regardless of the medium. It’s a big deal for me.

I mentioned the story about my accent wall in the stream. That I had planned to write about it, and that I just hadn’t gotten around to it yet. Granted I was busy playing a computer game at the time, but it felt very difficult for me to try to explain what that story about the accent wall meant to me. When I write, I can pause, collect my thoughts, and lay them out in a very specific manner. I don’t have that kind of poise when it comes to speaking.

I would imagine a lot of the message’s gravity was lost in my loose-hand attempt at talking about my feelings as opposed to writing them. It’s a muscle that needs a lot of exercise.

This post has gotten a little meta, I suppose. Topic about writing a topic. Writing out thoughts and feelings about writing out a subset of thoughts and feelings. But there was just something about realizing how ill-equipped I was at vocalizing my feelings that has sat with me all weekend.

What stops me from processing this unending stream of thought and turning it into something I actually say. I’d comfortably say for every word I say when talking about my feelings there are six to nine floating around in my head.

A brisk swell of wind shook the balding branches of trees who have started to shed their orange and brown for the oncoming winter. Like a herald, this gust announced the promise of colder days ahead.

Versus.

The wind was cold.

What is my apprehension? Is it that I think what I have to say isn’t really worth listening to? So I pass my thoughts through a filter of self-deprecation and limit my speech to spare people? What holds me back?

I don’t know.

I hope to find out someday, though.

My feelings are worth expressing. While this blog has come to mean a lot to me, it’s not the endgame. It’s a stepping stone towards my being more in touch with my feelings and developing an ability to express them.

I can do this.

I’m terrified.

In the distance, just as the view starts to fade into a picturesque haze, the sun descends behind a veil of clouds. The slow, gentle lap of the waves creates a constant and calming crash which serves as a suitable background to the distant sound of playing children, jubilant conversation, and the general goings on of life on the coast.

And here I am standing here terrified.

I steel my jaw slightly, bow my head, and break through my paralysis to step forward. Leaving my flip flops and the rest of the world behind, I walk up to the water’s edge taking even breaths to keep my nerves as calm as they were going to be.

The water’s probably cold. It could have been set to a boil and it wouldn’t have made a difference. I was going to do this.

—

My trip to California, to BlizzCon, has proved to be more of an experience than I anticipated or theorized. I don’t know. As someone who is almost constantly analyzing and considering the meaning of things, I’m not surprised to feel overwhelmed and still unsure to an extent of what emotional conclusions I’ve taken away from the experience. I simply know that I learned more about myself, and found more confidence in the idea of being open with people; more vulnerable.

And that’s pretty neat.

Like my brain, I’m probably just going to write things in something of a scattered matter as they present themselves. It would feel inorganic at this point to try and write things in any sort of chronological sense. So if anyone does read this, sorry for the potential confusion. I’m weird. Sorry that I’m not sorry. Fun fact, though. At the beginning of the year I would have been sorry. Now I’m getting to like that I’m weird.

—

Nervously, I step forward a few more times, feeling the sand shift and bow under my weight. I’m far enough in now that the tide was guaranteed to find me. I had refused to turn back now. It felt like an eternity, watching the water’s edge pitch forward slightly, recede, and threaten to shift closer. It was as though the universe itself was asking, “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

“I don’t know, but I aim to find out.”

Then the water rushed forward, and I was ankle deep in the Pacific Ocean.

—
I’ve been casting Heroes of the Storm for a little while now, and I also stream myeslf playing the game and other things on occasion. I do not feel like I am famous or a celebrity or anything like that. I knew a few people were looking forward to meeting me at BlizzCon. It might have surprised them to learn I was looking forward to meeting them more than they probably were me.

But each person I met, however brief the encounter was, touched me in some way.

It reminded me of the fact that I’ve really put myself out there since I’ve started casting. In my own way, I let my guard down and displayed who I am as a person; for better or worse. And people along the way have seemed to like what they’ve seen. It reminded me that they were people, too. We were all people. That I was a person.

It’s hard to rightly explain, but I felt like I was a part of something; like I belonged somewhere. As someone who’s rarely ever felt that way, being given a gift of that magnitude is a gesture I will eternally be thankful for.

I can’t speak for how anyone felt on the other end, but I wanted to at least try to write down what I took away from certain instances.
I went to a party Friday night. Well, two. At the first of which I happened across a group of four. I recognized one and was happy to meet the others. As it turned out, I had casted them in Chair League! We talked about their games and their overall experience, but something that stood out to me is that they said they appreciated how I approached casting.

It was the first time I had really felt my efforts really had an impact on people’s experience on what seemed to me like a personal level. And it blew me away.

People compliment my casting often enough, and I’m thankful for every kind word. But that conversation made me feel…

It’s one thing to finish a night of casting, have people say thanks in chat or message me to say that they had fun or thought I was funny or appreciated something about my effort, stop the stream, put everything away, and sit alone in my apartment feeling a curious mix of energy and exhaustion. It’s another thing to look someone in the eye, see the smile on their face, hear the sincerity in their words, and join them in laughter over your efforts.

The former brings a sense of uncertainty to me. The latter is a much more human experience.

The coolest thing about meeting them was that they seemed to genuinely like me as a person and wanted to befriend me. As crazy as the idea is that people wanted to meet me was, I had braced for the feeling that I was a pokemon, or item on a scavenger hunt. “I met Halorin. Who’s next?”

I don’t think I’m explaining it right, but I had anticipated a potential hollow feeling on some meetings like people wanted to meet Halorin, but not necessarily meet Albert. Like I was just a form of entertainment, and not a full on person.

I’m happy to say that no one made me feel that way, but meeting this group of four really brought home the idea that I was a part of a community; one that was genuinely interested in meeting me. It was very heartwarming. I hope I get to meet them again, and I hope I get to continue to be friends with them.

I met a person that I did not know very well. I was mingling with a group of people and I get a tap on the shoulder. This smiling face greets me and they told me who they were and that they were excited to meet me.

There was something special about meeting this person. Again, it’s difficult for me to explain. It is a vulnerable gesture to walk up to someone you’ve never met, someone you’re excited to meet, and put yourself out there. This person had displayed an admirable amount of courage without even outwardly expressing it, because they were just happy to be there in the moment.

It felt like it was something they were really looking forward to, and I didn’t have any idea until the moment they walked up and introduced themselves.

In general, I’ve downplayed whatever sense of importance I have to the Heroes of the Storm community. I’m generally a humble person, but a lot of it amounts to self deprecation. I don’t have a very high opinion of myself, so when someone expresses their opinion of me it feels like a sense of contrast to the point it’s almost hard to believe or like I’m being put on. I only half accept the compliment or acknowledgement, because it would be embarrassing to embrace it fully and have it snatched away. I stay guarded. Shut off. Withdrawn.
And I don’t want to be like that anymore.

I don’t want an ego, or to be arrogant, but I do want to respect and appreciate the kind words given to me. Meeting this person really taught me about expressing myself and sharing in the excitement of others. Seeing that I’ve resonated with someone that they would be excited to bump into me was inspiring, humbling, and amazing. Again, I can’t speak for what the exchange may have meant to them.

But it meant a Hell of a lot to me.

I struggle with putting myself out there, and with going for things I want. It’s scary to me. What if I make an ass of myself? What if people laugh at me? What if I fail? Those kinds of thoughts have stamped out a lot of ambition over the course of my life, but since the start of this blog I’ve been trying to rebel against them.

It probably sounds really cheesy or dumb to have wanted to make a sign that said ‘halSanic’ and get it shown on the screen during the Heroes Global Championship. I mean, it is pretty cheesy. But that was almost the point for me.

It was me leaving my stamp on something that’s come to mean a lot to me. Before, I wouldn’t have valued myself enough to act on what would have been a hidden and buried desire to leave my mark on something I cared about. But I had to try. I just had to.

It felt a little bad to fail on the first day. I was timid about the idea of going for it again. It was a victory in and of itself to try at all, so it almost felt like a game show-like thing of ‘Take the $1000 cash prize or play for $10,000 and potentially come away with nothing’.

With a sigh, I made the sign again the second day, prepared to come away with nothing. I made my way up to the front with my friends and got so swept up in the excitement that I had all in all forgotten about my apprehension. I was just there in the moment, screaming my friggin’ head off when the camera man sweeps by and bam. I did it!

I got a bunch of messages from people. They all saw it too! Some who knew I was going for that, and some who didn’t. I don’t know. There was just something about being able to pull that off, to show what felt like to me the entire world that I was able to break free from the shackles of my mind for just a while; long enough to scream and cheer like a kid and just have a good time. To show something like that to myself. I honestly didn’t know if I had it in me anymore.

I try to avoid naming specific people when I write in my blog, but in this case it would be pretty apparent who it was or would give the required context for someone who didn’t.

There’s a player on a European team named Quackniix. I’ve followed his play for a long time, and have come to really respect it. I’ve seen him make plays on Lunara and other heroes, and I always send tweets at him with gifs or videos or something to kinda cheer him on and overall just be a fanboy of a sort. It always surprises me whenever he likes them.

I even got to meet him briefly! His team was walking by on the BlizzCon floor and I dared to ask for a picture with him. It was a really cool moment. He didn’t have to, but he did.

Something I always thought would be cool would be if the crowd at an event quacked for him in the same way people quacked for the Mighty Ducks. Again, silly, but something I wanted to do. This is another thing that would usually be suppressed in my mind. Who am I to do something like that? What if I start quacking and no one joins me and I’m just some lone jackass standing there? I’d be mortified. But these days I am more afraid of what becomes of me if I don’t go after things.

So at the event I get the nerve to try it. I ask around if people would join me if I started to quack. Surprisingly (to me, anyway), everyone I spoke to was on board with the idea. Complete strangers. Folks sitting with me. This might actually happen.

My hands were flat out shaking when I was getting ready to do it. It’s a pretty big leap for me, putting myself out there like that. But I wanted to try. Not just for me, but for Quackniix and Team FNatic.
The performance these guys put on was nothing short of inspiring. Watching these guys play their hearts out and go for these bold plays and beating MVP Black was like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Most people had resigned to the idea that MVP Black would be FNatic.

I can only imagine the turmoil of emotions one would feel to step onto a stage where the expectations are that low and the odds seem stacked against you. To dig deep enough to stare that in the face, tell it to shut up, and go out there and play at the level they did is something I will always respect.

Their play was by no means timid. They made gutsy calls. They took chances. They were not intimidated. Or scared. Or if they were, they showed enough courageousness to overcome that play out of their minds.

It gave me a message that if you believe in yourself and practice hard enough, anything was possible. What I felt watching them play must have been what kids felt when they watched Babe Ruth, or seeing Michael Jordan win his first championship. Displaying enough vulnerability to give something 100% of your effort, and coming out victorious only because of that.

So the few times I was able to get the crowd to join me in quacking for Quackniix meant a lot on a number of levels. I put myself out there. I felt connected with people. And I felt like I was showing appreciation for someone I greatly respected.

We all cheered loud enough to be heard on the stream, and people messaged me to confirm that and I couldn’t have been happier.
I hope I get to meet Quackniix again someday. I’d like to shake his hand.

—

The cold of the Pacific was sharp, and immediately apparent. By the time the second swell rushed in and splashed against my knees I had already tuned out the chill, embraced it, and became one with it. I was there, and I wasn’t at the same time.

In my own way, I had been through a lot on the way to that moment. I learned a lot about friendship, bonding, connecting with people, putting yourself out there, humility, and acting on goals and wishes.
I thought about the new friends I made, and the stronger bonds I’d formed. I thought about how for the longest time I had never thought I’d go to the west coast. Or see the Pacific Ocean. Or venture far from home. I was so confident in my inability back then. So assured in the idea that I should just develop a sense of disdain for things like this because I couldn’t have them. I didn’t deserve them. I would fall on my face if I tried, and I’d be laughed at for thinking I could.

Standing there at the ocean’s edge and seeing the infinity on the horizon flew in the face of every preconceived notion depression has settled into my head for most of my adult life. I was there. I had friends I cared about, and they cared about me. I could do the things I wanted. I could accomplish them.

And I cried.

Even thinking about it now makes my eyes water. The moment was the culmination of a lot of emotion that overwhelmed me and probably will always overwhelm me. In the span of a year I had stood on either end of the country, went on a road trip, started casting, and made step toward being more open and vulnerable.

I thought on what exactly brought me to tears for a while after that moment. I’m still trying to piece it together. The closest summation I can come to is that it was in part acknowledgement of the emotional pain I’ve subjected myself to by being closed off and not trying for things over the couse of my life and in part the acknowledgement of the victory I had just attained over said pain.

None of this has been easy for me. None of it. Struggling with a constantly nagging notion that beats you down can be exhausting. Always doubting yourself, your potential, and your capability. To want to guard yourself rather than take a chance and be open. I hate it so much.

But I stuck a middle finger up right in its face by relishing in the experiences I did at BlizzCon. By meeting the people I did, and by bonding with the people I did.

I did it. I was doing it. And it was a lot to take in.

Everyone I met and everything I did touched me in some way. I come away from the experience feeling more like a human being and more like I belong somewhere. I come away feeling like I can laugh a little easier, like I can be myself a little easier, and like I can smile a little easier.

Some emotional doors opened for me over the course of my time in California. I don’t know exactly where they will lead, but with enough persistence and luck, it’ll be the start to something big.

Quack.

Perhaps it’s a broken record to anyone who’s read this once or twice, but I always feel the need to preface these posts with the declaration that the idea behind this blog is not to grab attention, be emo, or anything like that. As someone who’s historically struggled with emotional openness and vulnerability while also being an avid writer, a blog seemed like a good way for me to articulate my feelings in a way that puts them outside of my head and extends an olive branch of sorts to humanity over subjects I wouldn’t share otherwise.

So there’s that.

This year, I feel like I’ve made some pretty good strides as a person when it comes to being open, showing vulnerability, and the like. I could stand to involve my family more in that effort, but one step at a time.

Tonight, I had what was, to me, a very  traumatic experience. In the grand scheme, it amounts to first world problems but it was rather draining emotionally.

It’s nearly 2am. I’m just hanging out, looking at random stuff on the internet as latent insomnia and a perennially running mind take hold. Low lights. Jazz music, as I am one to do.

I go to pee, think nothing of it, go back to the couch. About fifteen minutes later I hear the toilet still running. I go to look, and take the top off and it’s just still filling up. Like, past the point it’s supposed to.

I panic.

For one, I know not a damn thing about how a toilet works. Two, it’s 2 in the morning. Who exactly could I call? If I call my landlords, what do they do at this hour? Call someone? Inefficient. If I call the condominium emergency line (which I would have to find), the track record I have with them generally not seeming to give a damn about having a quick turnaround time suggests to me they might send someone out around Tuesday afternoon. Inefficient.

If I call a service directly, I’d have to Google search to find someone, cold call them with zero rapport, and urge them to come over to a stranger’s house at the middle of a night to perform a service. That would be their job, but damn if it’s not a little awkward and who knows how long it would take for them to get over there.

I don’t even know how to stop water from running to a toilet, so while my mind is racing through all of this, I’m trying to turn the knob in the back to turn this thing off. It won’t turn. I wouldn’t know whether to turn it left or right anyway. So I open the top of this thing and in the span of 5 minutes I got to have a pretty familiar understanding of how basic plumbing works.

It felt like I was disarming a damn bomb. Only on a handful of occasions have I felt so powerless, vulnerable, isolated, alone, and ill-equipped to handle a challenge before me. My mind wandered to what would happen if this thing overflowed with water at a rate faster than I could try to scoop out with a cup or bowl or something? What if I can only scoop  water out just fast enough to break even. I sit there like someone trying to keep a boat afloat until someone shows up, potentially not until the morning?

What kind of water damage would the unit be looking at? I’m supposed to be flying to friggin’ California this week on a trip that means quite a damn bit to me as far as leaving home, branching out, and experiencing life goes. How much enjoyment could I have if it’s underscored by the idea that I failed to stop water damage from happening to the condo I rent and all this stuff has to happen to fix what basically amounts to my failure to act. I would be in California, the whole time, crestfallen over my own shortcomings. The perfectionist in me would demand. Something I’ve waited a half a year for would be poisoned by my failure.

And even if I could stall it, what then? Where would I even begin to investigate? And how long could I Google search and look for answers in a situation that would require consistent attention.

So I decided it’d just be me trying to figure it out, on the fly.

And I did.

At the end of it all, at least I can say that I met the challenge as best I could and I’m not swimming in my condo right now. No damage. Things are stable enough now that I can contact my landlord this morning and see if they’d have someone come take a look.

Yay.

Usually, this would be an experience that I’d keep to myself. For one, it exposes vulnerability. That’s generally a non-starter as far as sharing goes. Two, it’s a pretty weird progression of events overall, so that makes it all the more embarrassing.

But I’ve tried to really make a point to open up, attempt to rely on people, and not just let feelings and stress roll around in my head and cause me emotional stress.

Someone I’m really  close to seemed interested at first, resorted to jokes, then introduced a completely unrelated topic that was more focused on them, then stopped responding.

Well, then.

I tried to venture out and do something more social and play a game. I struggle with the idea of joining the voice chat, but ultimately I do. I bite the bullet, and tell this awkward story that has left me feeling emotionally frayed. Silence. And then they all return to talking about the game, as though I literally never even showed up.

I decided to just shut everything off.

Rabidly hypothesizing about failure feels just as burdensome as failure itself to me. And then I am left with objective and clear evidence that I have a grossly misunderstood understanding of my social rapport with people I would genuinely list as people I would risk showing vulnerability towards.

And the response made my lack of comprehension clear. I’ve assumed too much. I’ve tried to run before I could walk. I put the cart before the horse. I shouldn’t have bothered.

And it hurts.

One of the few times I ever really just reach out to people and I’m like, “Hey. I could use some social inclusion and empathy” and be met with responses I did runs counter to what I had hoped I was establishing for myself.

In the past, I would blame those people. I would close up. I wouldn’t share anything else. I’d as clammed up as I could be to never show vulnerability to them, or anyone, again. Dutifully so.

But I can’t blame them. Not anymore.

I’m responsible for my actions. I stuck my neck out there. I chose to run the risk. I chose to open up. I chose to be vulnerable. Those are actions that can net positive or negative consequences. It just so turned out that the consequences netted this time were negative. But I put myself out there to receive those consequences.

I didn’t look enough before I took the leap. That’s on me. That’s not on them. I took the leap, landed flat on my face, felt even more vulnerable, but I can’t regret trying. Trying to be more in touch with my humanity. Even six months ago I would have just off, but I don’t want to be that kind of person anymore.

I just have to be more selective.

Life and the universe threw a lot my way tonight. And while I would say I came away with a kicked ass, wounded pride, and a bruised ego I feel that by the end of it I will be a stronger, more resilient, and more educated person.

And that’s pretty neat.

I guess the rub is, what’s emotionally harder to deal with. Shutting down, blaming other people, or taking responsibility? The last of the 3 is the kind of person I want to be, but at least for now it feels like the most emotionally damaging because on top of all of the stress I’ve felt tonight, I ultimately only have myself to blame.

There’s no external focus. It’s all on me. I guess the hardest lessons have to be learned to make the most improvement. I don’t want to learn lessons like this for a long time to come.

Here’s to hoping.

I’ve written in this blog enough now to where I wonder if any cyclical patterns have emerged. Having your unabashed thoughts out there offers much in the way of retrospection and analysis. I read back through some of my posts from time to time. I can see, at least, that I’ve made progress and that’s something I feel good about.

I’ve been reading more books about introspection and emotional exploration. I think I’m on my fourth one now. The concepts detailed are all pretty straightforward, if not obvious, but having them conveyed from an outside and impartial perspective has been insightful. They’re like road maps, showing me how to get out of my own head quicker. So that’s neat.

I was on the way home from work today, and I was thinking about what defines me. Where my values and characteristics come from. I was a bit dismayed at my findings.

This blog has always been about me trying to find ways to break through personal walls that have historically barred me from emotional expression; to find a way to mature and develop more towards the person I aspire to be. It hasn’t been particularly easy, but what I’m about to write now is particularly scary.

One of my defining traits, I feel, is that I can be something of a perfectionist. The best example I can always think of is one flag football game where I threw for six touchdowns and after the game when people were congratulating me I was too busy being bent out of shape for the two passes I feel I should have thrown better.

That’s not exactly something to be proud of, but I always felt that was a good indicator of how I can look at things sometimes.

I’m that way because of a fear of rejection born in me back when I was a teenager. A leap, for sure. But it’s true. As sad as it is to admit, it’s true.

For too long in my life I have empowered what I assumed to be the world’s general view of me. Depression can do more than just skew my inner monologue. Every misstep and shortcoming has this component where I think something to the tune of, “You’re going to be made fun of. You shouldn’t have tried this. What were you thinking? You can’t do that. Why look like a failure in front of people? You’re going to be looked at differently because of this.”

And, when looked at objectively, there’s literally no sense to really be had out of something like this.

But it’s defined so much of me in my formative years that it’s really stifled my growth. At least I can see that now.

I can’t be made fun of if I don’t try for something. If I don’t try to ask that girl out. If I don’t try to become a caster. If I don’t continue pursuing music. If I don’t try to learn web development. If I put myself out there in any real way. If I made any notable step towards anything that I think would make me happy. I can’t fail if I don’t try. So I will just remain neutral. That was the plan, and has been the plan for a long time.

I know there are plenty of times where I can come off as quiet and/or standoffish; like a dick, for lack of better phrasing. And ultimately it’s because I fear rejection. If I shun people, or if I reject them or that notion first I can’t in turn be rejected so I’m spared the emotional strain. I valued my preservation of an assumed quantity of rejection over the potential upside to expressing myself as I naturally would.

There have been times in my life where I have been quick to write people off. In an instance where someone legitimately made some kind of mistake that wronged me or rubbed me the wrong way I would just be done with them. I wasn’t really ‘wrong’ for some of these instances, but it was a cruel and binary metric that wasn’t really fair to anyone who’s less than perfect (everyone).

I would look for holes. Reasons to cut people out. To spare myself potential rejection down the road. To withhold vulnerability. Lock it away from anything and anyone that might do it harm or expose any flaw or weakness I feel I have.

I can go for long periods of time where I don’t go out and socialize. I don’t try to meet new people. I just vanish, because if I stay home I won’t run the risk of feeling socially rejected or have it be made apparent to me that I am well on the fringe of whatever social circle I’d be around.

I have a real aversion to asking people for help or asking them to do things with me. Struggles with self worth have made me question why someone would think I’m worth the time or effort to help, and my being on the social fringe means there are probably far better ways for someone to spend their time. So why spent it with or on me?

I strongly dislike being on the receiving end of a joke, no matter how lighthearted or humorous it might be. It feels very alienating, and brings about an avalanche of hypothetical thoughts of what permanent conclusions are made about me where I ultimately will be rejected. Again, it makes absolutely no sense and yet this is how I’ve operated for a very long time.

I’d walk this tight rope so tentatively so as not to fall, to protect what? A likely false notion of my perception of what people might think? The true paradox is that I don’t generally care what people think about me. Not specific people, anyway. It’s the general world that’s had such a grip on me and how I’ve looked at things. Maybe that’s just a subconscious attempt to salvage some form of protection. An attempt to mask an instance where I was ‘wrong’. I don’t know.

But I came to a conclusion that for large portions of my life I haven’t really lived for me. Not completely. I’ve done things I wanted to do, sure. But there was always this part of me that was concerned with my perception of how the world would see me. About what would happen if I tried and failed. A shadow looming over me, reminding me not to feel too comfortable or relaxed. Don’t be too open. Don’t do anything that will lead to you getting hurt.

That’s the wall. That’s the reason why this blog exists. To document my progression toward identifying how to break that wall. As much as I’ve relied on it, there has been little I’ve wanted more out of life than to be done with this feeling of being emotionally disconnected from myself.

I don’t know. A lot of this probably sounds crazy, but it’s a profound revelation for me. Even now, part of me is worried what the world might think of me admitting this. “Oh wow. Albert’s a nutjob. He has fears and social anxiety issues. He’s different. I think less of him now. What a weirdo. I’m going to laugh about this and tell my friends and we’ll laugh about it and then forget it because who is he to think about for too long past a fading chuckle anyway wait why is this such a run-on sentence I should probably get back to my life now.”

I’ve been in an abusive relationship with an emotionally irrational hypothetical that’s robbed me of a lot of social growth and prevented a lot of instances where I could have let people in or be more receptive to them wanting to let me in for most of my adult life.

Like I’ve said before, I am likely to struggle with this sort of feeling for the rest of my time on this planet. But being able to identify it gives me tools to work towards neutralizing it. Towards venturing down a different path.

And hopefully, towards me not needing this blog anymore.

This year, I’ve made some pretty big strides towards amending some of these ideologies. At the very least I can see them for what they are; constructs in my mind and my mind alone. Most of this is just me thinking on my life through my twenties. About everything that lead up to me trying to make these changes.

I don’t want to value rejection over honest expression anymore. It’s probably going to be difficult as Hell to truly conquer, but every step is a big one for me. No matter how small or insignificant they might seem to someone else.

The mind, at least mine, is a complex maze and puzzle simultaneously where as I start to make sense of one part I’m left with the realization that said understanding makes me aware that the maze is much larger and the puzzle much more difficult than I initially thought.

I’ve been sitting on a lot of thoughts over the past few days. Part of me has ached to express them somewhere, and what better place than this blog? And yet… Part of me worries that I may not like what I write here says about me, and the progress I’ve endeavored to make.

At the top of the year, I made a decision to try and make changes in my life. To sort myself out in a way I hadn’t before, and to really try to better myself. Here we are, three quarters into that initiative and I find myself trying to gauge my progress on that front.

I guess the jury’s out.

I know, for a fact, that I have grown in some pretty important areas. And I’m proud of that. Extremely. I find myself to be a more confident, outgoing, and expressive person. In part thanks to the people I’ve met this year and inward strides I’ve made to slay the near-constant notions of doubt and self deprecation.

A book I’ve read (thanks again Laura if you ever read this) gave me a lot of insight into tackling the way my mind works. I think for large parts of my life I’ve tried my best to hide away emotions, to have an escape hatch of some sorts. Keep everyone at arm’s length. To never really, really try for something for fear of being mocked, ridiculed, or saddled with the public and broadcasted failure of my attempts at anything.

It made me a pedestrian in my own life.

Have I sorted out all of those feelings? I don’t think so, but I manage them far better than I ever have before. And the daring leaps I’ve taken have netted some interesting returns. Not all of them good, but all of them leading me down the path of being more of the person I aspire to be.

There’s a bittersweet nature to the last revelation, though. A strategy I’ve tried of late is to apply my analytical mind to my emotions; to workshop and source the reasons why I feel the things I’m not a fan of. To use that locked-on sense of curiosity to understand the thoughts I struggle with. To understand them. Maybe even do away with them.

I think my relationship with my emotions has just gotten past the honeymoon phase. What I mean by that is this. A year ago, if something happened that’d upset me I’d be upset. Today, through a similar progression my response was different. I found the progression to be upsetting, but I myself wasn’t quite upset.

Part of me was, but that’s the bittersweet part of this whole journey. I’ve come to realize that even if I completely manage to master my emotions while also being open with them, I’m always going to feel them to some extent.

So if I ever feel a sense of jealousy, anger, resentment, or any other range of emotions I may be able to sort things out. I may be able to understand why I came to feel that way, and be in control of myself to respond in a way I want to; where I’m not ruled by my emotions.

But I’ll still feel them.

They don’t just go away.

They never will, and I can’t allow them to if I’m to connect with myself in the way that I want. I suppose it’s the last truly naive thing I’ve ever thought was that at the end of this journey, once the sunrise came I would just have some kind of off switch to the feelings I don’t want to struggle with. And to an extent, I think I will. But not in the cinematic sense where it’s happily ever after. It’s more arming myself with the tools to continue to be true to myself in spite of those feelings, to shoulder them as I always had but not let them take the wheel.

That fight will never be over.

And it never can be, if I’m to enjoy the positive end of this journey. I’ve run from my feelings, from myself for so long. I’ve tried to hide away my truest thoughts, ambitions, and hopes. The fear of failure and rejection has had such a hold on me that I resolved to just never really trying. At least then, I could enjoy` the hypothetical.

That’s a hollow existence I just cannot accept for myself anymore.

And that’s not a new declaration. It’s one I said to myself back in January. I just have a much more robust and internalized understanding of the idea.

I guess it speaks to the true nature of happiness, at least as I’m beginning to interpret it. It’s not about climbing a valley and staying on a plateau for good. It’s about finding contentment and stability as you navigate the inevitable hills and valleys. To stay grounded when my head could easily be in the cloud, but also not bury myself at the base of the valleys and obstacles.

That’s the bittersweet part. That’s the rub. Is that a depressing realization to make? Is that the actual truth? Or is this some sort of way for me to allow myself to settle? I don’t think it’s depressing. It’s realistic.

Life is going to hit. Nothing’s going to change that. And life presents itself in myriad of forms. But how you let it affect you and how you respond is how you find happiness. There becomes this part of you that is impregnable. It will always be there, no matter what life throws at it; good or bad. And it’s who you are, and the peace you’ve made with and the appreciation for your life.

Growing that bad boy’s the key. I think.

It’s teeny. It’s tiny. But it’s there. Hey, little guy. I’m Albert, and I like to think I’m a pretty neat person. Tell me about yourself.