Power

     Never underestimate the power of fear.  Fear will keep you in relationships in which you don’t belong.  Fear will keep you at jobs you hate.  It will make you push the good people away.  It will tell you those people were too good for you but if they really cared they would fight to come back no matter what you did.

     It will keep you up all night mindlessly scrolling twit/face/insta/space.  If you do sleep, fear will wake you up at 5:00 in the morning with a lump in your chest worried about something that is out of your control.  Fear can also keep you in bed until noon because you feel like the world is too much, wants too much, and you aren’t good enough to get it back on track.

     When this level of fear comes knocking - not the polite ‘are you home’ kind of knocking but ‘the pirate with a wooden leg, it’s time to walk the plank’ kind of knocking - there are three things I force myself to do:

1. Get out of bed
2. Take a shower
3. Eat breakfast (this might just mean having a coffee)

     These three actions chip away at the polarizing, self-sabotaging, thoughts that can derail the rest of the day.  Each little accomplishment is a win.  Each win is a step forward.  Each step forward is a move away from where you were towards something else, hopefully a better direction.

     I looked at Derich.  

     “It’s fear, man,” I started.  “Fear will make you write the song you think they want to hear.  It will make you take the photos you think they want to see and it will make you write the stories you think they want to read, BUT it won’t make people listen to, look at, or read what you’ve created.

     “I tried to do things other people wanted and it was never enough.  There was always something missing.  When you are not doing things with your own best interests in mind you are doing yourself a disservice.  If you are not the author of your own story you are a bit player in someone else’s.”

     I looked at Derich and this time I tried, for the first time, to share my soul.

     “Bullshit.  You know what?  I’m happy you have an office gig again,” he said, dismissively wiping his chin with a napkin.  “That music thing?  The acting thing?  That writing thing?  Those are all kid dreams.  You’ve got a mortgage, a car payment, and credit cards.  We aren’t getting any younger...or thinner.”

     He was firing at close range with both barrels.  The words weren’t fatal but they were solid body blows.  The burger and the beer had lost their flavor and I had lost my appetite.

     This wasn’t a tough love tactic.  This was pain projection.  There was something ugly going on but I just didn’t care enough to dig deeper.  I felt my face wrinkle up as I reached for my wallet.  It was my turn to throw a $20 bill on the bar and head for the door.

     “I gotta go.”  I heard myself mumble.

     “Where?”  He asked as though there was nowhere I had to be and no reason for me to be there.

     Just then my phone rang.

     “Oh, hey, look at that.  It looks like somebody gives a fuck,” I said backing out the door.

     It was Marrianne’s home number.  Finally!!

     “Hey, buddy!  What’s up?!?  I’ve been trying to catch you for the passed month!”

     “What’s been so interesting this passed month?”  Kyle’s voice was flat and cold.  “Seriously?  Why do you keep calling my wife?”

     It was 5:00 in the afternoon and suddenly I had a lump in my chest because the world felt like it was spinning out of control and I wasn’t good enough to get it back on track.

Writer

     “Just because you write doesn’t mean you’re a writer,” Derich said after biting into his burger.  “I think.  I mean you write but has anybody paid you?”

     This was the first time in years I was relying on myself for money on a large scale.  Up until this point I had jobs with a decent salary and decent benefits.  The problem with those jobs is that they wanted you to put your head down, keep your mouth shut, do what you’re told, and don’t rock the boat.

     I hate boats and I’m really not good at keeping my mouth shut.  This is all was compounded by the overwhelming seasonal want to crawl away to a warm spot somewhere on this beautiful blue globe and wait out the winter.

    The burgers were delicious.  The best thing about them is that they were only $12.  We had found a hole in the wall burger place that had a Sunday special.

    You got a grass fed burger, tomato, lettuce, red onion, and cheese with hand cut fries, and a super stout (12% or above) for $12.  Bacon was an extra dollar.        

     No pictures for the Dinner at a Distance crew.  I did shoot V a message.  She had to check out this place when she got back from her management orientation, provided they hadn’t closed by then.  Nothing this good lasts that long.

     I rolled my eyes.  Today’s only saving grace was the tasty burger.

     “Man, let’s just enjoy the burgers.”

     “You know every time I ask you about things going on with you you just shut down.”

     The hard truth was no one was paying me to write or take pictures or play music.  Those days were in the past.  I was once again a guy working in an office and it was killing me.  This time I was working for a company as an independent contractor.  There was no salary, no benefits unless I paid for them myself.  Every dollar I got was a dollar I had to hustle for.  I’m not good at the hustle when it’s not what I want.

     As wonderful as it is to be a creative it’s also nice to eat and pay bills.  More power to you if you are able to be creative, do what you love, and pay bills.

     There was always the hope that there would be a magic bullet.  I don’t need to be rich but it would be nice to create something that brought in enough recurring income for me to relax a bit.

     We had a few ideas when we were younger.  One idea was to build a band.  We would get rich writing songs and gigging around the world.  That didn’t happen.

     Another idea was to write a book.  Everyone who wrote books was rich, right?  Not so much.

     The next idea was to be an movie or tv actor.  The idea after that was to be a photographer.  The next idea was to be a film or video editor.  The last idea was to be a YouTuber. 

     All of these ideas had one core problem, there was no joy.  The main goal was the money.  When I was chasing a dollar, the activities I engaged in to make that dollar brought me no joy.  Sometimes the quality of the work would suffer because I was only focused on the money. 

     “What’s up, man?” I asked.  “You’ve been in a shit mood for a few weeks.”

     “What the...” he started expecting the guy who would just quietly look in the mirror like I had done so many times before.

     “I get it.  You aren’t where you want to be, either.  I am actively trying to figure this shit out because for the first time the clock is ticking and I feel like I’m actually running out of time.”

     “God Damn it!” He said throwing down his napkin.  “When are you going to stop talking and start doing?”

     “I,” I stammered.

     “You yourself have said it, ‘if you really want to do something then do SOMETHING’.  If you don’t want to work in an office don’t work in an office.  If nobody cares about what you write then write about what people care about!

     “If nobody likes the music you like then write the music they like.  Take the photos they like.  Shoot the video they like.  Do all the things they like then slowly introduce what you like.”

     “You got lucky in the beginning.  You came out of nowhere and it seemed like you were ahead of the pack.  Well, the pack has passed.  Sitting and bitching about the fact that no one is sitting and bitching with you will get you nowhere.”

     I felt the release.  Suddenly the focus was clear and I held my head a little higher.  I knew what it was.  Fear.

     It’s amazing how clear things become once you see how cloudy they’ve been.  I was afraid.  This is how those office jobs keep me coming back.  I was so afraid of my own shadow I couldn’t get out of my own way.

     I had been floating on an air of delusion.  Delusion can be good but nothing this good last forever.

Mind Full

     The bar was unusually full.  I always try to avoid the bar when it is this full.  This was different.  Tonight felt strange.  I felt compelled to be there.  It had been a while.  The bottles behind the bar looked like they had been rearranged.  The mirror was frosted.  My favorite bartender wasn’t working.

     I slowly looked around to see who was out tonight.  Initially it was a sea of blank faces but as the fog faded everything started falling into place.  I saw Stotler, Paris, and Caitlin each sitting alone at small tables in the corners of the dining area.  The kid was there running back and forth between the parking lot and the kitchen.

     Kiki was standing in line waiting for the bathroom.  V was laughing with a friend whose face I couldn’t quite make out.  Terry was with her little one looking out the window while her husband parked the car.    

     D was settling up her check.  She had quietly paid everyone’s bar tab and was slipping out the side door before anyone knew what happened.  Tony and Amber were talking in a corner near a waterfall.  Their conversation was still light and airy.  Tessa waved from the next booth.  There were two drinks on her table.  Was one for me?

     I looked back to the mirror but it was still frosted.  I looked to the left and saw Linda and the current love of her life finally exchanging keys to the new apartment.  I looked to the right and saw Tony’s ex-wife Karen talking to Derich’s current wife Karen.  They were drinking what looked like cosmos and laughing with abandon.

     I realized I could see almost everyone but myself.  As I turned to do a final scan of the bar I saw her.  She still had a statuesque Victorian quality.   Her curls were pulled back into a rushed bun.  Her baby blues were sad with truth.

     “Marrianne!”  I almost fell off my stool.  “How are you?  I’ve been trying to...”

     “You poor broken man you,” she interrupted.  She touched my bearded cheek.  “It’s not hibernation, yet.  What are you doing here?  What’s this thing on your face?”

     I looked deep into her eyes and saw the reflection I had been longing to see in the mirror.

     “I...I,” hot tears started to well in my eyes.  “I got distracted,” I whispered.

     “It’s time to go,” I heard my father’s voice cut through the crowd.  Just as I saw his face clearly, the alarm went off waking me from the dream.

     “How the hell does this keep happening?”  I asked myself as I checked my phone.  I had missed another call from Marrianne.  It was the fourth miss this  month and the second miss this week.  No voicemail just a missed call.

     “Hey, kid.  I just missed you,” I started, happy that the voicemail finally was taking messages.  “What’s going on?  It’s been a while.  Call me.”  

Everything still felt strange.  My mind was unusually full.  I always try to avoid things when my mind is this full.