Here’s the Thing About 2022: Everyone I Know Experienced Significant Change
I imagine I’ll always look back on 2022 as a pivotal year in my life. Core tenets of my personality, work, creativity, and relationships were put — Spanish Inquisition like — to the Question. Despite the solid earth beneath my feet beginning to feel like thin glass above a dark pit full of mean nasty things I can’t see (but I’m pretty sure that was a goose honk and I am not about to fuck with a goose, are you kidding me? Ted Bundy would behold a goose and say: “That goose understands me”), I’m impressed I didn’t have a mental breakdown a month.
I attempted to take a (almost certainly pretentious) picture of me pondering and reflecting, but a certain overgrown speck of mold had other ideas.
Here’s the thing about adulthood: I am a goddamn adult
Up until midway through 2022, I felt like a child faking his way through adulthood. I couldn’t tell you what caused my perceptions to realign, but at the age of twenty nine I can say: “Goddamn. I’ve been waiting for this feeling.”
It’s a subtle transition, a sense of feeling capable, responsible, like I am an autonomous person whose actions matter. All of these things were true before, but now I’m actually feeling it in my bones. Years ago, my therapist helped me list all of the ways I’ve become a “real adult,” but it’s one thing to know and another to believe. I have been waiting a long time to feel this way. It’s Good Stuff.
Speaking of things I have come to believe: I am an attractive, handsome man.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA saying that makes me feel so uncomfortable. We do not have the time to unpack all those feelings here, quick, next heading! Next heading, please!
Here’s the thing about medication: it works sometimes
Oh yeah, totally not a loaded topic, great going, Drew.
I suspect I’ve had depression and anxiety since high school, but I never sought out a diagnosis because I was always more or less functional.
Then, in mid-to-late 2021, I stopped being functional.
So now there’s a proper diagnosis on the books and I’m medicated and doing my best not to feel guilty about it because “well, it’s not that bad… it’s not like I’m suicidal or anything.” No. Stop it. Stop thinking like that. Don’t make me take out my nun ruler and whack you across the knuckles (I assume this is what Catholic school is like).
I’m prone to depressive episodes, sometimes lasting a few hours, sometimes lasting a week. Or weeks. Since going on fluoxetine (generic for Prozac™️), my day-to-day feels mostly unchanged. But the absence of my depressed, anxious doom spirals that would keep me fixated on answering some damn question that was suddenly the most important thing I find The Answer to, and not finding The Answer made me feel worse so I’d double down on stressing about The Answer, is a major source of relief.
Here’s the thing about attention: <insert loud_clap.wav> DO I HAVE IT YET, MOTHERFUCKER?!
On a podcast I listen to, Cortex, they talk about having “Yearly Themes” instead of New Years’ Resolutions. Because resolutions suck and make you feel bad for not hitting an arbitrary goal. A theme is more of a gentle guide for the year. The themes I’ve set for myself in previous years have been stuff like “The Year of Foundation” and “The Year of Fruition.” This year, I’m aiming for something simpler, but hopefully more profound: “The Year of Attention.”
I don’t mean in the sense of “getting attention,” but “paying attention.” The double meaning is nice as I would like to start garnering further attention on myself as a ~cReAtIvE~, but the main focus I hope to be is… well, focus.
Many a folk have gotten on my ass for not being a close listener. I want to do better, not just to please those people, but because I’m tired of missing out on moments that will never happen again due to the extensive chatter cluttering up my brain. Most of it is so frivolous that if someone asks me what I’m thinking about, I’ll immediately go “dunno” like I’m a goldfish that learned to speak.
I’ve always daydreamed and gotten carried off by random thoughts, but I’m 1) doing my best not to view that as a problem to overcome, merely something to be used in moderation like alcohol and 2) going to take more active steps towards paying attention to what’s going on in front of me.
Here’s the thing about creativity: it’s fine to take breaks
I was severely creatively blocked for most of 2022. I know I’m doing that thing my therapist says I should stop doing which is “minimize my accomplishments” (I did complete a first draft of a screenplay), but for the back half of the year it was hard to get myself to do much more than jot down stuff in a journal, some days only a sentence or two.
The big difference between current me and previous me: when I used to hit creative blocks, I would force myself through them and compound stress upon myself. Aside from aiding my self-perception as a Tortured Artist, I don’t think it had that positive of an effect on my writing. Now, I’m actually… taking a break? Resting? Giving myself some space? Time to ponder over what’s important? Surely not! Surely that’s just the fluoxetine (generic for Prozac™️) talking!
I wound up essentially taking off the last couple months from any big projects. If I had done that when I was younger, it would have sent me into a deep existential crisis where I would moan and rend my flesh over whether I was actually a creative person or not, if I should just go back to school and become an academic because I know at least I’d be good at that (no offense meant to career academics), and otherwise get smothered in the self-loathing dunk tank.
Turns out, it’s important to rest. I’ve been strict in enforcing my “rest days” to actually be rest days. I will take time away from projects and just fuck around and I will not feel bad about it.
I do sometimes feel bad about it. Not as much as I used to. Ambition is good and all, but burnout sucks so bad. I think I in particular am just not wired to burn the candle at both ends for more than like a week max before becoming A Very Unpleasant Person to Be Around. “Hustle culture” can tongue my prostate.
Although, I may have gotten more into Elden Ring and the Dark Souls games this year than was probably good for me.
Here’s the thing about jobs: leaving yourself open to unconsidered possibilities is Good Stuff
At the beginning of 2022, I left a job that caused me immense stress. Being a personal assistant and having a deteriorating relationship with your client who you can tell is headed for troubles on the horizon is not Good Stuff for someone who gets anxious easily.
From there, I wasn’t sure where to go next. I’d taken a course in technical writing the year before and thought that would be a good field for me to jump into, only to very quickly remember that every goddamn “entry level” position requires four years of experience. So that wasn’t going great.
But certain opportunities reared their heads and instead of doing what I often do (stubbornly stick to the plan), I paused for a moment and considered.
So, I’ve been a theatre technician at a performing arts center for the back half of 2022 and it’s Good Stuff — although it has made the fact I’m turning into my dad far too apparent for my liking. Somehow, twigman Drew has accidented his way into a profession full of manual labor, but it is by far the most enjoyable and rewarding job I’ve had thus far.
Here’s the other thing about about creativity: I really really really really really really hate “content”
I don’t know if you’ve noticed (I sure have), but I haven’t been writing many essays on this here website. Partly because I was doing my best to work on a single project at a time, partly because I didn’t want to churn things out for the sake of churning things out anymore.
I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about the Infinite Content Machine and the rise of AI art and have come to the conclusion that life is too short to force myself to stick to a rigid production schedule so I can just “keep putting stuff out there.” Life is too short to write crap I don’t care about. I care about this essay. That’s why I’m doing this. If I didn’t care, I’d not, it’s just that simple.
Maybe it’s just me being a hippy, but I see the constant grind of online creators, the pure-product drek puked endlessly onto streaming services, and I just go… “no thanks, not for me.” A lot of creatives don’t have that luxury, but as someone who doesn’t have to worry (yet) about making a living off my creativity, I do have the space to breathe, reconsider, and focus on what actually interests me. You know, make something that’s not merely fit for consumption.
Which is not to say I want to sneer down at popular entertainment (Shakespeare was that back in his day and I do have affection for pulp writers), it’s just that there’s so much popular entertainment out there that is so cynically made and its clear no one working on the project actually cares about it, so why should I give it my limited attention?
I want to reiterate that this isn’t about me being precious — calling something “done enough” is very important. I would rather start submitting a play that’s still in its awkward teen Hot Topic phase to theatres than let it sit on my hard drive for another decade. I also still believe it’s important to just sit down and create everyday and not wait for inspiration, but if I’m coming up empty a lot I should pay attention to that.
Man, I have got to scrap something together for Hollywood Fringe this year.
Here’s the thing about relationships: they come and go, recur and loop in fascinating ways… like a scarf knit by someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing, but is very enthusiastic
In 2022, relationships changed, old friends resurfaced, old acquaintances became friends, some people faded away, and…
Okay, I can’t do a section on relationships and not bring up Jinny and I’s break-up. I don’t want to dwell on it much here, so here’s a pithy summary: It was a lovely eight years, I don’t regret it, we never stopped being amazing friends, but we realized we were no longer good as a romantic couple.
Finding myself as a single man has been fruitful. I still have a lot of anxiety around dating (thank you, high school), but it has been satisfying to understand, no, I’m not the boy I was in high school. I am a twenty nine year old adult man goddammit, and a handsome one at that!
Oooooooooooooo there’s that uncomfortable feeling again, nope we are not going to dig any deeper, not today, nope nope nope, talk about something else for the love of god — DATING APPS ARE WEIRD — yes, there we go, no one suspects a thing, super relatable, you’re doing great, bud.
I made a point of reconnecting with folks in 2022, something I’m still doing. Being a natural a hermit, a certain [REDACTED] that happened a couple years back only exacerbated my hermetic tendencies. I lost touch with a lot of people during the [REDACTED], but it’s not like I was particularly great at keeping in touch before. When I went back to Seattle to visit my folks, I reached out to several people I hadn’t talked to in ages. I’m extremely glad I did. Seeing how the years have treated people, the growth we’ve all experienced as well as everyone being the exact same lovable freak I remember them as — it’s Good Stuff.
Here’s the thing about self-loathing: it’s fucking boring
For years, I made love to my self-loathing, let it seep into every pore until I could see my slime-covered face in the mirror and go: “That’s right. That’s correct. That’s me.” Self-loathing was a comfort which I kept nearby and squeezed like a security blanket. Self-loathing was easy, natural. It was always just right there.
But here’s the thing about self-loathing: it’s fucking boring.
It’s boring to other people, first off. Seeing someone self-deprecate and bitch and moan about their flaws all the time — even in a joking way — gets tiring fast. We get it. You hate yourself. Let’s move on to something more interesting.
Self-loathing is narcissism. An inverse narcissism, but a narcissism nonetheless. To see someone be so minutely self-involved enough to have cataloged all their faults in an archive the size of that now-abandoned Olympic stadium in Rio is tedious. Why won’t you listen to a word we’re saying? Why do you have to bring everything back to how much you suck? It’s a self-perpetuating cycle: I hate me, I tell people I hate me, they begin to actually hate me.
But more than that, my own self-loathing became boring to me.
It felt like I’d finally exhausted all the ways I can think of to torture myself. “Oh, you have rusty rail spikes to shove into my nipples again? Hm, how droll. Oh, you brought the the anvil along with you, I see. I suppose you’ll chain it to my testicles and stretch them out until I beg for mercy? Ho hum.”
My self-loathing ceased to be a source of fascination for me. I’ve trodden over this ground so much I’ve forgotten there used to be grass there.
(I must also acknowledge the role of fluoxetine (generic for Prozac™️))
In 2023, I’m simply looking to stay open to possibilities and pay attention. I realize how lucky I am to say that this past year of contending with change was actually pretty good, all considered.
Here’s the thing about 2023: how lucky am I to say all this as climate change continues to create refugees, fascists continue to be more emboldened, Ukrainians continue to fend off Russians, COVID continues to run rampant because wearing a mask is a “personal choice,” poverty rates continue to rise, strikes continue to be crushed in new and exciting ways, the systems we live under continue to atrophy and anyone who has actual power to change the system likes it fine just the way it is, thank you very much.
Hope your 2022 wasn’t the worst. Hope your 2023 is great, y’all.