Love and special things.

(Will) I write the song(s), (will) I write the songs?

Oct 23, 2020

I am not sure why I have decided that writing and performing a song is something that I must do. It was important enough to me that I put it down second on my list of challenges. It is not that I had a burning unrequited desire to write music. I have always improvised melodies and lyrics since I was a small child. But I’ve never sat down and tried to write a song since high school or maybe even junior high. To be honest, I have not even written a poem in more than twenty years, much less a song. And said poem was absolute dreck. Vile. I hope that the recipient of that particular bit of poesy threw it away seconds after reading it. That is the fate it deserved.

Sic semper poetica!

So, why did I stop writing songs? Why can I not remember how? Because my inner critic, vicious gatekeeper that he is, will not let me. Years ago I allowed myself to be convinced that doing things at any level below expert was not worth my time. I also convinced myself that nothing I did was at an expert level. Even things like writing and acting—which I had received awards for—were denigrated in my mind. Around this time I began to really show the effects of untreated bipolar disorder. Soon, I dropped out of college. As mental illness began to grip me ever tighter, I became even more fearful of failure, and my world got very small.

I refused to try anything creative or challenging. I worked jobs where I was miserable. I consumed. I self-medicated. I lamented my lack of creative stimulation, but did nothing about it. Then one day I decided that I had to be an actor again. I might not be an “expert” or anything, but I had to do it because I missed it. And for years I had this creative outlet. I had friends and was part of a theatre. But I wanted to be a writer. My best friend and partner in the theatre was The Writer in our group, and I felt that I would never be able to distinguish myself while I was in that theatre. This was a phantasm created by my own insecurities. My writing had been praised and featured on stage many times, but my own brand of confirmation bias only recognized examples where I and my writing are terrible and worthless.

See, just what I thought.

I moved to Chicago to become a comedy writer. I decided to dip my toe into writing by studying improv first. As often happens when one is exposed to improv, I lost all interest in improv, acting, writing, and creativity in general.

I caught the fuck-its.

My world got small again.

I refused to try anything creative or challenging. I worked jobs where I was miserable. I consumed. I self-medicated. I lamented my lack of creative stimulation and did something about it. I took my bipolar disorder seriously. I took my meds without lapsing and I threw myself into therapy. It did not make me an artist, but it did allow me to start working on myself in a way that let me love myself a little. Then a little more. And this allowed me to love someone else.

I met Jennifer. Jennifer who saw me as an artist long before I did. She saw the actor inside me even though I had not performed in years. Jennifer, the brilliant writer, convinced me that I was a good writer year long before I ever decided to write again. She convinced me that I could do anything I wanted to because she believed in my ability. In spite of myself, I started to believe her. And now, good or ill, I am an artist again.

My inner critic remains a formidable opponent, but I’ve learned a few things about outsmarting him over the years, and I feel more able to do so lately. I am still a mess and plagued by insecurity and anxiety, but I do feel as though I have a voice and something to say. And one of those things that I have to say will be a song written on a MIDI controller or ukulele.

This ukulele.

Ukulele is going well. Less than a week in, I can already play through a song—a feat I have never been able to complete on guitar. It’s fun and not too hard on the hands. I like it so far. MIDI controller shopping continues to be a rewarding hobby. I have looked at so many of them, but I just cannot seem to decide what to get. I started looking about a year ago, by the way. This is a very gentle form of analysis paralysis. No one will be harmed by my inability to choose which MIDI controller to buy.

Maybe this one? Better go read a hundred more reviews.

COVID Update:

My uncle is recovering at home. He is feeling much better apart from having no stamina. He is planning on returning to work for half days soon. Jessica is feeling better as well—apart from her own lack of stamina and the loss of her sense of smell. She is cleared to return to work, but being an ICU nurse takes a lot out of one physically, so how soon she will be returning is anyone’s guess.

Bedbug update:

We continue to unpack our life and things and to Marie Kondo the things we don’t need. Like this ugly af sweater.