Stephen King and Jesus

I’ve been decidedly not feeling well over the past few days, and my body always has this general way of rejecting me that leaves me feeling tired and listless, like I perpetually need a nap, but after a few hours of sleep I bounce back to fine form. I’ve been getting odd headaches lately. Not the “I’ve had too much to drink” kind but of a more nefarious nature where my temple aches and the back of my eyeballs feels like the something that’s been electrocuted a few times. I’m not sure what to make of it yet. Maybe I should go the doctor, but commerce prevents this. I came home after an emotionally draining day of missing my first appointment ever due to oversleeping (a meet n greet with local director Craig Christianson), helping my best friend Kevin move some boxes at his office in Roseville, to an interview with a salesman who made a million dollars and lost it all. He’s starting over now with a new business, and I arrogantly gave him my 2 cents on what I thought he should do and how he should do it. I’m sometimes not sure if I really know what the hell I’m talking about and if I do, why aren’t I rich? There I was though, trying to identify why I was talking to him. The meeting happened at his house and it was a job interview supposedly but I was in charge of the conversation the whole time, which struck me as odd. How does a top dog salesman allow someone else to be in control of the conversation for the better part of an hour? In their own house? He seemed like one of those guys that might have struck it rich and is probably telling the truth but several elements of his story didn’t ring with me. I was certainly more energetic and in sales form than he was, and his business was to start a sales coaching enterprise. He also didn’t seem to know exactly what he wanted to do – another pre-requisite when starting a business. Even if you are wrong – you should know exactly what you intend to do. People don’t tend to give the time of day to the hesitant but even a fool will follow a confident madman. I write this with some trepidation because he may stumble upon this blog and read this, but I am honest if nothing else, and he may well learn something about himself in it’s reading.

After a conciliatory phone call with Craig, I reset my meeting with him and ended up fielding a few more phone calls. I was hopelessly stuck in a part of town that essentially guaranteed that I would sit in traffic for an hour if I drove home so I decided to make the trek to The Fallout ( a transitional and disenfranchised youth ministry in uptown) and see if anyone was around. Getting to The Fallout was going to be much easier than driving home traffic wise and I was hungry. Maybe a trip to The Bad Waitress was in order. As it turns out, only one person was at The Fallout. Eric and I ended up at The Waitress while talking about feeding the homeless and discussing art and Eric’s cheesehead status and other things. I ate a big meal. It was good.

After this, I drove home.

I was still feeling tired and not so hot when I arrived and I decided to go to bed. It was about 7:30pm and it’s probably the earliest I’ve gone to bed in years. I checked my email and went to sleep. I awoke on the hour for a couple of hours, having some bizarre dreams I might add although I don’t remember them now. I have been having really weird dreams lately. Dreams with obvious meaning and emotion in them, although I am not sure about the imagery from which they come, and maybe I don’t want to know. Mostly stuff that makes me think of scary books. I finally was really awake again around 10:30 and got up to swallow a couple of ibuprofen, which always helps with my weird assed headaches. I also decided to start reading again. I used to be somewhat of a bookhound, although not the nebbish geeky type that sits around and does nothing but read books and avoids girls. When smart girls sit around and read books, it’s intelligent and (dare I say it?) hot. (Anna fits into this category for sure) When boys do it, there is a spark of alienation and loneliness there that permeates their soul and they become afraid of human interaction, often opting for the imaginary world of comic books and video games. Sometimes the imaginary becomes real when trenchcoats and sawed off shotguns come into play. That’s the dangerous side of the imaginary. Nevertheless, I used to read a lot, and I don’t anymore. Whatever was left of that blindly trusting child who read a lot and dreamed even more has been reduced to something else these days, and that’s the subject of this article.

I have just decided to change my life, and I owe it all to Stephen King and Jesus. Let me explain.

I feel like I am trapped in myself these days, like my creative spirit has been locked in a cage and what supposed to become of me has been wasted by laziness, bad decision making and avarice although the latter has been dealt with to a large degree and I think is under control. The laziness and bad decision making are next on the list. What happened was this: I picked up a Stephen King book called On Writing. I also have the first of Stephen’s Dark Tower series on standby. In the midst, I visited the restroom and caught an honest glimpse of myself in the mirror. I am an overweight, average looking guy with no college degree and no financial or romantic prospects. I have lived in my head for so long I simply don’t know how else to function, although I am working on that and have been for some time. There is some genius in me, I don’t think that is disputed by either myself or many who know me. Certainly, the gift itself is present and I’m working towards seeing it produce something. However, I have allowed myself to get in the way, me, the id perhaps. I’m not sure how to put it, but I saw truth in the mirror tonight. I also read some startling things in Stephen’s book, which is half autobiography and half school lesson on writing. First you must understand who the writer is to understand how the writer works. In Stephen telling his story I discovered some things about myself. Regardless of what troubles he was going through, he recognized some very key and important things about his art and life. I have tremendous respect for him, although I think he misses the point on God. Twixt the telling of the tale though, with it’s gnarled branches and quicksand detours, my life has been a whirlwind of emotional abstinence and fearful regret for probably 15 years. Sometimes it takes a wake up call. Sometimes that wake up call is a gunshot, and sometimes it’s a whisper in the wind. Stephen makes a statement in his book. It goes

Life isn’t a support system for art. It’s the other way around.

I hadn’t considered the fact that instead of actually living, I was avoiding the idea of living, and occasionally in that avoidance having some brilliant experiences. I am blessed to be sure, and I recognize this. I have a fairly charmed life in many ways. I have parents that love me and want me around. I have scads of really good, true friends spread all across the country. People who really like me and care about me. I am a Christian, and enjoy the peace that Christ alone provides, unexplainable as it is. I’ve been gifted with a lot of artistic and business abilities. It’s really amazing to me sometimes that I haven’t made a million dollars yet, and that is not me being arrogant that is me saying “shit – there are people that don’t have 1/10th of what I’ve got going on in my head and they got rich! Why not me?” In reality though, the reality in the mirror, I finally saw that I have been chasing it from the wrong angle. I haven’t been living my art. I’ve been hardly living, really. I am so low impact that it hardly matters if I am here or gone. I have also been living selfishly. Part of true success is redefining what you consider meaningful. I saw The Shawshank Redemption again recently with all of it’s harsh language – it’s G-damns and Fucks, and Cunts and things like that. It’s prison gang rape imagery and jail house woes. But in the middle of it's courseness you hardly notice because it’s a brilliant, uplifting, truly inspirational film and any spiritually inclined person can see that. Like Andy Dufrene learned, the way to true freedom is often paved with 500 yards of shit-pipe in a rainstorm and a lot of patience and hard work. I have the patience, but do I have the hard work? If I did, I wouldn’t be overweight. I have started exercising regularly a hundred times and I always quit. Why? Laziness. I determine to participate in ministry more and do something for others and don’t. Laziness. Job hunting is hell but you can’t do it from a desk. Laziness. You gotta get out there and let the chips fall where they may. Finding a wife may require some serious soul searching and rejection, but I am 35 years old. I need to grow up.

Now part of this has been out of my control, and that much is true, but the parts I can control have everything to do with my circumstances. Maybe it’ll take a minute, but I can still turn this car around. I want to do the things I always felt were in me. The songs are important to me, and they deserve to live on their own. I have a talent for writing I’ve never pursued. There are films to make, and homeless people to feed. I can do it if I stop coasting and start working. What's most interesting is that in the midst of this, I recognize my utter lack of true love as taught by Jesus, the original dreamer. He didn't just create, he breathed.

Quarter life crisis? No. As I’ve already explained. 35 years is mid life. But I won’t be going to buy any lambos and dating any 16 years olds. Maybe 20, but that’s another story. ;o)