I joke to people about being depressed, but it’s quite a different thing when I say, in all seriousness, that I suffer from depression.
I still doubt whether or not I even have it, but then again, if that were true, why do I feel better after talking about it?
The next step is a scary one. I need to go on a diet. I use food to cover how I feel. More specifically, I use sugar. And if I give it up, I’m going to feel things a lot more deeply. Life is unbearable without Skittles.
I was informed, today, by somebody who watched my stand-up, that I am more attractive than I give myself credit for on stage. And you know something? This person is slightly correct.
I remember reading Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, in which the main character discusses the nature of “quality.” Some things have a higher quality than other things – and there tends to be a near universal agreement – the thing (person, place, or thing) provokes a feeling of reverence amongst the thing’s supporters. And based on feedback I have gotten from people, and based on the truthful assessment of my life, I am proud to say that I am, as a man, not that bad.
But that’s the problem with not that bad. “Not that bad” could be better.
Maybe there are no problems. Maybe I am creating all of the problems. Maybe, if I didn’t create all of the problems, all of my problems would be solved.
My fear, conversely, is that if I don’t create my problems, other problems will come along that are much worse.
It’s coming time to renew my passport – not because I want to travel, because I remember my mother telling me “It’s always a good idea to be prepared, in case you need to escape.” And that’s how we roll.