In May, I finally get to fight on stage in a major production at the Skylight. It’s been a long time since I have been allowed to use these skills as an actor, rather than a teacher or fight director. I hope I can impress. My skills are not flashy as a fighter, but I have honed them to be effective storytelling devices. I wonder frequently whether that matters in a world increasingly interested in the superhuman.

To that end, I am auditioning tonight for Cyrano de Bergerac. Of the people in the city at this level, I feel uniquely suited to the task, but I can only imagine that they have someone else in mind. I don’t thin you start attempting Cyrano without a lead in mind. Still, my wife has been kind in her talk of pride in me for simply making the attempt. Following the dream and whatnot. That great confidence I once had in myself would certainly come in handy here, but I have difficulty recapturing it. I audition well with cold readings, though, so I guess we’ll see whether I have enough talent to overcome my typecasting.

Most of my day consists of solving problems for others and of attempting to carve out time “for myself.” In reality, I stave off depression with a strict schedule of exercise, meditation, journaling, and chores. At least — I tell myself — I complete tasks. At least I contribute that much.

I fall off the wagon quickly when I’m given the advice to follow my bliss. I don’t actually want to be a fat character actor, but that seems to be where my bliss wants to lead me. I think the SSRI I have been given to ease my depression has led to a decrease in discipline. After all, if the few things that induce seratonin production in my body are sugary, fatty foods and video games, why wouldn’t my bliss be saying “Do this ALL the time, even if it kills you, and it definitely will.”

So, I have been. I also work on my art as often as possible. I try to complete at least five things a day on my task list, and all of my daily “quests”: meditate, exercise, journal, chores. That leaves very little time in the day. They say everyone has exactly the same amount of time in a day, but not everyone is called on to perform for 90% of it. If I were working only on my own projects, that would be different. The most recent recipient of that phrase I hear is Lin-Manuel Miranda, but when he wrote Hamilton, he had already created a very successful musical with In the Heights, so odds are, his hustling had slowed down a bit, whether he will admit that or not.

My hustling is at a peak right now, working to get name recognition across the country for my new CT status, and cementing in the theaters here in Milwaukee their need for my services. I’m teaching a lot, directing some, acting some, and sound designing and set designing and building. I’m also running the game of trying to keep my coding and poster design skills up so that I could take a real person’s job soon and clamp down on student loans and other outstanding debts.

Take time for yourself. MAKE time for yourself. This is that. I unwind with video games and exercise when I can, but honestly, my bliss needs to reveal itself in different ways. I eschew social situations too often because my brain bucks at the need everyone seems to cling to where we never talk about anything important. Bitch sessions do little for me, and reminiscing makes me fear whether my past will always be the best part of me. How sad that would be.

I take no solace in ranking myself as a good person. Call it ambition, or the heavy hand of American societal pressure to succeed as an individual, but I need more than the comfort of “good guy” status. I will have my life stand for more than a brief moment of silence. My eulogy need never be written, as my work will be worth more than anyone’s fond memories. Immortality lies there. Jim Henson, Fred Rogers, these sort of kindnesses can live indefinitely, in words or pictures. One can be grand and still be human. Don’t tell me they were not ambitious or idealistic. And they would be the first to tell me they were only men, and that I could stand beside them so long as I stand for what’s right.

My cousin Matthew is making a video for my grandmother for Christmas. The concept is that we each spend 30 seconds or so talking about what Christmas means to us. It’s our first year without Grandpa, but I don’t know how many of us want or need a reminder of that. Still, I won’t deny the kindness of the thought for Grandma.

Lately, I have tried to count my allies, people who support me in times of need. After all, I couldn’t find thirty seconds to record something for Matthew’s video, and my grandmother remains the most influential person in my life. I vacillated each time I began, tied up in my own misgivings and need to create art instead of sentiment. That attitude serves no one here, but I let it win.

So, who for me, would spend that thirty seconds? Probably more people than I could count, because I hold too low opinion of the people whom I call friend. Since I can’t forgive my own behavior, I assume they can’t. Many learning videos have popped up around me detailing impostor syndrome and the detrimental effects of social media. I have tried to maintain an awareness of them. I continue to drive myself to exercise and meditate.

I could be bounded in a nutshell, and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams. – Hamlet, II.ii

All of my dreams involve my trying to do the best for everyone and finding everyone abandoning me. Leadership comes easily to me, and I enjoy it to some extent, but to have people question me when they simply want attention, I … well, in the dream, I flip tables. I tear my certification in front of them. I know they want me to compete. They want to show me how weak I am because I look out for them and will not fight. If they only knew the violence that I keep inside, the way I want to live differently than what my baser nature would dictate.

Do I have anyone’s respect? Have I earned it? They say you only need to please yourself, since you can never truly please others, but that way Trumpness lies. Balance? Sure, but internal balance cannot thrive in a world where man is in every way a social creature. Banish those from you who do not enhance you; but, how then to maintain empathy and to keep yourself from one-sided argument.

Were I born in a different time, a time of men like Washington, or Da Vinci, or Charlemagne, would I have made myself a tyrant? Did kindness become a rationalizing word for cowardice?

I would be a Viking, and shout “Fear profit a man nothing!” into the raging storms, but the world convinces me even that lacks honor. How can I find joy when all that I do is under scrutiny, from my wife, from the world, from myself? Embracing punk rebellion is childish, succumbing to authority, moreso. Then what?

I know it sounds absurd… please tell me who I am.

I think they should take away my geek card. I don’t give a shit about Hamilton or the new Star Wars except for their cultural significance (Oh my God! HowEVER did they make hip-hop relevant and accessible?). I don’t care about the new Fallout game or the new anything game for that matter. Even the games that made me rock hard in the past (Mass Effect, Dragon Age, etc.) have done almost nothing for me in the last few iterations, or by the “leaking” of information and footage from them.

I don’t care about Trump or Sanders or Cruz or Clinton any more. I’m too tired. Trump is a distraction, Hillary is too egotistical to get in line behind the man who would be best for the country, and feminists don’t always see that what’s best is what’s best and maybe now is not the time for that particular fight. He’d be the first Jew, that’s real change. But I don’t argue.

I’m supposed to be writing three things a day that i’m grateful for, but today, I’m only grateful that I don’t like guns and thus don’t have one, because tonight I would have ended my life. Possibly. I’m too much of a coward, in all likelihood. But any other method takes too much effort.

Why? No reason except reason. Any reasonable person who’s attempting to remove ego would see the logic behind it. I’m miserable, I make other people miserable, I contribute nothing to the greater good… death is the obvious solution to an exceedingly simple problem.

Instead, I canceled my plans to go out and shop (it’s the worst weekend to do so, and would only make me furious), somehwat forgave myself for not completing my daily missions on Habitica, ordered a pizza, and will watch an Adam Sandler movie. That’s right. While others are watching Star Wars or the Packer game, I will enjoy something I hate.

What is to become of me? How does a person of intelligence and self-examination survive the pulling back of the veil? I’m not sure I will.

All I see are people who love things, who at least express some excitement about their hobbies. I can barely get myself to leave the house unless there is some motive. Feeling useful, getting paid, or hidden titillation of some kind. I can’t enjoy social situations because of the pressures to be something bigger than myself. I can’t enjoy friends because I can see that they don’t enjoy my presence unless I’m “on.” If I had the larger goals of fame, renown, success… would it be easier to reconcile? At least then I’d have a reason to be “on,” a reason to go on.

Right now, I’m being told to keep doing what feels good. Except not what actually feels good, because eating bad food is making it worse. Not having a job that makes any money is making it worse. Attempting to find connections in a world full of the false is make it feel worse. What is this hedonism that I’m supposed to find? What is fulfillment? I don’t even know what joy means, much less how to find it.

Pizza has arrived. Back to escapism.

I use a little tool / game called Habitica to keep all of my tasks and to encourage me away from my bad habits and towards better ones. I would endorse it highly, and recently I have enlisted my friend DC to play it, as well. If you’re going to have a to-do list, why not gain rewards, even if they are nothing more than bit-wise vapor? The best rewards are ephemeral are they not?

Although most of my friends have succumbed to Star Wars fever, I have dedicated most of my creative headspace to solving problems for small theatre companies recently. It gratifies me to hear of their success, though I still take only small comfort when I hear thanks or accolades. I wonder if my ego drives that; that is, do I consider myself so superior that thanks do not serve the ego, since I already know I am so great? It’s a difficult condition to describe. Learn to be gracious in “thank yous.” I had conquered that hurdle once.

It sounds like I may get to see the new Krampus movie with my best friend. I don’t really look forward to movies, but this one caught my eye, and received an outstanding review from Red Letter Media, the only reviewer of movies with whom I align myself. Seeing these kinds of movies with Mike always cheers me up. We get to be stupid. I think he gets that feeling from most movie-going experiences. Sometimes, I feel critical thinking is a curse on me.

I’m enjoying having a laptop and a bigger machine. Technology is finally to the point where I can hoard my data and still have access to it from anywhere. I wonder sometimes whether it has made my mind clearer, the way that I justify that it does.

Theater RED is now being invited to events like the Milwaukee Generals, and Marquette’s monologue showcase. I haven’t learned how to appreciate them properly, as I’m still suffering from extreme social anxiety — an utterly new concept to me, at least to be aware of that part of myself — but I’m enjoying seeing where other people are in their artistic journeys, both those with more experience than me and those with less. It makes me think that maybe teaching would allow me to learn even more about how not to compare. Comparison is definitely what leads me down dark paths.

I like being thought of as an authority on so many matters. I try to wield that power honorably. I want to learn to be more open to the expression of other “trees,” as it were. I acknowledge the strengths and weaknesses in people as simply different than my own, but I have to start seeing things as less task-oriented.

Sincerely, I have been looking into which people I would think of as being affected by my choices. It’s hard to see past the one obvious choice of my wife, which can sometimes make me feel isolated. It is my own hesitation and aloofness that have left me in this position. I hide when I’m hurt, and I guess the wound has not closed yet. Now I am not the only one picking at it, either.

I’d like to smile again without it feeling wry. I have chosen a path that I think will get me there.

Video games are a bit of a double-edged sword for me. I strongly advocate their presence in the arts, as they can represent the finest in agency-driven art. One’s necessary presence in a well-written, well-made video game inspires a type of catharsis akin to the best in theatre. In a world increasingly isolated, video games are not simple escapism; they transcend the borders we build for ourselves and increase communication of truths. In short, they are a new language.

For me, they do still stand in for better connections with people, however. An example: I saw a marvelous show last night, The Story of My Life, put on by Milwaukee Opera Theatre. If you asked people who have known me for a long time whether I am comfortable in a crowd, they would affirm that in a heartbeat. Since I have spent all of my free time in the theatre, however, I have developed an acute social anxiety. I feel like my reputation and, thus, my self-image are constantly at stake when discussing anything in a public setting. Perhaps that is the lesson we as humans are to learn from the internet, and facebook in particular. I am afraid to post any of my opinions on facebook, not because I fear having someone persuade me to change them, but because I fear people will write me off without attempting any such engagement.

In fact, I have difficulty engaging with anyone on any subject in public now for much the same reason. We are so quick to rush to judgment without learning more about why a person feels the way they do. I am certainly guilty of it, though I’d like to think less so than the average soul.

Video games sometimes make me act like someone I am not, or at least, hope not to be. When I get furious with a game, I always take stock and wonder why. What a silly thing, to find yourself angry at an inanimate object. In making attempts to learn more about myself in those moments, I have learned that I have placed too much value on whether I succeed in the game. This, however, comes from a place of feeling judged externally, as though somehow Marcee — or someone else, but Marcee is most commonly present — will think less of me if I have not mastered killing a pixelated zombie. Or, perhaps, that if I’m going to use my time for something so frivolous that I should at least move toward mastery of that thing.

I have even avoided playing with my friends on games for that same reason: I don’t want to let them down. Combine that fear with a demanding schedule, and my connections with friends dwindle to a dying ember. Certainly, that blame lies with me. I try not to feel shame about it, as that will only allow the simple solution to slip further away.

Enter the video game Dark Souls. It’s a single-player game with multi-player options. The game renowns itself on its punishing difficulty, pushing a player to learn its rules under fire, which makes victory all the sweeter. In my need for a challenge, I have picked it up several times, enchanted by its moody atmosphere and its rich environment of discovery and hypertension. For whatever reason, I accept when this game defeats me, and I don’t hide behind my usual excuse of “fighting the interface instead of playing the game.” I exult in victories and defeats alike, and laugh when something gets the better of me. I actually laugh. I can’t always remember what that feels like, to laugh suddenly at myself. To have a gritty swords-and-sorcery game “waste my time” with having to tread the same ground over and over again until I make a breakthrough, and to laugh rather than piss and moan through it? That’s remarkable for me.

I don’t intend this to be a rave review for a game. That’s not what my journal stands for. I do want to clarify, however, how I have started to understand the little things and not delve — not too deeply, anyway — for meaning in simple joys. Analyzing joy is how to kill it. Shockingly, it took me this long to comprehend that. I still fight it. As the great Darren Nichols says, “The common man enjoys something, but is incapable of understanding the mechanism by which he comes to enjoy it.” (I’m paraphrasing.) Why have I resisted living as a common man? Is it settling to take breaks? Will my life leave a greater mark if I eschew happiness in favor of the dark dominion of depression? Happiness is a choice, they say, and I write that off as trite and … well, stupid, which is precisely the reason it has eluded me.

If I want to create, why not create happiness? Why not inspire myself, and remove myself from an external search for meaning which I know will never be found? Good questions.

Thankful today for my own discipline: I wrote, I meditated, I exercised, I acted in kindness, I did chores, and I played video games. Now, I will try to make it one step further in Dark Souls before I take on a couple of more tasks on my task list.

If you read this, whoever you may be, thanks for reading this.

When I take time off, it means that I get to do only things that make me happy.

So, in this three month hiatus from theatre, I have done the following work, gratefully and happily:

• Sound design for Handle with Care at Boulevard Theatre
• Swing Stage Manager for Handle with Care
• Fight director for My Fair Lady at Skylight Music Theatre
• Fight director for Arrowhead High School’s Julius Caesar
• Sound design for Upon a Midnight Clear, a Liz Shipe show at Soulstice Theatre
• Light and Sound board op for Upon a Midnight Clear, a Liz Shipe show at Soulstice Theatre
• Stage Combat workshops at Shorewood High School
• Poster and production design for A View from Here with Umbrella Group Theatre
• Marketing and Development for Central Illinois Stage Combat Workshop
• Independent skills certification workshop in Quarterstaff for Dueling Arts International
• Certified Teacher for Winter Wonderland Workshop in Chicago
• Actor in Mostly Monsterly for Sunset Playhouse’s touring Bug in a Rug company
• Actor in Love, Ruby Valentine for Sunset Playhouse’s touring Bug in a Rug company
• Director for Bridge to Terbaithia at Racine Theatre Guild
• Co-Producer for Bachelorette at Theater RED

That’s a pretty great list, with much more to come, once I’m officially working again. I still have wrestling matches with impostor syndrome and self-esteem, but it’s good to recognize … well, good.

Yesterday, I took the day off and played Dungeons of Dredmor all day while I meditated. Ironically, I neglected to actually meditate. I ate Taco Bell and ice cream, and binge-watched nearly all of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, which allowed me to try and figure out how I can allow myself to enjoy a day like that. I always feel guilty that I’m not getting other things done. Being married means that I’m always worried about how my “roommate” will react to things I do on my own. Marcee has never been mad about me taking a day off, but it still does not feel private. I don’t want anyone to know when I slack off to that extent, because people can’t know what goes on in my head when I’m doing that.

But why should I care so much even if they did? Why should I feel the need to be thinking big thoughts while I’m goofing off for a day, typically to recover. I’m glad to know my friends think highly of me. I should join them in that feeling. Not about them, but about me. I always feel like my friends are superb people.

I have achieved so much with stage combat, and I hope to be able to make more out of it. Could I fight through the lack of an MFA to teach at a college? It’s difficult, and I am tired. Could I do it, or is it beyond what is possible?

A warm bed. My health. A remodeled basement full of luxury toys. I’ve always felt that giving thanks for these gifts of privilege and happenstance would be too trite to be mentioned. My personal honor values only those achievements I have worked for, and to call myself grateful for the money that other people have given me, rather than the people themselves, makes me feel … ugh, common. I fear I have become irredeemably elitist. Probably true.

Instead of giving up, however, I have committed to showing better gratitude for those things that I should. I have so many people who care about me. It may be a small comfort, but climbing into a warm bed is, in fact, a luxury, as is my health, not to mention all the fun toys I get to have by virtue of my relationship.

In being fair to myself, I was able to provide a fine life for Clare and myself when we were together, and now Marcee is, perhaps karmically, reciprocating. Also, my needs are fairly simple, and I have no dependents, which allows me to capitalize effectively on the typically reasonable salary I could demand as a computer programmer. I think I should like to keep track of whether I could do so as a freelance theater artist. I’m guessing not, since so many of my friends need roommates and second jobs. I’m not certain. It might satisfy my male ego to know.