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.