- Notes
Selfie before I started the first day of my new (and current) job. This was a whole new outfit I bought and thought I looked pretty good! š
Selfie before I started the first day of my new (and current) job. This was a whole new outfit I bought and thought I looked pretty good! š
Writing found me when I was at my darkest. As a teenager, I suffered from dark thoughts and violent outbursts. I would punch walls and scream into pillows, and I would listen to music that intentionally plunged the hole in my chest deeper into the abyss. For a long time the abyss was my home, and part of me fears that Iām still living in it. When I was sixteen, I noticed that this darkness ebbed when I expressed myself in words. I wrote stories about men who had things under control, who epitomized the type of person I wanted to be but didnāt know how to become. My 11th grade English teacher told me that she enjoyed reading my stories very much, and for the first time in my life I felt like someone cared not only about who I was but about what I created.
Iāve been feeling directionless lately, and the question of my own mortality has been front of mind in a way it hasnāt been since I was sixteen, and I wonder what, if any, meaning this has to me and my life. For a long time Iāve felt like the best of my art has needed and depended on anger and depression, even though I know without a shred of doubt that this way of creating art would never and can never be sustainable. The last novel I worked on was about a man who watched his friend lose everything, and to write it, I needed to be in a dark place, but this darkness was all-consuming, and without a break, I feared I would lose whatever battle it was that kept me alive. So I took breaks until I eventually stopped writing that story. Paradoxically, whenever I stopped writing, I would be consumed by feelings of anger and depression anyway that writing was the only salve to those emotions.
Photography has saved my life, and Iām grateful for everything it has given me, but I fear it isnāt enough. I can feel those ghosts lurking in my periphery, and without some form of release, I fear I wonāt be strong enough to fight them off anymore. I fear of falling deeper and deeper into the abyss and of never seeing the light again. I need strength, and the only thing I know for sure that gives it to me is my art. Iām a writer and a photographer, and I like to draw and play the guitar, and these art forms have made my life worth living. So far, they have kept those ghosts away, but life seems to be a constant battle between these angels and demons, and sometimes I feel like Iām winning and other times I feel like Iām losing. I donāt feel like losing yet, so I wonāt.
One thing that has been missing in my life has been my fiction. I wasnāt sure if I wanted to be a writer anymore, but those doubts are now gone. I went to school to write movies, but it took me a few years after I graduated to realize what I really wanted to do was write books. Iāve been writing books for ten years, and I feel like Iām finally ready to accept this role in my life.
I hope Iām not too late to dig myself out of the abyss. Hereās to a new mountain to climb.
Through rain or snow, I regularly see this man standing outside our local Walmart holding a sign that simply says, āGod Bless.ā He doesnāt ask for or accept any money; he simply wants you to know that someone cares.
How to Be Idle: A Loaferās Manifesto was a frustrating book to read. Not because it wasnāt goodāit was very goodābut because, like How to Do Nothing and The Wander Society, and even Walden and Thoreauās Journal, it shows me a world I wish I could be a part of but canāt quite attain. Like many, I need a job to earn money; I need money to pay off my debts and my bills; I need to pay these off so I canā¦ live? Like I wrote about last month, one of my big goals this year is to pay off my debt. Once I do, Iāll have an extra $1,000 or so a month that doesnāt have a job in my budget. I hate that this extra money makes me happy, but it does. I wish I could spend my days listening to the sounds of nature and daydreaming, but Iām not quite there yet. I donāt know if I ever will or if I even want to, but I love reading books that show me that itās a possibility, that maybe just thinking about this escape is enough to get me through the day.
A few Februaryās ago, I participated in the Figuary drawing challenge. Every day I practiced drawing the human figure in my sketchbook, and I had lots of fun. I love making stuff.
Donāt mess with the queen.
I live on the Flathead Indian Reservation, so I was giddy with excitement when the latest episode of Sidedoor featured Tailyr Irvine, a photographer from the reservation whose project, Reservation Mathematics, features some old friends of mine. Highly recommended.
September 2017. Fires are sometimes located deep inside the forests and the mountain roads that lead to them are rocky and rough. I drove a Ford F-250 with five other firefighters when I blew this tire and didnāt know it. It was my first flat tire and a good memory.
I love HIIT workouts. I love the fast-pace and the buckets of sweat. In school, I ran the 100, 200, and 400-yard dash. I wasnāt the fastest and I didnāt break any records, but I loved it all nonetheless.
Over the weekend I had some weird dreams. Checked the Health app and saw this:
My resting has been in the mid-40s for years, but Iāve never seen it go down to 34 bpm. Thatās crazy! Okay, time for some yoga.
I decided to fully test out Apple Fitness+ this week. On Monday and Tuesday, I did two 30-minute HIIT workouts and felt great after each one, but today Iām sore as hell. I think today will be a good day to try a yoga session before finishing the week with two more HIIT workouts.
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