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In this month’s scripted episode, I take a dive into the topic of grief. I discuss new insights gained in the past year and look back on some different moments from the past. This was another pretty personal essay, and I thank you in advance for indulging me.

As always, here’s the essay if you’d like to read along:

Grief Re-Visited

By: Jeremy Jordan

Part 1 – Introduction

If you would just bear with me for a moment, I’d like to hit you with a tired cliché. Life is a roller coaster. It’s an old comparison that you’ve heard plenty of times in life, but how accurate! Some things, like this worn out phrase, stick around for good reason. Not so much like some horror franchises, however, that’s for another essay. As you know, what the coaster comparison is trying to say is, life has ups and downs. I’ve had many great highs in life and I’ve had plenty of lows. Moments that tested me and later made me better appreciate future highs. Extremely painful moments that I didn’t think at times would pass. Here’s a list of some of the most painful moments from my past:

Moment #1: The time in elementary school when I fell off my bike while riding on the street and bashed my face into the ground.

I’ve luckily never had the experience of breaking a bone in my life and that kinda shocks me. I could be a bit reckless as a youth. Hell, I could also be a bit reckless as a grown adult, especially when alcohol was involved. Though nothing ever broke, there were certainly various injuries, accidents, and nasty spills. Often times, those things went hand in hand and happened all at once. One of the worst incidents I can recall, was this bike fall. It was an average weekend in the suburbs. My best friend was playing outside, across the street with his brothers in the driveway. I was doing laps around the street in my super cool, Huffy bike. Like many of the kids in an 80’s coming of age film, my friends and I loved riding our bikes around town. I don’t know if I was distracted by the other kids outside or if I just made an error, but as I made my way past my friend’s house and over towards the mailboxes across from our house, I lost balance and slammed into the pavement. Before really realizing what had happened, I looked over to my friend and his brothers, blood streaming down from my shocked face. They suddenly mirrored my shock back as one of the brothers shouted, “Go! Go inside!” I stopped hesitating after that.

The aftermath? One knocked out tooth and some minor scrapes and bruises. Nothing horribly traumatic, but in that moment, lots of tears and pain.

Moment #2: My 1st Kidney Stone

It was sometime around 2012. I was deep into my hellish retail existence, wondering what I was doing with my life. The day started normal enough, however, near the end of my shift that day, I started feeling a pain in the area around my stomach that I’d never felt before. At first, I wrote it off as just something that I ate, or perhaps stress from all the chuckle-heads that I worked for, but as I went into the break room to sit down for a while, the pain started getting worse. I had to make a decision. Try to tough it out at work for the remainder of the day, or get out and figure out what the hell was going on? This was like the one hundred dollar question on Who Wants To Be a Millionaire; the answer was real easy, I was out of there. I had absolutely no intention of passing out on the sales floor; I would’ve preferred any place then there if I had to pass out. By the time I got to my car, the pain was getting unbearable. Lucky for me, there was a clinic across the street. Initially, I did feel like maybe I was being dramatic; should I really be here for this? As I said though, this was a feeling that I had never experienced before. I had to make sure my insides weren’t exploding or something like that. Long story short, I had a kidney stone. I’ve often read that it’s the male equivalent of giving birth. Obviously, I don’t know that feeling, but if it’s anything like the feeling of absolute hell for your insides at all times, no matter the position you are in, as if there’s a bunch of tiny demons or even Satan himself, prodding you repeatedly with tiny pitchforks over and over, then yeah, I’d say that’s pretty accurate.

Moment #3: My 2nd Kidney Stone

Roughly four years after my first stone experience, I had the honor of experiencing another. I was no longer working in retail hell, but there were still some aspects of my life that weren’t so great. The worst? I was a heavy drinker at the time. It was a beautiful summer in Wisconsin, and I was working four day work weeks; plenty of drinking opportunities. Why is that relevant to my second stone story? Well, if you’ve ever had one or read up on them, you’ll know that the best thing you can do to help with the passing process, is stay hydrated. That was hard enough to accomplish with the summer heat and physical activity through out the day. With the addition of alcohol, forget about it! A very tall order.

Much like the first one, I experienced the pain later in the day while at work. The pain was immediate and very familiar. This time, I didn’t really have to question what I was feeling, I was pretty damn sure it was another one of these calcified bastards. The timing was pretty awful. A truck had just arrived with a large shipment and I couldn’t help out. I was in too much damn pain. I was sure that people at first, probably thought I just really wanted to get out of unloading. It didn’t take long before I decided I needed to go and confirm my suspicions via the clinic. After some pain meds administered and a scan, sure enough; another stone. I was sent home and told to just wait until it passed. The first one passed the night of my initial pain, so I thought, no problem.

Days later, still no stone. Huh, that’s weird. I wasn’t feeling anymore pain, so maybe I just missed it. Admittedly, I wasn’t always so great about using the strainer they provided me. Yes, that’s right. You’re supposed to try and piss into a strainer and catch it if you can. What a fun game. I’m sorry, but there was no way I was going to bring that thing to work with me. At this point, you may be wondering what’s going on. You may be saying to yourself, “I didn’t sign up for this. I wanted an essay about examining grief, not a story about some guy refusing to pee into a strainer! You’re gross and you’ve wasted my time.” However, like many of the other times that I’ve veered off, I promise we will get to where we’re supposed to go. I guess I could try and speed up the car a little bit for you though.

Now, where the fuck was I? Oh right, those previously mentioned things. With those in mind, I figured I passed the stone and just didn’t realize somehow, so I went back to business as usual.

My timeline is a little out of wack, but I feel like it was a couple days later at this point and the pain came back. This time, when I went to the clinic, I nearly passed out in the waiting room. Upon evaluation and more pain meds, I was sent back home with different instructions this time. I was not to just wait, instead I was to see a specialist and would eventually come to find out I’d need surgery. I was relieved that I’d be put out for the whole thing, but not so much relieved to find out that a laser would be shooting into a place that I never thought lasers or any other kinds of rays belonged. It was a much better route than some of the alternative methods I heard though. Since that day, I have not had any others. I literally knock on wood as I write this, in hopes that this never happens again. If by some chance it does though, at least I’ll have more material for a future essay.

Moment #4: Break-Ups

No break up specifically, just the general pain of going through one. They’ve all been widely different through out my life, which makes sense considering it was always a different version of me. When I was younger, it was much more difficult to cope, there was a lot of emo music, and I probably said a lot of stupidly regrettable things. As I became more mature and went through this process, it was still painful, but I had more tools in my metaphorical toolbox of coping. There was almost always a common thread, however. That thread was time. The process of healing always takes time. That, and a excellent album by Beck called Sea Change. Seriously, check it out. It’s awesome. To this day, I will still through it on if I’m having a bad day. It’s odd because it’s a pretty sad ride and I’ve heard that you shouldn’t wallow on it while you’re down, but it’s a beautiful album that really seems to help.

These pains are all formative, little scars that I bear as I continue this journey through life, but none of this pain comes even close to that of losing somebody you love and experiencing the heavy grief that comes with it.

I spoke a little bit about this topic in my first essay, Grief, Sobriety, and Hope. I tried to paint a mental picture of what had happened during the biter winter months of 2020, and how major things in my life would never be the same as before. I feel as though there’s a lot more to tell, and new insight gained since. The story really begins back in November of 2018.

Part 2 – 2018

It was a pretty normal evening. I was sitting in the living room with a friend of mine and currently showing off the glory that was, Red Dead Redemption 2. It had just released a month prior, and I was psyched. In between marveling at what these developers had accomplished, we’d chat and share the occasional laugh. It was like we were right back in childhood again, sitting in the basement playroom, really enjoying the moment. Unfortunately though, moments are just that. They can pass quickly and be replaced.

That evening, no matter what we did or how much we tried to stay present, enjoying the company of one another, something else was coming. The tone shifting, moment stealing news arrived in the form of a phone call. I heard my mom answer the phone from the other room and thought nothing of it. Mostly likely a spam call. By this point in the life of our land line phone, spam calls seemed to be about 80% or more of the total calls received. I always rallied to just ditch the line, since we had these things called cell phones, but my folks just didn’t want to let it go. I guess it did bring a certain comfort having the same line for years, but I don’t know if that was even their reason for keeping it. I do know that my mother always liked to do bill paying via the home phone, due to a mistrust in cells and scammers. Also, any calls that had important info were directed to the home line.

I listened for a few seconds and immediately knew that this wasn’t what I thought. This was actually one of those rare important ones. Turned out that one of my Aunts was in the ICU, dealing with a list of heath issues. The news hit hard and was incredibly devastating, but was not completely out of nowhere.

In the months leading up to this call, an Aunt and Uncle of mine, were staying in an assisted living community. They both started to experience struggles around the same time. It was difficult to think about close relatives in this situation. These were the people who were always at big family parties, the people who surprised me with an Xbox when I was a kid, and the people who were always so warm and generous, with the best snack layouts whenever we would come over for a visit. How could this have happened? Where the hell did all the time go?

I’m not going to lie, each visit we’d make during their time in the assisted living community, was pretty uncomfortable for me. The walls and carpets were bland, even with the various attempts to spruce things up via wall art that one might find in a Goodwill. The overall vibes were pretty somber. They often got me into thinking about my own mortality and what awaits me in the future. Would I end up in a place like this eventually? Or perhaps not even a place this nice. Maybe a Fallout -like future in which everything has completely gone to ruin and we are using bottle caps as currency. I know what you’re probably thinking though. An uncomfortable experience for yourself? Imagine how they must’ve felt. I totally get that, but I also can not lie about my feelings. The visits were something that, of course, I’ll never regret.

The ride to the hospital that evening was quiet. We all went together, in the same vehicle. I felt weird about putting any music on, but my mom assured me that it’d be alright. I think it was a welcome distraction for everyone. Upon arriving, all seemed quiet and still. The stars were shining bright, and the night was very mild. It would’ve been real zen had it not been for, you know, the whole reason that brought us there. The walk to her room was long and silent.

When we finally made it in, I was immediately hit with a wave. I barely recognized her. This was my Aunt, but not. I remember thinking to myself in the moment, how shitty it was that people had to go out like this. After all that you put in and possibly gave to the world, this was your grand finale. Perhaps if I had a stronger belief in the after life, I wouldn’t have thought this, but even if I was one hundred percent sure that there was a heaven, doesn’t it still kind of feel like an unfair ending? Of course, the first thing usually instilled in us during grade school or earlier, is that life isn’t fair. That’s kinda the whole deal.

As I look back now though, maybe it wasn’t such an unfair end. Sure, the circumstances weren’t ideal, but she got to be surrounded by people who loved her and seemed to be made as comfortable as possible by the medical professionals. Also, she got to hear some beautiful memories retold and some equally beautiful goodbyes. That is, if she was able to hear them. I remember at one point hearing my mom mention to me that hearing is one of the last things to go. I really hope that was the case. It’s maybe not what one would picture as an ending, but there’s much worse send-offs then the kind words of family. Through out the visit, I was pretty wrecked, but so was everyone else, especially my mom. Knowing this, I tried my best to be strong and supportive. You may not have all the answers at some points in life and that’s okay. You don’t always have to have the answers, but you should always try to do the best you can.

The next day, she was gone. If there’s one positive that can be taken from an ordeal such as this, I’d say that, at least it seems to bring the family together. The day of the funeral, I got to see many relatives from all over. Some of these people, I hadn’t seen in years. It’s a shame that it mostly seems to be under these conditions for a reunion, but better than not at all. Some of my relatives were staying overnight at our house that evening. Much like when I was gaming with my friend less than a week earlier, I thought back to some warm moments from childhood.

Back in the day, when my distant relatives would come for the weekend, it felt like an event. I knew there was always going to be at least one trip to a restaurant, maybe more and it was just fun to have different people around. Young me liked to enter the room where everyone was sitting, and try my best to manically entertain them by either joking around or just saying various nonsense.

Sometime in the early evening, after dinner, we all sat in the living room. It was like the old days, but not. Though it was a very sad occasion, it was nice to sit together. I made sure to spend a lot of my evening with everyone and really take it in. Who knew how many of these get-together we would get?

Late in the evening when most of the guests went to bed, I took a visit to the hot tub. When I need to get in a better head space or reflect on some things, it’s my go-to spot. To me, very few things in life can trump laying back in a hot tub on a clear night and getting lost in the beauty of what’s above.

Upon settling in, I started to think about a lot of things. I felt a little bit of guilt. Did I visit enough? I should’ve called or sent some cards, damn it. I knew that spiraling in regret would probably just make things worse and there was no use beating myself up. Next, I just felt sad. I had experienced other losses before, which of course were sad, but this one seemed to hit me in a different way. I spent a lot of time with this person and she was always so nice to me. Maybe it was that. Or maybe it was just seeing my mom have to go through this while still dealing with an unfortunate mix of other shit.

I’m not a religious person, but I prayed that night in the hot tub. I guess it wasn’t so much of a pray er as it was me silently talking to my Aunt, wishing her well and hoping that she was happy, wherever she was. I don’t know what happens at the end. Some nights I think to myself, there just has to be something more. I’ve seen crazy coincidences in life, and not to be too sappy, but I’ve seen angels on Earth in the form of extremely kind and generous people. Other days though, I can feel a little differently. Maybe this was the ultimate prize the whole time and the whole point was just to be the best person you could be while alive.

Currently, I’m settled on thinking that we better make the most of things here, but not completely ready to say that it’s nothing at the end. I think that if anything, we’re just wonderful balls of energy that get distributed back into the universe again. We spread back out among the stars and some day another person sitting in a hot tub will look up and feel a connection and a comfort during a difficult time. If you believe something else, I totally respect that.

In the following weeks, I experienced a bit of grief in the form of general sadness during certain times of the day. It didn’t take long to pass, and soon it was back to quote, unquote, normal life. I took comfort in the fact that there were lots of great memories to look back on, and I knew she had lived a great life.

Months later, I would decide to quit nicotine. I never really thought about it until now, but this ordeal could have been one of the factors in getting the ball rolling. With all the contemplative moments that I had after my Aunt’s death, a shift was starting. Perhaps the beginnings of it were so subtle that I didn’t realize it right away.

If you read my other essay, you know what happens next. If you haven’t, well, spoilers ahead. I battled through the months and actually kicked my nasty nicotine habit while vastly improving other areas of my life. I was growing stronger and felt really good about the person I was becoming. Often times I felt euphoric, confident, and ready to take on the world. There were lots of great moments that year, but as we know, moments are moments and a storm was coming.

Part 3 – The Storm

It was early February and I found myself back in a familiar looking place. Bland carpets, bland walls with questionable artwork. I found the room that she was in and slowly entered. Fuck. I’m not ready for this.

Weeks prior to this, my mom was starting to have some struggles. She had to deal with a lot for quite a while and like a true warrior, always battled whatever was thrown at her. The difficulties increased rapidly and I knew what was coming. Even if you are the bravest of all the warriors in the village, when your time comes, that’s it.

In the beginning of that winter, I listened to a bunch of different TED Talks about grief. I guess it was my way of thinking that I could better prepare myself, but this wasn’t an exam. There was no amount of homework that was going to help. My other strategy was to drink large amounts of booze. Although I was totally free of nicotine, I hadn’t stopped drinking and it was starting to get a little crazy. It would be a little while longer before I did anything about that though. In the moment, I thought I was still doing alright. I knew that some nights could get out of control, but I gave myself a lot of passes because of what I was going through.

Back in the room, I slowly made my way over to a chair next to the bed and took a seat. There was a stillness, like that which was experienced at the hospital with my Aunt. With two words, I broke the silence. “Hi, Mom”. I didn’t know what else to say. There was tons on my mind and lots that I wanted to say, but I was frozen. I thought for a moment longer until a conversation with my mom about hearing popped into my head. It’s supposedly the last thing to go. Well, alright then. I grabbed my phone, opened up a music app, and preceded to play some Beatles songs. My mom was a big fan of the Beatles and they really grew on me later in life. We enjoyed listening to them together on various car rides. She loved the old fluffy stuff and wasn’t familiar with a lot of the older material. I had a great time introducing her to some stuff that I really enjoyed from them that she had never heard. I always considered those instances to be great bonding moments. I may not have been able to articulate everything that I was feeling right away, but I felt comfort in being able to enjoy some music together, again. Sometimes the right words aren’t there anyway, or even necessary.

There would only be a few more visits before I would receive the dreaded call, not unlike the call that happened that evening in 2018. I was just getting some gas and planning out the rest of my day when it happened. I was completely stunned. I knew it would eventually come, but it didn’t matter. No amount of Ted Talks or reading material, or anything else could have appropriately prepared me for this. The ride over was a bit of a blur. I was pretty scatter brained and frantic. I operated with what seemed like an entirely different part of my brain and was lucky to have made it without any traffic violations or worse.

In the coming days, we went through the routine that families go through when a tragic event such as this takes place. The planning, the closing of various accounts, and the tying of any other loose ends that still needed tying.

Throughout the process, I was always there physically, but mentally, it was a different tale. It’s kinda crazy how much there can be to do after a death. All you want to do is grieve and heal, not deal with the chaos that’s all around. The chaos seems to put the whole process on hold, delaying feelings that must be felt. Chaos sucks. Lucky for us humans, we have the strength inside of us to overcome and weather through any storm, even though it may not always seem like that.

The day of the funeral was when it really felt real. My brain settled on these facts as I sat upright in a cold church pew (what a bizarre word for a seat by the way). Much like the funeral for my Aunt, it was really nice to see some distant relatives again, but that didn’t change the fact that it was still a damn hard day that had no intention of lowering in difficulty level. On the way home from the funeral, I was rear ended and my car got completely totaled. It was hard to describe my feelings in that moment. I was already deeply saddened and in shock, so I guess it was just even more shock piled on with a dash of gratitude that nobody was seriously hurt.

I learned a cruel lesson about life that day: no matter how bad it’s going, there’s always room for more shit that life can throw your way. Don’t think you are in the clear just because one big, awful thing happened. There are no limits to the randomness of life. However, the good news is that while there’s no limit to bad things, this also applies to the good things too.

When I arrived back home via tow truck, I felt completely defeated. I had no plan and no ambition to act, even if I did have one. The only thing I could think to do in that moment was to retreat to my bedroom and just sleep it out. Shut out all the exterior problems of life, drift away, and just not exist for a while. I found no shame in doing so. It wasn’t an act of giving up so much as it was a re-calibration of a system that had been through the ringer. We aren’t always going to know exactly what the next move is and that’s alright. Sometimes it’s okay to just chill out and take a much needed break.

In the coming months, I would feel a wide range of things. Sometimes my grief manifested into just keeping busy and cleaning shit around the house. Other times, it was the more typical emotions that one may feel during this period. At certain milestones throughout the year, I’d receive a pamphlet in the mail from the hospice. It contained stories, tips, and detailed the stages of grief. I was already familiar with them, but a friendly reminder of what was potentially coming, was nice. In all the material I’ve ever read on the topic of grieving, they all mention that the order of the stages can change depending on the person and some may not experience certain stages at all. If I were to really look back, I could probably name an example in my process that could fall into each stage. For these examples, I’ll be using the classic five stage model.

Stage One – Denial: Often described as the feeling of shock and being overwhelmed. For me, it was the initial phone call, then later on, the car crash. I found that this stage didn’t last a whole heck of a long time for me.

Stage Two – Anger: At this very point in my life, I spend a lot of time trying to be a more zen person. I can recall times from the past where I had a pretty short fuse and probably said or did some regrettable things. When I started getting more active and quit nicotine back in 2019, I started getting a better handle on things and I never looked back. However, during this period, between having to deal with the loss, car insurance bullshit, and a few other things, yeah, I could definitely still get pretty angry.

Stage Three – Bargaining: To nobody in particular, for sure there was some bargaining going on. “If only I can just get some more time. I never got to say this thing yet. Let me have this and I’ll be a better person, I promise.” Most of these thoughts happened while staring into space in my hot tub, like that evening after my Aunt’s funeral. Floating, thinking about scenarios, wondering if things could’ve been any different, but ultimately knowing that, no, of course they couldn’t.

Stage Four – Depression: Depression? Hell yeah. I feel as though this one is probably very common for many people going through loss. I found that it struck often during holidays and other major events during the first year. Sometimes it just struck without any triggers that I was aware of. Supportive people, the kind words, and the gifts of flowers helped, but it didn’t always immediately cast out the darkness. Some days I really had to go to war with it and remind myself of a quote a heard from the past: Tough times don’t last, tough people do.

Stage Five – Acceptance: After a while, the stage of acceptance happens. Even though the pain and sadness are still present, I have accepted the reality of the situation. I know that the only thing I can do now is try and best honor the legacy of the woman who did more than could ever be expected for us. I can speak of all the wonderful memories and never stop reminding others and myself about how special she was. One of the Ted Talks that I recall listening to featured a woman who spoke about the term “moving on”. Though many times people meant well, they often told her to move on after dealing with the tragic passing of her husband. She was not a fan of this idea, and did not simply just want to just “move on”. She decided instead, to move forward and continue to tell her story. I found that to be a great way of looking at things. That’s going to be my plan too. I will do my best everyday and share my story, even if only one other person is listening. I will continue this rocky journey, content, knowing that even though it was short and often times really, really sad, it wouldn’t have been in vain.

Part 4 – A Letter To My Mom

When I was deep into my grief and having a hard time, I’d always be sure to try and write a journal entry. It didn’t always make me feel better, but it did help in allowing me to better express what I was going through in the moment. Also, it gave me things to look back and reflect upon. The painful moments are still a part of the journey and worthy of being in a notebook, no matter how biter. Some days, I would write a standard entry, addressing nobody in particular, just giving a brief rundown of the day and my thoughts. A couple times though, I did a little something different. Whether it was just to vary it up a bit, or based on something that I read somewhere that was rattling around in my brain, I wrote a letter to my Mom. I wrote about things I was feeling, things that I really wanted to say, and more. At the end of these writing sessions, I would feel a bit of relief. As you can clearly tell, I’m not a doctor or even sure if this is a normal thing to do, but it left me with a better feeling, and maybe it’s something that could work for you too. Obviously, my journals are for me and I have no intention of putting any of these entries or letters out there for public consumption. However, I think I’ve got one more letter in me, and this one is for everyone to see:

Dear Mom,

Hard to believe that it’s been just over two years now. The world is pretty nuts these days and I really miss your calming, guidance. Sometimes I’ll walk into a certain room and expect you to be there, then suddenly have to remind myself, oh yeah.

It’s a shitty realization, but I know that you aren’t gone, gone. You’re everywhere! When I am cruising down a country road on a beautiful sunny day, listening to the Beatles, there you are. When I overcome a difficult obstacle in life or am able to find the good in a tough situation or person, even when it seems impossible, there you are again.

I’m sad, but I’m also so completely grateful to my very core. It was one hell of a beautiful life that we got to spend together with so many wonder memories. Plus, I know you wouldn’t want me to wallow in it forever. My future is still bright and I know it’s not crazy to think that some of my best days can still be ahead of me.

Also, you’ll be happy to know that I’ve stopped drinking. I know that I probably had you worried sometimes. Admittedly, I had myself rather worried at times too. It wasn’t an easy thing to do, but damn it, I pulled it off. Sorry, I’ll try and work on the swearing a little bit next. I know you weren’t crazy about that. Anyway, I now feel like I can take on anything and I continue to chase every crazy dream from the past. It’s a really nice feeling and I couldn’t have done it without you.

That’s all for now. Thanks again, for everything. You were one of a kind. I’ll continue to try to be the best version of me everyday until we meet again, whether that be back in the wide open space above as wise, beautiful universal energy or in some other way. Rest easy.

Much love,

Jeremy

In this month’s scripted episode, I look back on some things that shaped me while trying to provide some lessons along the way.
Music credit: Karl Casey @ White Bat Audio

To read along:

Media Pod Smash Episode #122:

The Self-Indulgent Birthday Essay (Reflections)

By: Jeremy Jordan

Part 1 – Introduction

Thirty years, soon to be thirty one at the time of this writing. It’s almost hard to believe, though upon really looking back, is it really? I did pack a lot of shit in there so far. Not in a globetrotting, action-adventure, Indiana Jones kinda way, but for the average person, I think I’m doing good. Was any of it wasted? Certainly. You make it this far and it’s impossible not to waste any precious time on this planet. I wouldn’t be able to even lie to you anyhow. All you’d have to do is check my Steam data and see how many hours I’ve poured into games such as Civilization, countless RPGs, and more.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t consider video games a waste of time at all. Some of my best memories in life involve gaming. Now you’re going to think I’m doubling down in order to win back some hardcore gamers that I may have upset, but I’m serious. Like any veg out activity though, once a certain threshold is crossed, you just know you are starting to waste time.

I try not to look back on any of that wasted time with regret though. All that does is waste even more time, trapping you in a wacky loop. I forgive myself and move forward, knowing that it will eventually happen again, and it’ll be alright when it does. Other ways in which I probably wasted time through out my life was with substances, specifically alcohol.

Much like video games, I also have some great associations with booze. There are certain nights that I partied with some close friends of mine that I’m convinced will remain etched in my mind and heart for as long as I continue this journey. Would those memories be just as good without the alcohol? Probably, but who knows. Maybe all the ingredients of that evening had to come together perfectly, and in that specific sequence or it wouldn’t have been an etch into the mind and heart kinda memory, instead just another memory for the mental filing cabinet. I’m starting to do that thing again where I ask these unanswerable questions which in turn is starting to ironically waste time.

What I’m really trying to do here, is reflect and talk about how I got to the point that I’m at now while maybe instilling some helpful lessons along the way. The only research that was required for writing this piece, was to simply sit back and ponder. Very recently, I had that wish granted As of right now, I’m thankfully feeling much better, but the past week was a week of isolation, more streaming content than you can shake a stick at, and lots of hot beverages, as I battled through the nasty illness.

A couple of those evenings were really boring. I thought back to the topic of time wasting as I sprawled out in my bed watching another dumb Karen compilation video. What could be gleaned from this moment so that it didn’t have to be a complete waste of time. Well, let’s see. This is all about reflecting and Karens are a great example of someone who could use a ton of it. Though, that’s easy for me to say. What if the person flipping shit in that video is having the worst day of her life and just needs some compassion? I guess that still doesn’t justify flipping shit, I mean, I have had some truly awful days and still wouldn’t do that. Here I go asking unanswerable questions again. Point is, they should probably look inward and reflect, but I’ll continue to reflect to try and be a little less critical of people. Hell, let’s all reflect and keep it going; the well of information that can be obtained is endless. Info that’s obtained can contribute to your growth, and make this the best journey possible.

Man, this has gotta be one of the oddest birthday celebrations I’ve ever had. Locked away in a house, writing an essay as a Nickelodeon version simulcast of one of the NFL Wildcard games plays in the background. Every once in a while I’ll look up and see some fake slime overlays or a picture of Spongebob Squarepants in the uprights. Is this just a fever dream that I’m experiencing from the illness? This celebration is a far cry from the ones in early childhood. Chuck and his band of awkwardly moving misfits, tons of pizza, and those ball pits. My God. I’m convinced that part of the reason I ever stood a chance against this most recent sickness and any sickness for the matter, is from building my immunity from diving in those nasty ball pits as a child. Thinking of those birthday celebrations in those dimly lit child casinos, and other general childhood memories, makes me quite happy. It’s safe to say that things back then were a bit different.

Part 2 – Childhood

It all started in a dark place…that’s at least what they told me. My eyes were closed and I was floating around like a little ball of calm meditated energy just waiting to explode into this world. Alright, I guess I don’t have to start that far back. In all reality, I should probably start with the place that was responsible in shaping some of the most important early childhood things; Catholic school.

My mother thought it would be in our best interest to attend a Catholic school. It was assumed that the education was better, and the instilled morality was a nice bonus. My family was religious, but never to an insane point. It was never shoved down anybody’s throat and no extreme rules were ever put upon anybody. My folks just believed; my mom especially. She didn’t just talk the talk either, she was a legit good person. If that place is really up there, she would not have had to have waited in any lines at the gates. God would’ve thrown a fast pass her way for sure.

The years of Catholic school were very unique. I only attended until the end of 2nd grade, but it seemed so much longer. I was fortunate enough to have gone during an era when there was no concern about getting smacked with a ruler. Those days were long gone; guess they must’ve figured making kids knuckles bleed for minor infractions maybe wasn’t the best approach. However, what did remain from the past, was the small class sizes, strict rules, and of course, the religion.

Every Friday we were required to attend church. My family also went to church every Sunday. That meant a double dose of church every single week. It was brutal. On the days that we attended in school, it was very close to a regular church service. The major difference was that we were forced to do the readings. There was a rotation of who would have to read for that week and it continued like that every year. I’m pretty sure these moments are the dark origin story for my social anxiety.

The classes were much smaller than the average public school class, and things were much more hands on. Some rules were a bit bizarre to me. For instance, shirts had to be tucked in at all times. Why? Like, who the fuck cares? At least we didn’t have to wear uniforms. It’s not like it was all complaints though.

The class sizes made it feel like we were a more tight-knit group. There really seemed to be a comradery among us most if not everybody. Plus, the teachers and the classes were really cool. Gym class was by far the best example of this. The teacher clearly had a passion for what he was doing and all of the games and units were killer. There were made-up games that not only taught us the fundamentals for the particular sport that was being covered, but they were fun as hell. At times there was a real Nick Guts vibe. If even an nonathletic kid like me was having a good time, it has to tell you something. Another thing that made Gym class so great was that it always seemed to fall really close to recess, and if you thought Gym was great, just wait.

Out in the playground, there were three main areas. The newest, a small two story wooden structure with a slide. The oldest, a large wooden play structure with some swings. It was dope. It became our main base of operations and was dangerous as hell. The last section was a bunch of various metal structures for gymnastic type activity and what-not. They really seemed to tower over everyone back then, but now I’m sure are very small. It’s crazy to think that more people didn’t get hurt on some of that shit back then, but it was really no concern at the time. Teachers were just like, “have at it kids, go nuts”, and it was fucking awesome. We had a blast out there and I formed some great bonds with people. Bonds that still exist to this very day.

In the summer after 2nd grade, there was a buzz among some of us kids and lots of adults. A brand new elementary school had just been built. Third through fifth grade. What interesting timing. Who among us would stay and who would move on? I had a lot of anxiety prior to making my transition to public school. I’m not sure why I even wanted to go in the first place. I was enjoying my time at Catholic school and I had great friends, but maybe a part of me wanted to feel like a “normal” kid. Through out that summer I discussed it with my mom and she talked to other parents. Come September, I would no longer be a St. Peters kid. No, I’d be an East Troy Edumacation kid. The one advantage I had, was that my best friend Mitch was already a public school kid. He was my in. There were also a handful of other kids from Catholic school who made the transition as well.

Even with these things though, it was not an easy beginning. I was quickly familiarized with the world of bullies and their empty headed actions. One event that is burned in my mind, is sitting at a lunch table, having my lunch box tossed around the table during a game of “keep away”. I still remember the leader of that whole operation too. He was a total jerk to many people in that era. I sincerely hope he’s grown since then, but I will never attempt to reach out and find out for myself. I don’t know what that says about me, but I don’t care.

There were some moments in first week of public school, I would think about the decision to make the transition and cry. I thought I had made a horrible mistake. I missed my old friends and routine. Some of these new public school things seemed so alien to me. I’m sure I brought it up to my mom a few times, and I’m sure her response was always the same. I don’t recall exactly, but I imagine something like, “Just give it a little bit of time, you’ll be alright”, and that would’ve been absolutely true.

After a little more time, there was a turning point for me. There’s a moment that is etched in my head of sitting on a sidewalk with a newly acquired friend. The sun kept going behind the clouds, changing the lighting on the playground. “The reason this is happening”, my friend claimed, “is because I’m a warlock”. Ha, this guy’s alright, I remember thinking. You’d think that we’d still be friends to this day, but I honestly haven’t spoken to that guy in years. It was more about the moment itself. From that moment forward, everything was fine. I made more friends, I got used to public school, and eventually I would even be reunited with my old Catholic school friends. The end of this chapter, was a very happy one.

Seeing as how this is one of the motivational essays, I feel as though there has to be some kind of lesson to wrap the section up. So what can be gleaned from this experience? I’d say it’s that human beings have an amazing ability to adapt and thrive. It doesn’t take an extraordinary amount of time either. When I first made my transition to public school, cheesy as it sounds, I didn’t think I’d ever get used to my new surroundings. Through an ability to adapt and a determination to not give up, I made it through, and guess what? No matter the situation or circumstance, you can too.

By the time my school career was coming to a close, things were going quite swell. I’ve written and spoken many times about this. Great friends, good times all around, what more could I want? What I would come to realize though, is that some good things could only last so long. I would eventually be spit out by school into the real world where I’d go from being an innocent Catholic boy, to a directionless drunken man.

Section 3 – A Directionless Drunken Man

As previously mentioned, by the end of high school and into college, things were going quite well. I had good friends and there were no shortage of great partying opportunities. Every weekend was a brand new adventure. I even had a lot of ambitions and dreams; I was going to be a filmmaker, or some other creative type of thing. I had felt from an early age that this was definitely what I was supposed to do. The only problem was, I had no plan to speak of. I went as far as to sign up for college and tell people I was majoring in film whenever asked about my major. I figured that the first two years would be dedicated to general education anyways, thus giving me a window of time to come up with something more concrete in terms of future endeavors. Plus, part of me didn’t want to think that there would have to be any major plan in place, or even back-up plans for that matter. I had seen one too many Hollywood underdog stories and wanted so badly to believe that just wanting it really, really badly and having a heart of gold was enough. Spoilers: it wasn’t.

Throughout this rudderless era, I worked a lot of odd and shitty jobs. One year, I worked for the US Government doing the Census. I was called an Enumerator. It was my job to canvas neighborhoods and plot points on a map, ensuring that those points still exist, and the information from the past remains correct. Most of the time, that was it. Go to a house, plot a point, next house. Rinse and repeat. For some reason, they had us ring the doorbells and give a small speech, informing people why we were there and what we were doing. We also were supposed to ask if there were any places in the house in which people could possibly be living. Right, as if they are going to just willingly give that information up. Some people were pretty chill, most weren’t. Once, a lady thought that I was just trying to get information from her so that I could come back later and rob her. Keep in mind, I had an official ID badge and a canvas bag that said US Government on it. Plus, if I was going to rob her, wouldn’t I just do it? Why the song and dance? I would’ve been a lot more stealthy than that.

The job required an entire week of classroom training that could’ve probably been condensed into a day or two. Once it was over, and we were on our own, things improved. The pay was decent, we got to stick close to home, and we could set our own hours. Overall, it was a pretty unique experience. They say that one of the ways to find out what you would like to do in life, is to figure out what you’ve done and know you don’t like. I knew by the end of my Census days that one thing I definitely didn’t want to do in the future, was go door to door and have strangers scream at me. That was for certain.

Near the end of my short stint in college, I decided I was going to try and make a full length feature film. My heart was in the right place, but I was rather naive and delusional. I couldn’t see far enough down the rabbit hole to realize how much work it would take, but looking back, I’m glad I tried.

The first thing that I did was, of course, write a script. It took a majority of a spring and summer to complete if I recall correctly, and by the standards I had set for myself in those days, I was quite happy with how it had turned out. The movie was called Small Town Zombie Folk, a coming of age movie with zombies because why not? I used the momentum of completing the script to keep things rolling forward quickly. With me throughout the process, was a good buddy of mine at the time who happened to also have a big interest in film. We meshed really well together creatively and at times, it seemed like we were unstoppable and really could pull this thing off.

The first major error I made, was the purchase of an expensive camera. When starting out, I did little to no research and equated expensive with good. If I buy this large camera, it’ll look great and surly people will know that I’m serious. I really try not to have regrets, but I often think back to this moment and wish it had gone down differently. I would love to get into a time machine and tell that version of me not to be so stupid. For the money I dropped, I could’ve bought a couple decent DSLRs and all the extra equipment needed to make a good looking film. If I’ve learned anything from cheesy science fiction movies though, it’s that the past can and should not be fucked with. It’s important to learn from and move forward. I still have that camera. I think I may hold onto it forever, just as a reminder to slow down and breath every once in a while.

Once the camera was purchased and we screwed around with it a little bit, progress on the movie continued. For a while, things actually seemed to be moving along quite smoothly. We held two days of auditions in the studio of the university, and there was a nice turnout. The movie had it’s young and enthusiastic cast, it had it’s directors, and it had it’s unnecessarily expensive gear. We were ready to shoot.

The first few days of filming ended up going surprisingly well also. We began with some easy things, like the establishing shots; outsides of buildings and houses. Then we got the nerve up to ask a local gas station if we could use their exterior for a scene. To our surprise, we were given the green light and within a few days, we had our first major scene shot. There was a feeling in the air that maybe, just maybe, we could actually pull this thing off.

Things began taking a turn once we were a few weeks in. We stopped hearing from some of the main cast members, and truth be told, we were not very good at keeping in communication with them. There were no plans concocted for what we’d be shooting during the upcoming weekends, until a day or two before. Some weeks just became a wash, and we’d go play mini golf and drink beers. The fantasy was starting to implode on itself and turn into something much different. The scope of this project became more real, and eventually death came to the dream of making a full length feature and “finally getting outta this place, man!”. When the dust settled, I still managed to hang on to those creative dreams, but that overly ambitious side of me started to disappear.

After two and a half years, I would decide that I no longer wanted to attend college. I was going to take a “break” for a bit, but I would return with a better idea of what I wanted to do. Right, that’s what they all say. I didn’t go back. Instead, I started working full time at a retail store. This big box giant would be the start of a multi year whirlwind of substance abuse, misery, anxiety, and fear. Fear that I had wasted my one shot and was doomed to a hellish existence of dumb questions and stocking shelves.

I know that this sounds terribly bleak, but don’t worry. It’s not the end, end, just the end of another chapter in my life. Don’t believe me, go back and read Grief, Sobriety, and Hope again. From the ashes of what remained after years of screwing around and chasing those “good times” from the past, I would rise up and get my shit together. I was able to get my creative spark back, exercise some demons, and experience joys like that little kid had done on the playground all those years ago.

So what’s the lesson in this section. Well, it’s the best lesson of all. Something we’re taught early on and something that my parents always reminded me, but something that can be easily forgotten. It’s to never, ever, give up. This journey is long but quick (if that makes sense), and it will throw so much bullshit your way. You owe it to yourself to keep on going no matter what. There’s a powerful force within all of us that allows us to overcome the obstacles, even when you’re working a job you hate, sitting in a bar with your dreams far off in the distance, and the odds seem against you.

Section 4 – The Wrap Up

The inspiring person of the month this time is actually two people. Two brothers, James and Matthew Covington aged 10 and 9. Last summer, they participated in something called the 50 Yard Challenge. Something that was started by a bonus monthly inspiring person, Rodney Smith Jr, in order to provide free lawn care service to elderly people and others in need. With the help of their mother, they spent the entire summer helping people around the community and really made a difference. They were even recognized for their efforts, by being provided with free lawn care equipment through Smith Jr’s organization. A small act of good can cause ripples and make a big difference in other people’s lives. These kids a great example of how one can shine a light during often dark times.

The homework last week was related to the concept of surviving the long dark. If you’re like me, and live in the Midwest, that homework is far from over. We’re getting closer, but still have some time to keep holding on. So, keep holding on tight. You’ve got this. This month was of course, all about reflecting. All I can say is, if you haven’t in a while, look back and try to gain some insight. There’s some useful knowledge in there.

I don’t know what the future holds, but these past thirty years have been rich in experience and growth. Sometimes I still feel lost, but never scared. I have hope, and things look brighter than they ever have before. I have dreams and ambitions, and now, I always do my research before making any large purchases. Bring on the next thirty-plus. I’m ready. Media Pod Smash off!

-Jeremy