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Summary

Media Pod Smash #176 – The Art of Quitting

Section One: The Demon Stretch

It’s the beginning of March, late into the season and I’m over it. I’ve been over it, in fact. I’m walking down my favorite sidewalk, trying to make the best of things, but I can’t help the feeling that I’m feeling. It isn’t quite a dreadful feeling, yet it’s not very hopeful either. Just when we’re looking like the snow is behind us for the year, we get dumped on again. What a bummer, man. I should expect this though. I’ve lived here my entire life; I know the drill.

I continue down the walk, through the mostly shoveled paths. Soon, I arrive at the center of town and approach a stretch that I so cleverly refer to as The Demon Stretch. It is consecutive buildings that remind me of the past and of how chaotic things used to be. Each place has a set of wild and unique stories. Many of which I’m shocked that I can still recall.

The first building that I approach is a building with lots of history. Real-life history, as it has been a part of this community for ages, but also lots of personal drunken history. It was known for Saturday karaoke nights and it was a great place to end your evening. I’d often run into some great characters or drunkenly sing ballads to mostly disinterested bar patrons. I didn’t really care if they were interested or not though. I was hammered most of the time that I was up for a song.

Nearly all my memories of that place are great. Every once in a while, things could get a bit out of hand. One night that comes to mind involved a post-bar close fight. Well, more of an aggressive exchange, actually. I was really far gone at this point, as you could imagine. My friend and I walked out of the bar and I hear a few words come my way. I try to calm my drunken mind so I can brace myself for my first real fight.

How is this going to play out, I wonder. I’ve watched plenty of movies and World Star videos, but I don’t know if I’m prepared for this. I impulsively got closer and started shouting incoherent nonsense to the aggressor and his buddy, who was now walking away. Some fight. The rest of the night was a blur and the next morning, I discovered that my phone was missing. Was it those people from the end of the night, almost-fight, or did I lose it earlier in the evening and just not realize, like a complete dummy. I’d never find out.

Out-of-hand evenings like these should have been a huge sign that it was time to slow down. Back in that era though, I wasn’t in the business of looking for signs from the universe. All I wanted was a party.

I continue my walk down the Demon Stretch, instantly spotting the next drunken historic location. Another bar where I spent many rowdy evenings. To my best recollection, there were no almost fights at this one. How would I really know for sure though, some of these moments were pretty damn foggy.

There aren’t many standout moments in this place. It was just a great place to party. Not super big, but there was a super chill outdoor area if you needed a change of scenery. Some of the best nights were during holiday weekends. The place would get absolutely packed and filled with wild energy. You’d inevitably see a lot of people that you’d gone to school with on those nights, but it didn’t matter much since everyone was trashed.

I approach the next building on the stretch that taunts me. Not a bar this time, but a liquor store. I didn’t go here a heck of a lot, but I have warm and fuzzy memories of my friends and me going in to grab stuff before a big party or holiday event. Sometimes it is tempting to walk back in there, throw my wallet at the clerk, and just say “fuck it, give me a case each of all your finest light beers!” Only sometimes though. Just on bad days, when the store happens to be in my vicinity. Even then, it’s just a passing thought. I know I’m never going back. I’m done, for good.

The last building that I must pass before finally conquering the Demon Stretch, is a big shocker, another bar. Was there more drunken history here too? You guessed it. Most of the time, if I was going into town to drink, I’d end up eventually hitting all the bars. That’s how the real pros did it.

Finally, I’ve moved on. From this particular part of town and thankfully, from all of those parts of life. Completing that part of my walk always brings up so many things in my brain. I still can’t believe how hard I’d go sometimes.

If you think losing my phone and almost getting into a fight over nonsense was bad, just wait. Those occurrences make up just a couple pieces of the insanely large, drunken buffoonery iceberg.

There was a time that I was such a drunken mess during college that I puked into my friend’s coat. He was kind enough to have given it to me earlier in the evening because it was chilly outside. How do I repay him? Here’s some puke for ya, buddy. In my head, I had a quick decision to make, and it was either on the bus we were taking back home or on myself, as to make less of a scene. I guess I can understand my line of thinking there a bit, but I should never have put myself into a position where I could suddenly, uncontrollably puke while on public transit, in the first place.

I’ve apologized many times for this already, but here’s one more in case you’re reading this. Sorry dude, I still feel horrible about that.

Luckily, most of my foolishness didn’t often affect other people. Most of the incidents on the iceberg were slights against me. Injuries, blackouts, and embarrassing social situations, just to name a few.

One night back in college while bar hopping in Milwaukee, I found myself laying out on a small hill while various other drunken college kids continued to pass by. I discovered this spot after downing a giant fishbowl drink near the middle part of the night. I laid back on this hill, thinking I would just shake it off. I tried not to look too crazy to others passing by, but I felt like I was shutting down. To make matters worse, I had horrible gut rot from that drink.

Roughly twenty minutes passed, and I did manage to shake things off enough to get back up, walk back into the bar, and order myself another one of those fishbowls! Party on, dude! Honestly, I wish I was joking.

Back in the present, my walk continues. Without the constant reminders of my old vices everywhere, I start to reflect on some more recent memories. This was a pretty rough past few months. It began to get choppy near the middle of January. The long dark and shitty weather started getting to me.

The following month was not much better in terms of weather and mood. It also happened to be the month that marked three years since the passing of my Mom. It’s hard to believe that it’s been that long already. Time continues to zoom right by, yet I still have pieces to pick up and more grieving to do. I think back to some of those early months and a sudden relief comes over me. These past few months may have been kinda bad but they were nothing compared to those months back in 2020.

Section Two: 2020

There’s a classic movie cliché of the dude at rock bottom who has a choice to make: stay at the bottom and give up or rise up and show the world and himself what it means to be a real hero. Obviously, it’s generally always choice B. You wouldn’t get many asses in seats if the whole movie was 90 or so minutes of choice A.

Life is not a movie and we don’t get highly-paid writers to make sure the correct choice is always made. When adversity busts down our door, sometimes it can be really fucking hard to make choice B.

It was sometime in March 2020 and I was at an emotional rock bottom. I was fresh into the grieving process, my car had just been totaled, and COVID was starting to change the entire landscape. It was around this time that I had begun making some major life changes and thought that I was preparing myself well for the upcoming storm that was coming. At the moment, I was face down in my bed, clothes still on, sometime in the early evening. I had collapsed in defeat just minutes earlier. The weight of everything going on around me had taken its toll and I couldn’t think of anything else to do. If I could just get some sleep for a bit, I could just not exist for a while.

The next day, I was feeling more clear-headed and no longer felt like I was drowning in the mess of life. It was time to rise up and face the problems like the hero in the movie.

That being said, I didn’t try to rush the process of grief. There’s no shortcut for getting through that and I knew it was important to just ride the waves.

I stayed busy while remaining rather numb to a lot of what was going on around the world. I had heard rumblings and rumors but had no idea what was actually about to happen. My focus was on work, organizing various shit in a room, video games, drinking, and anything else that could serve as a distraction.

Just before the lockdown, I’d attend what would be my last in-person event for quite some time. At this point, we’d heard some reports and were well aware that weird shit was brewing, but we had to play some Tecmo Super Bowl, damn it! The annual Tecmo Tournament was not ready to shut down. We didn’t know exactly what was about to happen, but during that weekend, it didn’t matter. It was our last blast. And let me tell you, we got awfully blasted.

For those who don’t know, a good friend of mine started running tournaments for a game in which he has a lot of passion for Tecmo Superbowl for Nintendo. It’s been years and years of memories, laughs, and heated rivalries. Old friends and new are in attendance and it has become one of the big events of the year.

In spite of everything going on, I showed up and had a great time. I allowed myself to get lost in the event and atmosphere. It wasn’t the usual turnout that year, but certainly enough for a solid tournament. Redbull and vodkas were my drink of choice throughout most of the day, with some beers thrown in there every once in a while for good measure. With each drink, I’d get a bit more loose and the day would get a little easier. At this point, I had not yet considered quitting. I had already quit nicotine and was in the middle of fighting a giant battle. Hadn’t I done enough?

The evening finished out with some bar hopping, just like in college. We sloppily navigated our way through Madison, without any particular plan or objective. It appeared that the majority of the city didn’t know what was coming, either. It was college spring break and most places were pretty full. Nothing major happened at all. Like a lot of the nights from the past, we just ran into a few characters and drank a lot. The next day, that was that. It was time to wake up, go home, and get back to reality. We were already excited for the next tournament. It had been an amazing streak so far, and there wasn’t anything that would possibly get in the way of that. Right? Right?!

Over the next few weeks, lots changed. I was still pretty numb to much of the world around me, but some things were too in-your-face to ignore. The national lockdown was starting and the daily routine was going to become much different. The first major change was my work schedule. Fortunately, I never lost any hours. Instead, my hours just got swapped from the night shift to the day shift. The next change would be in socializing.

At the beginning of this thing, it was a fun novelty. Every few nights, my friends and I would get together over zoom to chat and have some drinks. We’d speculate about where things were going, we’d play games, and we’d talk about whatever other random bullshit we could to pass the time.

The distractions of work and friends were nice, however, there was still plenty of open time to dwell on my thoughts and continue to try and move forward through my grief. It was still so fresh and new, yet so was all of this other stuff going on in the world. It was a lot of chaos to balance.

Some days I’d walk into a room and expect her to be there, only to have to remind myself of reality. That seat that was once filled with the comforting, familiar person, was now empty. I’d have to seek advice elsewhere. Moments of pride and major achievement would have to be shared with someone else now. It was very difficult to get used to and is probably something a person will never truly ever get used to.

Lucky for me, I had a supportive group of friends and loving family to count on during this period. I can’t imagine getting through something like this alone. It would seem to be asking a lot of even the strongest of people.

Other coping methods included keeping a journal. I’ve spoken about my journal entries in the past, and have even included some previous entries as examples, so I won’t get too in-depth. I will just say, I highly recommend this activity if you’ve got a mind full of anxious, racing thoughts. There were plenty of evenings that I’d sit out on the porch and write it all out. It didn’t all have to make sense or be completely coherent, it was just for me and it just needed to come out somehow.

I’d often talk about what I did for the day or try to make sense of the world. Things weren’t getting much better in terms of my personal feelings or the world around me. The lockdown was still in full swing and it was no longer a novelty. People were starting to get a little stir-crazy and annoyed. It seemed that the nation was getting further divided and some major events were about to push things even further. I was no longer numb to the outside world. In fact, I became a bit of a news junkie.

It was late spring by this point. Essential things were open with heavy mandates and cases were still on the rise. Quite often, I started to keep track of the reports. This was odd for me because I usually don’t care about the news and don’t mind living under a rock. I guess I was just hoping for answers of some kind. Like many other people, I didn’t like having my daily routine screwed with. Plus I’ll admit, I was a bit scared.

Weeks continued on and our friendly Zoom chats kept up. By this point though, I was no longer having casual drinks, I was starting to pound them. Weeknights were okay, but by the weekend, all bets were off. I’d often wake up on Monday with regret and a total lack of ambition from being hungover. I knew that it was getting to a problematic level, yet it was a really tough time. Plus, with all of the other changes I had been making, I thought I was still doing alright. What’s a little bit of booze when I’ve completely stopped nicotine and am now more active than ever before. Even in the midst of all the chaos, I’d make time for activity. On mornings that I woke up real tired and somewhat hungover from the night before, I could still manage to get a run in.

In one way, it really demonstrates the power of having good habits. I was so used to having to get up and do these things, I just did them no matter what happened in between sessions. To me, that was encouraging and pretty cool. On the other hand, though, it was also incredibly dumb. The lack of sleep and alcohol had a great impact on performance and recovery. It was like piling a bunch of things into the corner of a room or putting everything into a closet and saying that the room was clean. The positive things that I was doing acted as band-aids over a big gash of a problem.

There was no magic “ah-ha” moment or anything like that when I finally decided that enough was enough. There was the build-up of doing lots of stupid things for years and years and there was the current emotional toll that I was going through, but there was no specific moment. In the weeks leading up, there were quite a few journal entries that had a lot of begging a pleading with myself to slow things down. It was usually something to the effect of “Great job on getting the list done today, but dude, slow the fuck down on the drinking. I know it’s crazy out there, however, there are better ways to cope. Change is always possible.“

It wasn’t just fluff that I’d be writing to myself either. I really did believe in the power of change after having seen what quitting bad things and adding good things into my life could do. All the proof that I needed was on my giant wall calendar and in looking at the journey that started at the beginning of 2019.

Some of the most helpful things that I ever read or heard in regard to grief is that the best way to move on is to move forward for that person. I knew that the book of my life wasn’t written yet and there was a legacy of a wonderful and kind woman that needed to continue. The pity party guy who sloppily wrote regretful journal entries after a night of heavy drinking or sometimes even during, could no longer be me. It wouldn’t be easy, but many of the worthwhile things in life aren’t.

My first attempt at quitting was the last weekend in May of that year. Simple, I thought. Just like nicotine, you simply don’t allow it around and continue to push through as the clock ticks away. Play some games, listen to music, violently scream into a pillow, whatever you gotta do to get through the day. Then, that day turns into another day, and so on. Eventually, you’ve climbed demon mountain and you can look down below in disbelief with arms raised high. In execution, things went a bit differently.

The weather was great that weekend and it was rummage sale weekend. Ever since I can remember, our town has had giant rummage sales for Memorial Day weekend. It’s an event that has become a bit of a tradition and something that always makes me feel warm, fuzzy, and nostalgic. Although we were in pandemic mode at this point, there were still a few rummages and the vibe was still there. Ah yes, that’s right, our state does get Summer weather. Sometimes I forget that after such a long and brutal winter and spring that can be really bipolar. What a good reason to celebrate! Alright, it’s settled: I’ll drink this weekend and quit next month for sure. And with that weak justification, I caved. It was a long, blurry weekend.

It was time for another entry into the journal. This was something that I’ve actually included in a couple of my essays already. It was a last desperate plea and a significant turning point. A mix of pep talk and tough love, it was something to the effect of “If you really believe that you are capable of turning over a new leaf every hour, then fucking prove it!“

Yes, it was time to prove it. Even before my major life changes, I’d listen to positive audio and read positive books. I did believe a lot of what those people said. I had large ambitions and dreams. I felt that there was power in belief and being positive and that if you wanted something bad enough in this world, you could have it.

The current state of the world had taught me that in an instant, everything can change. Things can be taken away and never given back. Time continues to march on and if you spin in circles, things will just keep going without you. It was scary to think about, but at the same time, it was a great motivator. Some things would never be the same again and the nights and weekends wasted could never be given back to me. That was okay though. I had to accept that and move into what was still left.

Going through the process of grief in the proper way is extremely important, and of course, that process looks different for everyone. At a certain point though, it’s time to move forward and get back to living the best possible life that you can for that person and for anyone else that has passed on. Our loved ones would want it to be that way.

My drinking was semi-grief related, but it was also something that I just did. It had been a part of my life for a long time prior to that year. I mostly never thought much about it. There were plenty of moments that I should’ve quit, like the situations mentioned earlier in the writing, but there was no point in dwelling on it now. The past was the past and all that remained was the current moment.

There was one more slip-up weekend before I finally called it quits for good. And just like that, another life change. There was no magic moment for stopping and there was no magic trick to staying stopped. It was a lot of self-discipline and journal writing. As my head started to clear more, I’d have an easier time processing and dealing with things. Soon, my physical health would improve as I’d have much better workouts and recovery. My mind was getting sharper as well, and with that came some big creative ideas.

Quitting was no walk in the park. The first few weekends, I really wanted to go back. I’d always think to myself, what’s really the point? As results and time started coming into my life, it got easier to stay the course and eventually, it was just my new life. The challenges of the pandemic would continue and it could still be quite the battle at times, but now I was upgraded to a newer version of the person that I had been and I had a brand new weapon to combat all the shit; Media Pod Smash.

Near the end of 2020, I started doing creative stuff again with my friend Ryan, in the form of a podcast called Vamping About Voorhees, an in-depth look at the Friday The 13^th series. It had woken something up from inside of me that was desperately trying to come out but was always getting pushed down with substances. Vamping About Voorhees would eventually morph into rebooting my old podcast, the one that you are currently listening to. And the rest, as they say, was history.

Section Three: The 30 Day Challenge and Conclusion

When I first started this essay, it was the beginning of March. Due to adding things and life generally happening, it is now more like late April at the time of writing this section.

Once I wrapped up my walk on that particular afternoon, I thought about all the things that lead up to where I am now. Drawing from past experience, I decided that the best course of action would be to do a 30-day challenge. It was something I’d done in the past and it managed to help get me fired up while quitting my nasty habit of drinking daily energy drinks. It’d be the perfect way to climb out of the Winter pit that I had been in. This current challenge: daily exercise, meditation 2x per week, and no desserts or sweets.

Like any sort of positive change in life, my challenge started out feeling exciting and new. From day one, I was immediately off to the races and was killing it. Early on, nearly every morning, I’d make sure that exercise was the first thing that I did every day when I woke up, otherwise, it’d become too much of a nagging feeling that stuck with me until it was finally done. To be fair, I was already working out pretty regularly, just not every single day.

Each day I’d record a brief audio log to hold myself accountable and later be added to a larger collection that’d be posted at the end of each week. Whenever taking something on, I believe that having some sort of accountability is great, whether that be through another person or by just putting your intentions out into the universe and letting it be known that this is what your plan is. I also liked the audio logs because they gave me something semi-creative to do every day, and that helped keep up some sort of momentum.

I decided on adding meditation to my challenge because I really want to get back to a place of mindfulness and calm. The ability to slow down and manage racing thoughts is a great tool for getting through this wild, mess of a life. I’ve known what it is like to be much more zen and that experience is all of the convincing that I need. I figured that I’d ease into things by starting with just meditation 2x for the first week, then I’d slowly increase the amount as the month progressed.

I was still killing it by the middle of the month. My biggest challenge came during Tecmo tourney weekend. That’s right, Tecmo was back in full swing, and during one of the weekends in March, I stayed overnight at a friend’s house. The challenge was trying to find a way to squeeze a workout in. It wasn’t the biggest deal in the world, but there was a new environment and there was lots going on that day. It could’ve been easy to just say screw it, this is just a fun cheat day, but nah. I got up early and ran around his neighborhood, keeping the streak alive.

Near the end of my challenge, I hit a giant wall: sickness and injury. These were two things that are always a possibility, yet I rarely ever consider them as I’m going through something like this. Especially when they happen at the same time.

In the past, I’ve trudged through some sickness and have still been able to muster up some light movement. This particular sickness kept me off my feet for a couple days, so that was out of the question. The injury wasn’t major, but something that I hadn’t experienced before. My knee had blown up to a large size, and although I didn’t really have any pain, I was pretty concerned.

It turned out to be bursitis and would immediately put a halt on my running and cardio. As someone who is a big fan of that type of activity, I was super bummed out by that. I remember early on, when I was first getting into some good routines, I’d think to myself, this is so ingrained now, I can’t see a scenario in which this ever ends. The thing is, even if you get yourself into some great habits for long periods of time, it’s possible to suddenly get off course if you stop for any reason. I found myself staring down that road and it worried me.

As for the remainder of the challenge, I did manage to end it on a high note. My sickness only killed about two days and the rest of the time I managed to do strength training and avoid anything that’d further screw with my knee.

By the end, I should’ve felt really accomplished. I may have missed two days, but I did nearly everything else to perfection. The reading that I added as an amendment, the meditation, and the desserts/sweets avoidance (except during the Tecmo tournament in which I cheated a little and had some weird chocolate coffee balls). I should have had my arms raised high and all the momentum on my side, but I was still too concerned about my knee.

Instead of continuing to adhere to my challenge rules, I broke them right away at the start of April and began to eat lots of garbage food. Some days I’d do some light activity or worse, just not work out at all. Just like that, I was starting to slip back into this old version of myself. No accountability, just complete apathy. I was slipping into a pit and feeling sorry for myself. So, this is how it ends, huh? Just like that, a few bumps in the road and a complete spiral off course. This was crazy. I was doing everything right for over three years now and over the course of a month, it completely blows up? No. This couldn’t be how it ends.

I thought back to the trials from that awful year of 2020. There were moments of complete hell. Some of my darkest times have been during that year and though it sucked, I’d always make it to the other side, proving to myself that I’m resilient and capable. Every day a choice can be made. I continue to fight on in the face of adversity because there’s a woman that I loved who always did the same. There’s a legacy that needs to be continued at any cost.

So, I write this having freshly climbed out of a pit. This won’t be the last one, so I’ll always be vigilant. The light on the outside is familiar, yet it’s very bright and will take some adjusting. The knee continues to heal and little by little, day by day, I build the momentum back up. The pity party is over and it’s time to continue the fight. I’ve passed out on hills, gotten into drunken confrontations, grieved my way through a pandemic, and if I were to stop writing the epic story of life just because of a little knee problem and falling into some old habits, well, that’d be pretty unfortunate.

My friends, when life comes at you hard, draw from your past experiences, remember the person that you’ve been forged into, know where you want to go, and come back at life even harder. It may not seem like it, but you’ve got everything you ever needed inside of you. Here’s to climbing out of pits and continuing the heroic journey.

Media Pod Smash, off!

This show is sponsored by: Seasons of Life Memorials

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