This week, I am celebrating a milestone in my life and what better way to do so then to create the ultimate vanity project. In all reality, this is a reading of an essay of sorts that I wrote this week. I wanted to sum up how the last couple of years have gone for me. It’s pretty personal, but I would be happy knowing it’s in the universe if it helps even one person. MUSIC CREDIT: Karl Casey @ White Bat Audio
If you’d like to read along, here’s the whole essay. Hopefully it’s not too littered with grammar and spelling issues:
PART 1 – Grief
I stood motionless in front of my wall calendar, staring at the square that I had just “X”’d off. March, 1st, 2020. A day that at times, I thought would never arrive. I flashed back to the difficult moments; the outbursts, the fatigue, the impatience. Some days seemed to drag on for an insanely long time, especially in the early weeks.
A year prior, I was making my first “X”. This “X” was a representation of something big to me. It was the day that I decided I’d finally had enough. It was my first day without nicotine. I say nicotine specifically and not cigarettes because (and please don’t laugh too hard) I was addicted to nicotine gum. That’s right, the stuff that you were supposed to use as a quitting aid, I couldn’t get enough of.
In all honesty, I never even cared for cigarettes all that much. I would really only smoke if I got too intoxicated and was able to actually get my hands on a cig and a lighter somehow. What really got me hooked on nicotine was probably a combination of boredom and a disdain for my shitty, unfulfilling, retail job at the time. I don’t remember where I heard it, but I recalled someone suggesting the gum to get a nice buzz. Those words wafted through my brain as I stood at the nicotine aisle, in the pharmacy department. I grabbed a pack of the four milligram, fruit flavored. I probably would have been fine with the two milligram, but “go big or go home”! Or whatever my foolish brain was thinking at the time. As I took my first piece, it was actually pretty gross. I am glad it was a mixed fruit flavor one, and not the original chemically tasting kind or I probably would have vomited. Although, maybe that wouldn’t have been so bad actually. Maybe I never would have gone back again at that point.
Despite the nasty taste, I did find myself actually getting a nice little buzz. In time, I would get used to the taste and even find myself really starting to crave it. It became a huge part of my life. A morning ritual for the way into work, a video gaming ritual for a quick boost, an end of the day ritual to reflect on some moments.
Many years and many packs later, I had realized that I had a problem with this stuff. The gum at this point was probably doing nothing for me besides just adding to my anxiety and costing me money. It was a straight up addiction. Of course, I should have known earlier and I don’t know why it was a blind spot for me, but that’s human beings for you. We are all very flawed. We make all sorts of mistakes and have our biases, but that doesn’t have to stop us. If you hold on long enough, and spend some quality time with your thoughts, those blind spots can start to reveal themselves to us. Once that happens, you can make small steps to make things as right as you possibly can, with the time you have left.
I may not have realized it right away, but the important thing was that I did and it wasn’t too late. I was a flawed human, standing in front of an “X” on a calendar. An important “X”. An “X” that meant, things don’t ever have to be the same after today if you try your best and fight to make things a little more right.
The year crawled along and fight, I did. Some days were anxious, some days were euphoric, and some were just downright dark, but I never looked back. As a way to gather my thoughts and cope with what I was feeling, I started keeping a journal. On days that I had nothing to say, I would just write about how pissed I was that I couldn’t have a piece of gum. When I needed a boost, I would write a nice message to myself about not giving up. The act of keeping a journal and then later, writing out my goals as well, became very helpful.
Things started getting easier as I learned to focus on other things and use up excess energy though exercise. Around the half-year mark, I would have days where I felt very confident. Looking back at previous “X”s on the calendar and old journal entries, I almost couldn’t believe it at times. I was off the gum and also improving other areas of my life. I’d never been this fit before, things just seemed more zen, and life was good. At the end of my year-long journey, I stood in front of the calendar where it all began, staring at the “X” over the 52 week text. It should have been a day for great celebration. I had a year of fighting demons under my belt, and as a result, many other areas of my life had improved greatly. I should have been elated but I was not. I did not feel like celebrating anything. While the world was just starting to turn upside down, mine already had. The nicotine fight was in the back of my mind; I was already in the middle of another one.
February 14th 2020 was the worst day of my fucking life. I’ve had some bad days that I had no idea how I’d manage to pull myself through, but evening would somehow always manage to arrive. I would trade this day and re-live any one of those days a million times. I’d re-live them with the addition of fire ants poured on me at the start of one of those days just for good measure. There’s no magic genie around to grant that wish though, and it’s just not an option. It happened and much like our flaws and imperfections, it’s something that comes with being human. If you are here, you are going to end up losing someone you love. The longer you are here, the more you will likely lose and it never gets any easier.
Some of my first memories of grief were when I was pretty young; I would say around elementary school age. I remember losing some relatives around this time. I knew what was happening, that I wouldn’t be seeing them anymore. I know of course I felt sadness but I don’t know if I really knew what grief was. It was complicated; I mean, it still is. As I grew older and experienced new trials, I would often go through a range of many emotions. I started to understand what grief was; it was a wide array of things. Grief was an unexpected guest who could show up at any time without warning, more than likely when you aren’t prepared. Who am I kidding? You won’t be prepared; no one ever is. By the time I was out of high school, I had experienced the losses of grandmas, grandpas, aunts, and uncles. Most were fortunate enough to have lived long, rich, lives. All of them very sad, but nothing as earth shattering as February 14th. By this point, grief was not that much of an unexpected guest, but guess what? I still wasn’t ready.
My mother was an amazing woman. She was extremely kind to everyone. The needs of other people were always put first, even near the end when simple acts such as going up and down the steps, could prove to be quite a chore. She always supported my wild dreams and never made me feel bad about my ideas or myself. She fought for a long time, getting to witness some wonderful moments and milestones. The last few months that I spent with my mom where wonderful. Extremely anxious, sometimes very difficult at times but wonderful. I always tried my best to stay present, especially during times that I thought were the most important.
Weeks before my mom passed away, I was already consumed with feelings of sadness. She had been sick for a while and since about the start of the month, was staying in hospice care. I knew what was coming and had found myself already experiencing grief. At times, I’d become really unfocused. Some days seemed to drag on forever. I would question my feelings of grief at times. I would think to myself, “she’s still here, don’t waste your precious time in grief already”, and that would make me feel even worse than I was already feeling. What I should have realized is that it was very normal to feel the way that I was feeling. If you find yourself feeling a certain way, the last thing you should do is make yourself feel guilty about it. When someone you love is sick, of course you are going to feel some things. As far as feeling like not wanting to waste time goes, it’s true that it is very precious but if you’re like me, you realize that and are doing your best. Even if I did manage to not waste one precious second, it wouldn’t have been enough. Once it’s over, you’ll think to yourself, “if only we just had a year, or a month, or one more week”. There’s always going to be so much more that could have been said or done, but you get what you get. Try to remember that all the time that you did spend, was spent very well no matter what did or didn’t happen. You were together in those precious moments in time and that’s all that matters. If you are lucky, you will have lots of memories and stories. With these things, your loved one will live on forever.
I was lucky and I had to remind myself that a lot during this time. On the day of the funeral when my car got totaled in an accident on the way home, I would still try to count my blessings. On days when it was a herculean task just to get out of bed in the morning and put on a brave face, I’d take stock of the people in my life, look around at the flowers, cards and other outpourings of support, and feel better.
By the end of spring, my brain was still really foggy. A lot of days seemed to blend together, and although a lot of people were very kind and supportive, sometimes it just really sucked. Not only was I dealing with my own giant struggle, the world was deep into the pandemic, and the landscape was changing as we knew it. Stores and restaurants closed, schools went virtual, people went into lock down, and the toilet paper shelves were empty for miles and miles for some strange reason. My routine had changed a bit, but fortunately, I still got to keep working. Work was a welcome distraction during the day but when it was over, there I was with my thoughts and feelings. Day after day this would happen and things didn’t seem to be getting much better. I was still off nicotine and managing to still stay active, but mentally, something felt very off. I knew I was still dealing with my grief, but something else was wrong.
PART 2 – Sobriety
I’ve always had an interesting relationship with alcohol. I grew up in a state where drinking is majorly ingrained in the culture. From the breweries, to the festivals, to the weird dive bars with their games of dice, Wisconsin loves to drink. Many people will point to the history of the state, but let’s be honest; if you had to spend years and years going through the dark, depressing, Wisconsin winters, you’d want to get shitfaced all the time too.
Compared to most people, I’d say I was a pretty late bloomer when it came to drinking. I really didn’t start drinking heavily until after high school. I would have the occasional drink or two, but was never much of a party-er at the time. I mostly had my tight circle of friends who was more consumed with just hanging out, playing video games, and generally making fun of stuff together. We didn’t need alcohol…yet. Not to say we were unpopular, it just wasn’t something we really did. You may be saying to yourself, “Late bloomer? Nobody is supposed to be drinking at that age anyway!”. But I say to you, it’s Wisconsin and let’s not bullshit ourselves. This is an open and honest essay.
By the end of senior year, into the summer, things started to change. We started going to parties and whenever we could get our hands on some drinks, would have small group drinking hangout nights at different people’s houses. Some of my earliest memories include sneaking a large piece of luggage filled with cans of beer into the basement as if there is nothing suspicious about that. Oh your friend is staying over? Why did he pack enough stuff for a weeks vacation in Florida? We would also come up with our own code words to avoid actually saying the words “drink, alcohol, or beer”. Instead of those things, we would say “draining the tub” or some other wacky phrase. Looking back, it really makes no fucking sense but no one ever caught on. At least, that’s what I’d like to think. The early years of drinking were a blast. Weekend after weekend we’d go on all sorts of different adventures, never knowing what we were in for or where we’d end up. The bond between my circle of friends seemed to grow tighter, I was more open and socializing with all sorts of different people, we had no cares in the world. Life was good.
The lifestyle of do what you gotta do during the week and go hard on the weekend, lasted for many years. Lots of my close friends either stayed in town or were close enough to visit and party with on weekends. From what I can remember, we had a lot of good times. The idea that this could be a problem never once crossed my mind. How could my drinking be out of control when everyone around me was doing the exact same thing? This was just what people our age did; we would all eventually get it together, clean up our acts, and become functioning adults. We’d reminisce about all the wild drunken times together with our families and share a laugh. Well my friends did clean up their acts and get it together. Me? Not so much.
The first time that I can recall when my drinking started to get really out of hand was right around the summer of 2015. I was newly single, directionless, and sweaty (I mean, after all, it was the summer). By this year, nearly all of the friends that I had partied with during school were either still in school but further away or had gotten married and started their lives. Although there were still a few people around, it really felt like life was changing.
My summer that year consisted of four long work days with a three day weekend. Most weekends I would either drink at home, walk to the bars and drink, or hang out with people (and drink most likely). I didn’t think much of my drinking at all during that time. I knew at times it was very excessive, but I was having a great time. Most importantly, I was still able to function. Reflecting back, I wouldn’t say I was able to function that well on most days, but I did the things that needed to be done. To me, that was good enough.
By the next summer, I was back on my same routine. Hanging out, living wild and free, having lots of drinks, trying to fit into my favorite button up shirt and struggling immensely. Hey! Wait a minute. Okay, it was mostly the same routine, I just happened to be much heavier from all the drinking I had been doing. Despite this fact, I was still doing my thing and had no intentions of slowing down. By the end of that summer, I was at my all time highest weight. My favorite orange shirt was fucked. I felt like an ogre trying to squeeze into a piece of fabric every time I put on one of my old V-Necks. Things were getting sloppy.
I don’t know if it was the weight gain, or just my general sense that things were starting to go off the rails but I cleaned myself up. There’s also a chance that it could have been due to some great chats I had with close people or possibly a combo off all. Whatever it was, I got to work. Once that summer was over, I started monitoring my diet much better. I didn’t stop drinking, however. I didn’t think I really needed to stop; I just needed to slow down. It took a little bit of effort, but I really did slow it down. I even slimmed down enough in time to fit into my snazzy blue suit coat for my sister’s wedding that year. I was happy to have gotten myself back into better shape and life seemed more balanced. I was ready to get back to business as usual. I can’t say I ever reflected back to that moment to think of how I really got there. If I did, maybe I would have realized that my battle was far from over.
On February 22nd, 2020, I lost a friend of mine. We were not very close by this time but we did spend a lot of fun times together during some of my wild summers and even worked together for a short period too. Despite things changing, and us drifting apart, I would still call him a friend. I attended his funeral and felt a mix of many things. I still felt overwhelmed from the event that had transpired in my own life just about a week prior. I felt shocked, devastated, and exhausted all at the same time. I wanted to run out into an open field and let out a huge primal scream the top of my fucking lungs. I just wanted to make sense of things, but some things in life aren’t for us to make sense of. We just have to take them as they come and do our absolute best to keep going.
The next three months were weird. My work schedule shifted completely as the world began reacting to the pandemic. I was suddenly back on 1st shift and forced to adjust like many other people in this country. At first, I thought I was adjusting really well. I’m not a stranger to early shifts and the whole pandemic itself was a bit of a novelty at first. It wasn’t long though until people started to realize that we may be in this for longer than we originally thought and things went from novelty to bullshit, real quick. As the weeks went on, life started becoming more and more of a grind. I was still in my grieving process and had some things that I really need to unpack. It would have been a really good idea to spend some time reflecting and healing while alone with my thoughts but alcohol had other plans.
Most weekends during this time, as I put my nightly “X” on the calendar, I would feel ashamed. Most of the time, writing that “X” was the biggest accomplishment that I had for the day. I was spiraling and slowly being consumed by my nasty habits. I was a little surprised that I had gotten to this point; I should have really seen it coming. Even before all the terrible events of the winter, my drinking was on the rise. At the time, I didn’t necessarily feel depressed. In spite of the fact that we all knew what was coming, I thought I was coping quite well. I was still riding high off of quitting nicotine and staying very active. Sometimes I was able to run many miles, even on some of the more chilly mornings when my brain pleaded with me to stay in bed. It just so happened that during most of this time, I would also be recovering from a night out. During Thanksgiving break that year, I spent Thanksgiving eve inside of a bar in town catching up with some friends of mine. I think the night was fun, but ultimately was pretty much a blur. For Thanksgiving the next day, I remember waking up really hungover and immediately going to get some bloody marys to cope. This was another thing that happened often in the past that I never paid much thought to. Go out, get drunk, wake up, feel shitty, drink more. It didn’t really seem that ridiculous; it just seemed like common sense. The rest of the day I spent a majority of my time in that same bar from the night before. I watched football while pounding drinks and writing in my journal. Every once in a while, strangers would initiate small talk. I’m not a huge fan of small talk but alcohol always made it easier, and it’s something I knew to expect inside of a small town bar so I couldn’t really be annoyed. By late afternoon, I made it home for Thanksgiving with the family. Since it still seemed like I had a balance of things without much difficulty, I never had any second thoughts about my drinking.
A month later, we found ourselves in a very mild winter. Most days leading up to the holidays were around the mid 40’S if I recall correctly; a very nice treat for someone used to a brutal Wisconsin winter. I was officially on holiday with a few nice days to kill. The weather was a mood boost but my drinking was getting very out of control. For a few days in a row, I would start my evenings out with some drinks in my hot tub, then I’d hobble my way into town, and the rest got a little hazy. Most times I’d bring my notebook with me to get some writing done. I figured if I was getting some creative stuff done, I didn’t have to feel bad about going a little hard that evening. The only problem was, most of the stuff that I wrote while drinking was complete garbage. This may come as a shock, but most people can’t do their best work while drunk. When I wasn’t trying to write, I was interacting with people that I would probably never interact with otherwise. Nothing against them, I just feel like booze and good times was really the only common factor there. From what I can remember, I did have some wonderful interactions. I just wish I could remember more.
By the end of that year, I tried to reflect and adjust a little bit. Most weekends I was a complete wreck, wasting all my mornings to the awful feeling of being hungover. I felt a lot of guilt at times and would often think back to those summers of 2015 and 16. January 1st, 2020, I had what I think was my first sober New Years of my 20’s. I was glad to have been able to share a nice quiet evening with my family that year. My mom was really glad for that as well. I wonder if things would have been different had I not felt so shitty from the weekend before but I guess what could have been has no relevance. A sober New Years is what did happen, and I could be proud of that. I wish I could say that this is where things started to turn a corner but the ride wasn’t quite over.
As the biter, frigid month of January continued along, my 29th birthday had soon arrived with humility and grace. Just kidding, it actually reared its ugly head at me and screamed in my face, “it’s the last year of your 20’s! What the hell happened?!”. What a jerk. The celebration was mostly a drunken stupor. I went out for dinner, saw some townies, and drank a lot of drinks I would imagine; not much fanfare. I did however, get a treadmill, so that was pretty dope. Back at home, my mom eagerly awaited my arrival while sitting in her favorite chair in the living room. She did not go to birthday dinner with us that evening as she was feeling a little weak that day. In typical fashion, she apologized to me and said she felt bad that my birthday was the way it was this year. She didn’t have to apologize to me or feel that way at all but that’s who she was. I was just happy that we got one more together. The long dark raged on as we transitioned into February and you know the rest.
For the purpose of this writing, I took a look at some of my old journal entries to get some inspiration. A few stuck out to me, especially the ones near the end of May 2020. By that time, I was pretty isolated. I was getting fucked up nearly every weekend, going on buzzed walks through town, and was lucky if I could recount most, if any of the previous nights events. Regrets continued to pile up, night after night, and I didn’t give a shit. Until one day, I finally did.
Journal Entry: May 31st, 2020
If you really believe that you have the ability to turn over a new leaf every moment, then fucking prove it. Fix your shit. Write a script. Be nice. Clean up your act.
I would write things like this to myself pretty often. It could be tough talk sometimes but I was in a pretty dire situation. I would end up going on one last big bender the following weekend before finally stopping. Sunday, June 7th of that year at two in the morning, I would drink my last drop of booze. Don’t ask me to retell that evening’s events because I can’t. The only moment that sticks with me and probably the only moment worth remembering anyways, was the end. It felt much different than any other last calls; this was really it.
The next day, true to my word, I didn’t have a drink. A horrible hangover lingered over me all day; I’d felt like I’d gotten hit by a car. I would’ve loved to just pound a couple bloody marys and end my suffering but I stayed strong. The upcoming weeks would prove themselves to be quite a challenge. This was a brand new journey I’d be undertaking and I was honestly a little scared. My brain tried to talk me back into drinking right away. Sometimes I would think about other people who have it much worse than me to try and justify going back. Comparisons are a dangerous thing; someone’s always going to have it much better or much worse than you. Your life is your life. At times when I would reach my most anxious about things, I’d remind myself that I did this once before with nicotine gum and can certainly do it again with other things.
I relied heavily on writing in my notebook to fill my time and give my thoughts a place to go. I thought about drinking pretty often at first. Even though the world was still semi-closed at this point, I would still find myself having fears of missing out while I sat at home, sober. Having my writing hobby, along with a few other passions of mine, really helped. Among those things was also a damn good support system. At the start of my new voyage, I found myself getting some early motivation from a friend of mine who had also quit drinking. His story was one of inspiration for me at the time that he made his decision, and I was happy for his helpful advice. I had other supportive people in my circle as well, who may not have been able to relate in quite the same way but were always there with encouragement.
By the one month mark, I was feeling a lot less foggy; exercising and running became much easier, and much to my surprise, I could actually do things on Saturday and Sunday mornings. Even if I did sleep in late, I’d wake up and not feel like complete dog shit. Sober weekends were becoming more and more enjoyable too. Every once in a while, I’d run into someone who was not aware that I had quit and would feel a bit of a pressure to go back to drinking. It wasn’t often and I sorta expected it to happen, especially in a small town. You see a lot of the same people, former drinking pals included. These types of situations would get me into thinking more about the people in my life in general. I had sad realizations that certain people in my life were just drinking buddies. Besides the shared experiences with booze, there wasn’t much more depth. On the flip side though, I had great realizations that there were people in my life with whom I did have deep and meaningful friendships with. One of my ongoing sober life goals is to try my best to cultivate and maintain all of those friendships. I absolutely slip on this sometimes, but I will never quit. The older I get, the more I notice how easy it can be for people to drift. If you have important people in your circle, don’t ever give up on them. As cliche as it sounds, we need each other now, more than ever.
Six months in, I found that I had a lot more clarity and focus, but still knew of course that it was a long road ahead. Every once in a while, I will browse a no alcohol subreddit if I need some quick inspiration. Turns out, it’s not all assholes and trolls online. There are great people on there who have very fascinating stories and general encouragement to give. I highly recommend searching out an online community like that if you need some support. One evening while scrolling through a story, I stumbled upon an awesome quote. Apologies in advance for not remembering who said it and most likely butchering it too. The quote went a little something like, “Getting sober doesn’t solve your problems, it helps you see them more clearly”. It didn’t take me very long to realize that giving up substances wasn’t going to be a cure all but I knew it was a damn good first step towards a brighter future.
When I gave up nicotine, I remember feeling like I had lost a friend. It was very strange, but it really did feel a little like grief. Nicotine gum was a buddy that I spent countless, wonderful moments with. Beautiful summer evening walks, intense late night gaming sessions, hilarious conversations with friends. Given enough time to reflect of course, it was obvious that I had those things way before I ever even knew what nicotine was. I knew eventually I’d cope and be able to enjoy a life without it. When I gave up alcohol, it was less like losing a friend and more like losing a piece of myself. Crazy as it sounds, it really had become part of my identity. When you’ve done the same thing repeatedly, with a lot of the same people, what do you do when that’s not who you are anymore? Even in this very moment, I still have my struggles with this but things get easier and more clear every day. If there’s one thing that I’ll take away from all of this, it’ll be that I’m a very fortunate guy. I realize that there are folks out there struggling with substances or other demons who have no support at all. I also know that there are people fighting other unimaginable battles at this very moment. I feel for them and acknowledge that I’m a lucky guy. A lucky guy who continues to mark the days off the wall calendar with “X”s, only this time with a total shift in mindset. Feelings of guilt, regret and shame from wasted mornings and forgotten nights have gone away and been replaced by new feelings.
PART 3 – HOPE
When I first started cleaning up my bad habits, I realized quickly that I needed an outlet for my new found time, energy, and anger. I decided that I needed to get active. Growing up, this was never really in my nature. I never played sports in school, in fact, many jokes were made at my expense about my non-coordination. A few times during my 20’s, I’d have small stints of exercise and life changes before ultimately saying, “fuck it”. Nothing that I did ever stuck. As you know, I drank a lot in my 20’s, so I’m sure that contributed but as I look back on it now, I think a big part was my reasons. I guess I should say, lack of reasons.
When I would try these extreme lifestyle changes, it was usually around times when I was feeling pretty desperate. In my early twenties, I worked a retail job that sucked the life out of me. I did tedious things that were boring as hell and a lot of customers were unnecessarily cruel. After moving up a little bit in the company, I stepped back down after deciding I hated that even more. If you’d like to hear more about that, check out some classic Media Pod Smash! Anyways, it wasn’t too long after re-entering into my old position at the store that I really felt stuck. On days that I really felt like shit, I’d try to listen to positive audios or read some positive books. If something really stuck with me, I would have small moments where I would feel more confident and that it was possible to get better and change things. This would trigger those week long, or maybe at most, month long attempts to improve my life. I never had much of plan anytime I dove into these. When it didn’t work out, it was just back to same old life. I’d shrug it off and think, “better luck next time”. I didn’t make it far during these times because I didn’t have one good reason for doing what I was doing. Of course there was the reasons of, I feel stuck in a shitty job and I get anxious and sad sometimes, but that wasn’t good enough. If I was going to stop abusing substances, get fit, work on my mental health, and pursue my passions in life, my why had to be much stronger.
The first ten push-ups that I did during my first nicotine free day were fucking horrible. The next ten push-ups that I did on my second nicotine free day were still fucking horrible. Every so often, I would flashback to those failed moments from the past. There were many times that I wanted to say “fuck it, better luck next time”, but I didn’t. I knew that while at the same time I was having my fight, there was a wonderful women having an even bigger one of her own. My mom was a shining example of the human spirit. She fought hard, never giving up, and I wasn’t going to either. Not this time. It took longer than a month before physical activity became less of a chore. Once I began to see that it actually did get easier, I was off to the races. Having never done this much in the past, I made it up totally as I went along. Something was better than absolutely nothing; techniques and other things like nutrition could be learned along the way. To keep myself from getting too bored, I’d write random exercises on note cards, draw a card, and repeat as necessary. I discovered that I also had quite a fondness for running, so I added that into the mix as well. Again, that wasn’t an easy process at first either but with time it got easier to do and dare I say, even fun.
As I sit here in front of my monitor, typing this out so I can get this out on time, I am happy to say that I am now 362 days without alcohol and 824 days without nicotine. Sometimes I think back to the beginning and I really can’t believe it. I know I’m still a flawed human being with a lot of things to work on. I don’t know how this all ends or what new types of challenges that I’m in for. But for the first time in a long time, I have hope.
In September of 2020, I started doing creative projects again. When I was younger, I had an intense passion for creating short films, podcasts, and various other things. Somewhere along the way things slowed down a bit and it seemed like I had lost my spark. Over the course of a few years, I tried to get back to that place, even on some of my drunken evenings. The first time I conceived the idea of bringing back Media Pod Smash, I was sitting at a bar, writing on an index card that I had brought from home. Even through my inebriation, my soul could still see clearly and was begging me to figure out how to get that spark back. Today my fire burns brighter than ever before. I found a new love for doing things that make me feel full. Just this evening I took meaningful steps in a direction towards improving my craft; the old me would’ve probably not wanted to do that. Like I said before, I don’t know how this all ends. What I do know is that if a formerly drunken, unmotivated, and flawed human like me can fix his shit, then I think there’s hope for all of us.
Media Pod Smash, off!
-Jeremy
Media Pod Smash! 