Oh, Selfish Me

I feel like an absentee dad. I keep neglecting this space, or at the very least bumping it to the dark corners of my "To Do" list. I need to get better at managing my time, really. I've got too many things to do and not enough hours in which to do them. I'm starting to remove myself from certain projects and endeavors that have shown themselves to be a waste of my time, which helps. Unfortunately, the only way to discover what IS a waste of my time is to allow something to waste huge amounts of my time.

As far as the podcast goes, I've given up the stress of trying to churn it out weekly like clockwork. With the other responsibilities I have, it's simply not realistic. Beyond that, it makes the goddamn thing feel like homework, which it should never be. I want my creative endeavors to be acts of love and joy and inspiration. I find myself feeling increasingly anchored to them, feeling a sense of responsibility to the people who enjoy them to churn projects out faster and without the necessary preparation or thought. It really betrays the entire purpose. I'm not making money or seeking money for pretty much anything I put out there. But, I've been treating these things like it's a business. It really threatened to murder the joy of creating for me, and I've only recently come to the conclusion that it's OKAY to throw self-induced shackles off. I can work at my own pace and present things as they come to me. I've long had a perfectionist streak and am notorious for being a self-flagellating guilt and stress monger. I do it to myself for reasons I've never been clear about.

I've got a ton of vague plans and ideas on the horizon, but nothing with form enough to talk about right now. Or ... I COULD, but it would be tremendously boring and I'd feel like a fool when 70% of what I talked about never materialized.

A few people have asked me via email and the wazooproductions.com message board to describe my creative process. I'd like to address that, but it's difficult for a few reasons.

1. It makes me sound like a legitimate artist or content creator, which I am definitely not. It feels pompous to even attempt to describe my "creative process".

2. The truth of it is, there ISN'T much of a process, or a defined trigger for what inspires me. My muses are too inconsistent and varied to put a finger on.

3. The places my ideas come from really depend on my headspace.

If I were to attempt to name the most consistent place where my ideas come from, I'd have to say it's desperation. Whether it be desperation in terms of my finances or my relationships or existential crisis. Most of the things I do that I'm actually proud of come from a dark place, even if the end result is comedic. Rarely does a joke or a concept for a sketch come from a purely happy place. The punchline is generally incidental, and I'll find it on the way to the deeper point. Many times, I'm intentionally vague. The sad clown is the most over-used cliche in the world, but it's also pretty spot-on. The comedians I admire and respect, and the people whose points of view I share and whose company I enjoy are at their core pretty melancholy. Myself included. This isn't to say that myself or my closest friends are overtly depressive, hostile, or heavy to be around. It's more a matter of where the root of things lie. Sadness is pretty hilarious in the end. It's the only comedy with heart or honesty. Being okay with it is the hardest part, but once you come to grips with that and realize it's simply what your outlook is ... it's smooth sailing.

I turned 28 a few days ago, and while the age itself is meaningless ... the closer it is to that new, round number. 30 years old. It shouldn't be a line in the sand. I'm a pretty rational guy most of the time. But, I'm feeling this increased pressure to do something huge or dive off the deep-end somehow. Maybe take a risk, even if the prospects for success are close to nil. I feel like I've been sleep-walking for a long time and taking the easy road because it's safe. By the time I've got a zero and the end of my age again, I want to either have scars and a story, or the keys to a new car and a thorough knowledge of tax law.

It's storming outside, and I'm drinking St. Germain cocktails in my underwear. Honestly, it feels pretty right.