IN THE DISTANT PRESENT
Slower than you ever thought possible, but faster than you could ever imagine, sidelined folding chairs became lovers under bleachers became business-expensed stadium box seats. This high up, it's hard to tell what sport they're playing. Maybe it's a concert. A wave of cheers erupts from below and by the time it reaches me, I've resolved to clap along. Below, I see you silhouetted against the lights, arm-in-arm with everyone from my old life. Are you playing? Or are you watching? I look around me, to see who I came here with, to understand how I got here and why. But before I can catch a glimpse, I wake up.
***Alright, alright, alright***
You're going through something, we get it.
I read1 a Matthew McConaughey interview recently in which he said his mantra to get him through difficult times was, It’s Gonna Take A Lot Longer Than You Think (tooth whistle).
The idea is definitely counter-intuitive, and I certainly butchered the quote, and it absolutely did not bring to mind the geriatric child from the end of The Jaunt. But it struck me as True, and as I spent my Dreadful Summer wading through the El Niño heat, white-knuckling my nicotine cravings and box-breathing through my broken heart, I found myself anchored to the idea:
This, I whistled, Is Gonna Take A Lot Longer Than I Think.
Yes, this situation sucks, but trying to make myself feel better about it is making me miserable. Surrender as a non-stupid life strategy; Radical Acceptance. It’s the same thought experiment Andrew Huberman prescribes for quitting cigarettes: What If Your Goal Was To Feel As Miserable As Possible? When you’re addicted to something, your brain’s reward system gets all sorts of fucked up. Each time you reach for the cigarette, you’re communicating your deeply hedonistic subconscious goal: I Want To Feel Good All The Time, even at the expense of my health. What if, instead, your goal was to feel miserable? When you get the urge to smoke, you know it would feel So Good. But you want to feel So Bad, so you don’t. You feel miserable, therefore accomplishing your goal, and big picture, you feel better.
So when I say that I’m on my fourth week without nicotine, what I’m saying is, I’m Finally Choosing Myself. And when I say that’s October and I still have to fight the urge to call you, what I’m saying is, This Is Gonna Take A Lot Longer Than I Think.
***So you've torn me Open***
Now what?
Release music, of course.
I put out “Still Emo” a little over a week ago and I feel back on track in a way I haven’t felt in years. I won’t say the ball is rolling yet, but I can say that it’s no longer barreling downhill, at least. I’m content with Zero Momentum for this week.
Getting back in the swing of Doing Music makes me realize just how long it’s been since I’ve properly locked in. Maybe never. Signing with AWAL immediately after launching my project and having releases hidden behind a cushy advance for so long really let me procrastinate building a release system of my own volition. Well fuckers, this time I’m doing it, and I’m Putting It On Wax to hold myself accountable. No big multimedia project like the True Modern Romance universe or the Junk Male short film to sidetrack me this time. Eternal Underdog is simply— One Song Per Month For One Year.
Creating the infrastructure to make this possible has not been easy. Despite how much I wish it was, it’s never just, Put Out A Song When I Feel Like It2. I only did what I Felt Like for my entire roaring twenties, because I bet that I could accomplish all my goals exclusively by following my First Instincts & Gut Feelings.
***What's the most you ever lost on a coin toss?***
For me it was a loft, my credit score and the stability of my music career.
The last time I saw you, on the drive to the airport, you said each new Emotionally Salient life experience was a Pretty Rock you put in your pocket. They begin to weigh you down until you express them, and if you don’t, the weight Never Goes Away. You theorized that Doing Art is the only way to alleviate the heaviness.
But What If You Don’t Do Art About It? I asked.
You theorized that the people who don’t Do Art are less inclined to Collect Pretty Rocks.
I’ve Collected more Pretty Rocks than I know how to Do Art with, these last ten years. What’s more, I’ve made art with them, but I’ve rarely completed the artistic cycle— that is to say, I haven’t released much art. The Salience is left unresolved. I came down to the Big City to Do Music for everyone to hear, and instead, I spent years keeping most of it to myself. Couldn’t I have just done that back Home? Why am I here again? Better Check The Fridge.
I dropped you off at Tom Bradley International and drove the Mustang back to the Lettuce House. Thus began the process of reconciling the idea of us into A Thing That Happened that spurs me on to the next thing. Another lover, another lesson. Jalon said this was probably the Big One, and judging by the ripple effect it’s had, I have to agree. Caleb said there’s nothing to be sad about— it’s just more proof that Codename: Max Noir was wrong, and that love is real. Chris said to be inspired; he said watching your career has been like watching someone ascend a staircase. He said watching mine has been like watching someone stack furniture3 and try to climb it at the same time. Now I know I was also doing it with a bunch of Pretty Rocks in my pocket. No wonder it all came toppling down. I hope you found some Pretty Rocks during the time you spent with me, and I hope everyone loves the Art you Do with them, and I hope without them weighing you down, the next stair is that much easier to reach.
In my old life, up until AWAL dropped me, I thought the right Hail Mary could launch me to the stratosphere and accomplish all my goals for me in one fell swoop. Now I know that goals are actually a Russian Nesting Doll of tiny choices. One viral song does not World Domination™ make. No, before I can conquer the world, I have to re-stabilize my music career. To do that, I have to stabilize myself. To be stable, I have to have a routine. To have a routine, I have to be disciplined. To be disciplined, I have to do the hard thing. To do the hard thing, I have to accept that I will be miserable for a while.
It’s been one week since I released “Still Emo,” four since I’ve had a cigarette, and eight since I left you at Terminal B.
Longer Than You Think.
***Whew, what a thesis***
I hope the metaphor is clear.
As a recovering hedonist, it’s tempting to think that I am my Feelings. And as a recovering Compulsive Derealization-Adjacent Overanalyzer™, it’s easy to think that I am my Thoughts. I am neither. I am not even my Actions. I am my Choices.
I’m at Cafe Nido in East Hollywood and I’ve spent 3 hours writing this post. That’s just about as much time as I can bear to budget before I have to switch tasks to editing “Still Emo” content. It’s only been a week of getting back in the swing of things, but it’s felt like The Jaunt. I’m on my fifth day in a row of waking up at 8AM and not looking at my phone until I’ve went on a wimpy 1-mile jog and taken a mildly cold shower. I’m seeing how this daily routine fits on top of the larger routine I’ve spent the Dreadful Summer rebuilding: making and finishing as much music as possible. Seeing friends. Saving money4. I sold the Mustang because it only drives 47.3% of the time, and I can no longer rely on anything unstable. I am choosing to do these things not for their own sake; I’m not entirely un-cynical. No, I am doing them for the sake of being someone who sticks to what he says, even when he doesn’t feel like it. I am going on a jog not because I want to, but because I promised myself I would. I am, despite everything, not quitting music, because I promised my brother I wouldn’t.
I tried going back to the Old Way again after getting dropped, and again after losing the loft, and again after this breakup. Instead of making me feel Normal, it’s started to make me panicky. I’ve outgrown it, and it fits so tight on me I can barely breathe5. I almost destroyed my life after being left to my own devices for so long. No, Normal is gone. The plane’s taken off. The Old Way has exploded. And now I’m here, at the bottom of the valley. I’ve dug myself out of the rubble of my roaring twenties; the mountains of Pretty Rocks; the piles of splintered furniture. I’m staring up the hill I’m about to roll the ball up, once again. I Give In, so I don’t Give Up. Breathe out— It’s Gonna Take A Lot Longer Than I Think. But it’ll go by faster than I could ever imagine. One stair at a time. Welcome to Eternal Underdog.
woof
—mbk
FOOTNOTES:
1. read /red/ past tense verb: to have watched an Instagram Reel. ↩
2. If that was so, then I’d barely have any Music to show for my 5 years of Doing it. Which I guess is the case, so I suppose that has been how it was. ↩
3. All of my homes have been decorated mostly with curbed furniture, if you want to further the metaphor. ↩
4. Insane of me, right? ↩
5. At first, I thought it was heartburn, but even Tums didn’t help. ↩
