For each of the past five years, I’ve published a post on this site recapping what I perceived as the arc of the previous twelve months, in broader terms but also for me personally. While I undertook the exercise again last month, I didn’t end up publishing my thoughts.
And I’m not going to publish them.
I’ve wanted to publish that post, just as I wanted to share what’s been going on in my head at many points throughout the last, mostly silent (as a blogger/podcaster) year. Obviously, I couldn’t do it then, either. And I’ve struggled with these decisions, despite knowing that they were correct.
On the other hand, in the midst of the tumult of 2017, I remained productive, perhaps more so than ever before. It never felt that way, probably because of the tempestuousness of the cultural moment but also because the belief that I haven’t done enough, at any given time, is just one of my areas of personal lack. Regardless, for both of these reasons, it has been a struggle to remain silent about what I’ve been feeling, learning, and thinking.
But I think it’s a measure of just how serious things are right now, and also how serious I take my role as an artist, that I found the strength and resolve to keep my focus where I felt more sure it was needed this past year — on the actions.
This is also why I’m permanently done with recapping years gone past.
History remains fatally important, but my own part in history, and arguably even my own thoughts about “what’s wrong” or “what needs to be done” right now — neither concern me as much as they used to (on most days).
As far as I can tell, we don’t need the level of thought, analysis, or argument we’re getting right now, from most angles of social life. Rather, we need reflection, action, compassion, and also a degree of faith — especially in a future that has at times appeared bleak, from the vantage point of this mostly stolen moment.
That’s what I want to offer up, if and when I chime in here. In place of summing up the arc of a previous year in December, if anything, I want to reflect upon areas of focus for the coming months, or touch base on the ongoing year.
I have specifics goals written down, in this regard, but for now they belong to me only, for the most part. I’m sharing the details with a few select people, who I know I can trust to keep it about the intention, and not the potential or the results. That part I can’t do alone, or in complete privacy.
However, I’d encourage anyone reading this to spend some quiet moments this week reflecting on what you believe, and how you can take daily action over the course of a year to serve the world around you (perhaps most importantly, as it exists directly in front of you) from the position of those principles.
Then, consider writing some actions and goals down, simply and in as few words as possible. It’s a good opportunity to do something like this right now, with the full year ahead of you. But you don’t need to do it now, or only in January. It’s more important that we act at all, when we can and as best we can, versus any one perfect time or in any particular way.
Either way, try to build up a resolve and a practice now that you can lean on when things get hard.
If they’re already hard in this moment (which I completely understand), it’s arguably even more important that you somehow carve out the time to think about how to shift your approach, and then do what you can to pursue change. Your focus and your goals can take just about any form, and you can start from any place, assuming your basic needs are being met. If your basic needs are not being met, then these can and must be your focus (and I’m sorry that you’re not getting what you deserve right now).
Carry your notes with you. It’s eminently doable. Look at them every day. I have to do this right now. I don’t know how else to keep myself from slipping into distractedness, or sliding into anger or self-pity.
What I will say about 2017 is that I did not waste the time otherwise diverted from where it was spent here in the past.
There’s plenty coming soon, as a result of my artistic and professional (and professionally artistic) recent labors. The process of realizing these results was not easy on me. I’m still grappling with some of the fallout, and the growing pains, produced by the journey. That’s not a complaint. I’m grateful. And, at the very least, I can say that I showed up and, just as crucially, remained authentic.
For me, the next several months are going to continue to require that I spend my time wisely, and as effectively as possible. I don’t see too much utility in commentary in the short term, or even argument. We need more than that, right now, in my view.
We need reflection, presentation, conversation, bravery, risk and…healing.
I don’t know that anyone was was ever healed by an opinion. Everyone is entitled to their voice, and voicing anger or fear or concern will never cease to play an important role in civic engagement. But it’s not everything, and it’s definitely doesn’t seem like enough right now.
In this moment, truth and justice and compassion in general need defending and care. They need it from all sides.
We are in a moment right now that I don’t know that many of us can clearly grasp, on the whole, at least in terms of what can be done to minimize or arrest the damage currently being inflicted upon the country and world by callous men. I know that I’m less certain of what’s needed than I thought I was, even if I have a pretty good idea about what problems or manipulations led us here, and what will be required to safeguard our civic redemption.
It’s a heavy, multi-triggered trap that’s been lowered onto us, and we may need to turn to digging more than any other method of escape in order to survive. I hope we won’t. I hope it will be easier than that, but there are other factors at play as well that complicate things, and sometimes I don’t know what else to do except turn to the task of excavating what’s in front of me.
But I also know I can only get clearer on all this through courage, and patient, thoughtful work. The work itself is often unglamorous, and I think I also need to let go of the compulsion to prove to people that it’s not. Independent filmmaking remains monumentally difficult, but all the more culturally important (and exciting) because of this difficulty. Having also recently returned to writing my version of literature this past year, I can’t say for sure which undertaking is more exhausting, rewarding, and necessary. For now, they are both what I have to do.
I guess, for me, it has lately become fundamentally crucial to arrange things such that I can do my absolute best, in these ways that have been laid out for me, as often and as effectively as I can.
While I’ve always looked at my work as central to who I am, it’s recently evolved into more of a clear responsibility, but one decidedly unlike so many of the others that I have assumed or forced upon myself in the past. By this I mean that I feel led to these pursuits, tasked with and by them on a basis not of striving but of quiet certainty. The doing, as such, less often requires thinking, or positioning, and more often asks simply that I show up.
So that’s what I intend to do, this year as I did during the last.
Thanks for reading. Whatever you’re thing is that you feel you need to do — start in on it today, if you haven’t already. As always, we need you.
My name is Michael. I am a Writer and Filmmaker of hopeful stories for complex people. My first film, The Videoblogs, about mental health in the age of tech, is available on iTunes. I’m currently working on my next film and also a novel. This site is sort of out-of-date but you can contact me anytime on the socials and/or you can join my email list here. I don’t use it very often at the moment but will probably still chime in that way from time to time. Thanks for reading! You’re honestly a very cool person.
Last weekend, I said goodbye and good riddance to my twenties. Officially.
In truth, I’ve felt thirty for a few years now. I still feel legitimately different today, now that it’s actually true, but what I mean to say is that I’ve already spent a fair amount of time, heading into this touchstone point in adulthood, reflecting upon what I’ve learned about life over the past ten year or so.
Still, I thought it would be a good idea to put some of these lessons in writing. I’ve lately been noticing the advantages of return reflection. It never occurred to me in the past that there are benefits to doubling back and revisiting certain thoughts, feelings, memories — and the conclusions I formed about myself based on them.
In retrospect, it appears I was too busied by the “imperative” to keep moving, during my twenties — often for the express purposes of providing myself with an excuse for not being able to stand still — to really get a full picture of what was going on in my life. But also, well, I was still young and stupid. And by that I mean that I thought I knew everything, when in reality I just know most things.
Kidding. Sort of. It’s actually an important distinction, the difference between genera knowledge and specific certainty. We can get far in life by knowing most of what there is to know about any one thing. However, worlds can also collapse in the space between knowing something completely and almost knowing it completely. Just ask your nearest brain surgeon.
Of course, there are even levels between these two admittedly high-aspiration examples. So enough with the jokes and preamble.
Here is a sampling of some of the larger lessons I learned on my way to thirty. Some may seem familiar, because there are other posts out there, written by other people who also turned thirty and felt a similar need to get public about it. I’m sharing anyway to prove there’s some universality here, and also because there’s always something different that we as individuals can add to a story to make it partially ours even in its widespread sameness. And that, in turn, can lead to all of us feeling more connected. What? Yes.
1. Love trumps all.
If you know me even a little bit, and/or if you’ve read more than a couple of posts here (such as this one), it shouldn’t be a surprise that this is the first and biggest lesson I felt moved to share. It unfortunately seems to get easier to forget, as we get older and thus closer towards death (which seems a lonely solo act), that love is the reason why we do everything that we do. Especially in an America where work and commerce continue to reign supreme, we seem on average to give up more and more of what we love — and to increasingly accept conditions that take us away from who we love — much more often than we’d like. That is, if we thought about this often enough.
Well, I’ve thought about it. I work on honoring this truth, every day, nowadays. Love withers without attention and care, and some essential part of us withers with it when we fail to give both these things as a primary imperative. And, to be clear, I’m not just talking about romance. It does no good to force romance or to substitute something or someone else in it’s name when patience or self-actualization is actually the thing that is called for. Love, obviously, can and is also about family, friends, and how we treat our own selves.
Not everyone grows up with a healthy or full relationship with love. And it’s too big a thing to handle fully before adulthood, in a way. So, I’m glad I spent much more of my twenties loving and learning to love myself. It’s helped formed a foundation for an overall happiness in my life that I’m able to grip now but during those earlier years didn’t know I could build and then stand upon.
2. I’m not perfect (or invincible).
It’s been well established, for a long time now, that men and women in their twenties usually carry with them an aura of invincibility. They have enough of youth’s plasticity left in them for this presumption to appear warranted, most of the time. A twenty-year-old simply bounces back, physically and energetically, from injury and duress (emotions are a different story, in my experience).
But a byproduct of this attitude is that people in their twenties tend to think they can do no wrong. Perhaps this is also a generational thing, more aptly ascribed to today’s twenty-somethings, but I’m not sure complete responsibility for that can be placed on generational characteristics.
Either way, I don’t mean to suggest that there isn’t value in feeling invincible and perfect, or perfectly right. The primary advantages to these qualities is that they engender action, which is sorely needed in the world at all times but particularly right now and particularly from the young.
As I’ll argue soon, though, action alone is often not enough, when it comes down to it, in terms of how it affects our lives as well as our surrounding societies. A twenty year old who can’t understand why his or her actions are not getting the deserved results — or why everything isn’t going perfectly — jeopardizes future growth and very good (if not perfect) results by failing to acknowledge the reality of such a situation. The sense of rightness and of unending possibility is normal and healthy and can be harnessed. But it’s not the end of the game if and when results don’t match expectations.
It took me a fair while to truly understand this. To a degree, I’m still struggling to believe it. But we have to fail to gain access to growth and progress, in all aspects of life.
3. Failure is very important
Failure is life’s way of forcing us to reconcile with the reality of our imperfections and the results of our imperfect actions and reactions. In a way, nothing we ever do will end in anything but failure.
What? Hear me out.
If you’re anything like me — and if you’re reading this you must be at least a little like me — you spend at least some of your time, from day to day, forming expectations. You probably started reading this post with some expectation of what you were going to or wanted to read. Perhaps I’ve already failed you. Or, more likely, perhaps I’ve failed you but at the same time gave you something else — which you weren’t expecting.
I’ve noticed that reality has a way of reckoning with everyone, no matter who they are and/or what they’ve done in life. Deny or explain away the existence of failure in your life for too long, and at some point some other part of that life will fail on you completely, perhaps to your surprise. In choosing to deny that we’ve failed we are consequently choosing to deny reality. This causes a drift farther away from potential positive change. It also lengthens the process for achieving whatever opposite defines success.
I have seen people of all ages become unhinged by this truth. However, I think, if we’re talking what is reasonably healthy, it’s around this time in life where I am…when we should be beginning to acknowledge how we have failed, what we have learned from these failures, and what we want to do next to take advantage of these lessons and start again with a further emphasis on intention and with the benefit of experience to lean on.
It could be argued that our twenties are for failing our way to a place wherein we can begin to pursue true success. Whether this is true or not depends on the attitude we take in the face of failure, and what we do from there and how we do it.
4. There’s time. Nothing is set is stone.
I spent too much time in my twenties worrying about what I “needed to do” before I turned thirty. I spent so much time worrying about it, that I almost failed to realize just how much I have accomplished up to this point, and how much I have grown as a person, despite these fears and anxieties. I don’t think I’m alone in this.
It’s still difficult to remember, some days. It can become especially difficult to remember if you’ve experienced the sort of trauma I experienced several years ago. My light brush with death in the early years of my twenties had a doubly poisonous effect on most of the rest of them. Having to acknowledge the fragility of life, when I was “supposed” to be feeling invincible, left me feeling constantly scared that I was going to die before I experienced or accomplished anything that I wanted for myself in life. This fear, ironically, led me to grip life more tightly than is probably healthy, while I was at the same time I tried to prove to myself that I wasn’t scared by continuously going out and getting drunk and engaging in self-destructive behavior.
It took some failure and some pain and some therapy and a lot of time, but I’ve learned to let go — a little bit. Sometimes. I’m most likely not going to die today, or tomorrow — and, statistically speaking, neither are you. Does this mean the fear isn’t real, or shouldn’t be respected? Not at all. It’s just the truth. Another truth? Even if we do perish, there most likely will not have been a damn thing we could have done to prevent it.
We can only do what we can do, today, and we can’t extend our influence into the past or quite that far into the future. So why try? Why obsess?
5. Things are simpler than we’d like to admit or believe.
Complication is the “best friend” I used to hang out with in order to prevent myself from beginning down the path of creating the life I truly wanted (the path that I feel I am now on, for the most part). Anything can be made complicated, with time, if there’s fear in you. And there’s fear in all of us.
The formation of “perfect” expectations goes both ways — towards nightmares as well as dreams. Much in life is actually simpler than we make it.
Hungry? Eat. Don’t want to ingest too many calories, or too much fat or sugar? Eat something healthy. Worried about eating too close to dinner? How could putting healthy food in your body ruin anything?
More likely, if you don’t eat when you’re randomly hungry, abstinence will backfire. Maybe the hunger takes over at the grocery store on the way home from work, and you spend too much money on more food than you need. Or maybe something stressful occurs, and you end up eating anyway — but you choose something that’s not healthy. Or you meet with the same result because you end up meeting that hunger again hours after dinner, also known as the time when the cookie vampire comes out to hunt.
The above is a very mundane example but that’s part of my point. Add a day’s worth of mundane examples of simple problems that were addressed with a series of complicated anti-solutions (excuses) and what do you get? Unhappiness.
Dissatisfaction. That could have been avoided.
Inaction. That is leaving you exactly where you were the day before, perhaps in a place you don’t want to be.
Contrarily, to keep the example going — sometimes a problem is as simple as saying: “Fuck it. I’m eating a Snickers.”
Or, to double back to positive action, while at the same time increasing the scope: “Fuck it. I’m completely unhappy. I need to change my life. After I eat this Snickers.”
6. Broken things can be fixed.
I can’t speak for everyone, here. What I will say is that I think many of us enter and drift (or barrel) through our twenties in continuous combat with a not-so-sneaking suspicion that something is wrong with us. Why can’t I succeed? Why aren’t I happy? Why do I feel this way?
Coping mechanism’s vary, as does the timeline during which we can be gripped by such thoughts and feelings, which will never quite go away (as far as I know and have been told) but can be better managed as we get older and more honest and more willing to deal with the reality of what, say, a sense of brokenness signifies in the grand scheme of our lives — as well as how it might affect us.
The honesty part of it was big for me. I knew for a long time that I was a little damaged. The symptoms were readily apparent, even if I hadn’t addressed the causes. I was too angry and too quick to run from anything that might hurt me or expose my pain. In my ignorance, I even got very creative with how I managed to hold on desperately to brokenness in spite of my sincere, deep desire to be fixed. When you know you’re broken, at least you know something, with certainty. There is comfort in having reasons for all that you don’t like about your life. Salvation can be scary. It’s an unknown. It can seem impossible, or appear as an inevitable disappointment, when you’re looking up at it from the depths of hopelessness.
Acknowledging a need for help has to come first. Then, there’s the asking. Finally, as much as might perhaps wish to avoid it, there’s the action that can only come from the broken individual.
I’m just glad I ended up spending a fair portion of my twenties gathering the courage to face this lesson and embrace its possibilities. It’s an ongoing process, but even as I write this I can’t imagine where I would be if I didn’t show some faith in both the real possibility of redemption and in myself as a man possible of changing.
7. Character is king.
This isn’t a reference to writing or filmmaking, although there’s definitely some overlap. What I mean to say is that, in line with the above, I’ve learned that it’s more important to have and exhibit true character than it is to succeed in terms of monetary gain or socially-approved and accepted positions of power and influence.
It’s never been clearer in our society that all it takes to become wealthy is a deficiency of character and a willingness to hurt and/or take advantage of other people. This is not the only way to become wealthy — just the fastest and the most assured. And in an increasingly hyper-connected and globalized world, it’s never been easier to run away from the repercussions of such a decision, which can be pushed to a distance by various levels of remote-responsibility, accomplished via the “normal” evolution of growth bureaucracy.
What does this have to do with character? Everything.
As has been partially discussed already, the compromises we make in life invariably demand their day. We all do what we feel we have to do to survive, or thrive, or stay safe. I’m not here to judge anyone — not even those who have “succeeded” in the above terms. Yes, hurting others is wrong. But there’s also an argument to be made that it’s also wrong to allow yourself to be continually hurt. Also, I deliberately chose a generalized, extreme example. As with anything, there are shades of gray.
Basically, what I am saying is that we become what we do. This made it important for me, over the past several years, to take my time finding out what works for me and what doesn’t. It was a fuck of a bumpy road at times but I’m glad I took it. And in some ways I think I’m still on it and always will be.
8. Character is solidified by action.
I’m repeating myself but this is important: We become what we do. Which can just as easily be redefined as “nothing”.
Life is delicate, as we’ve established. It can be easy to play by the rules and go along with what everyone else is doing, and I would encourage anyone who’s actually okay with that, at bottom, to seize the opportunity to live a relatively serene life. Just try not to hurt too many people and be sure you’re being honest with yourself and don’t forget to love — if I may be so bold as to make these demands.
Contrarily, it can be hard to break rank and pursue something that’s mysterious even to you, despite a gravitation towards whatever that thing might be.
For me, it was storytelling. Writing. Filmmaking. Lately, some other forms of expression as well. The road to actualization began for me, years ago, in pursuing this twin dreams.
But I was infrequently happy before I was frequently “working”. I add the scare quotes because, now, on good days it doesn’t feel like work. This never would have happened, though, if I didn’t risk myself, repeatedly and more fully over time. The journey, as they say, is and will continue to be the destination.
Much of what’s in these most recent paragraphs is inspired in part by my favorite film, The Hustler. By this clip, in particular. I leave you with it. Thanks for reading.
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