You say, “keep my head from going down”
Just for a little, just for a little
Watch my feet float off the ground
Just for a little, just for a little
Love, if you can hear this sound
Oh, just give me something, something to believe in
Parachute
When last I blogged, I said I was going to put together a playlist for my newly revived (and looooong over due) enjoyment of riding my beach cruiser down the So. Cal coast for exercise.
I was true to my word and by the time I crashed Friday night there were 137 songs totaling nine hours on that list. The songs I picked were stuff that you would listen to as you were leisurely riding a bike. It’s heavy with Sublime (old school and with Rome), Red Hot Chili Peppers, some ska and even a few reggae songs. I called the playlist “Beach Cruisin” and this is one of the songs on the list.
As I crashed Friday night I contemplated setting an alarm, but said screw it. Drama Queen was kicking it at grandma’s place and I had jack shit to do on Saturday. My first order of business was to ride my bike, but after that my schedule was clear. After double checking to make sure the alarm was NOT set, I tumbled into bed and drifted off.
Waking up around 8:15 (and wishing my brain wanted to chill longer) I loaded the bike on the rack and made the 15 minute drive to Sunset Beach. I turned right at the water tower and darted behind Harbor House. Somewhere around 12th street I parked and unloaded the bike and headed towards my destination, the Huntington Beach pier.
From where I parked, the pier is 6.5 miles one way which if I did my math correctly makes that 13 miles of riding. I hadn’t ridden 13 miles total in the last three years and my hamstrings are way too tight, but I decided to make the maiden voyage 13 miles. Sometimes I’m a freakin genius, huh?
I put my playlist on shuffle, turned the volume to a moderate level, donned my earbuds and headed south. As I approached the river channel separating Bolsa Chica and the Huntington Cliffs I began thinking about what I wanted to write for Monday. When I hit the top of the small overpass I stopped to take a picture. The picture at the top of the post.
As I approached the start of the cliffs I looked down at the beach and thought of all the great memories I’ve had there. Back in my younger days I would surf there and occasionally enjoy a beverage while hanging out in the naturally made party spaces in the rock. It’s also a mile long dog beach that allows pets to roam free anytime and Lucy (my dog) and I have walked down that beach many times. While I was enjoying my memories, this song came on and something clicked in my brain. I knew what I would write about.
You wake up every morning looking for your answer
You’re waiting for your sign
I could give you my whole story but it’s all in past posts. The bottom line is that since September of 2010 my life (with a couple very good exceptions) has been less than enjoyable.* I’ve had fairly serious health problems which are still not completely handled and my self esteem went from 90 all the way down to zip.
I’ve felt like giving up 1,000 times (and yes I’m aware that there are less than 1,000 days in that time period) and actually tried to give up at least 100. Every time my Muse was there not letting me and although I was generally miffed that she wouldn’t let me give up, I’m kinda glad she didn’t.
Night after night I would go to bed praying that this was just a crappy dream and that if it wasn’t, that God would fast forward to the end (of the crappiness, not the end of my life). Each morning I awoke hoping that day would be different. They weren’t. There were some good days in there but they were few and far between.
You walk the streets at night still looking for your reason
But you don’t wanna try
I will admit that lately I’ve been not myself. I’ve been snippy (more than usual) and my friends can tell just by looking at me that something hasn’t been right. I became very self conscious of the things I couldn’t do anymore. I referred to them as my “shortcomings”.
I also have a huge fear of failing and I hate being out in public when I’m not myself. Why? Because when I can’t do something I get frustrated. When I get frustrated I do things like yell at the guy who owns the taco place I go to because the person who took my phone order never gave it to the kitchen. I’ve since apologized to the dude for being a tool (my exact words to him) and we’re cool again.
My point is that when I can’t do something I know I should be able to do, I get very depressed. Like “really shitty” depressed. And that’s 180 degrees from who I am. What’s my answer to all this? Not try. Duh.
Sometimes it’s hard to keep on living
But you’re the one who’s got to know just when it’s right
I don’t know what it was but in November I was as far gone as I can ever remember being. I went off on the people who I care about the most and I felt like I was never going to come out of this funk. December wasn’t a lot better, but I’d started to make a conscious effort to lose weight and I noticed my size 40’s getting loose. Then my 38’s were hanging low which made me feel even better. Suddenly there seemed to be a light at the end of the tunnel.
I finished my novel and after reading the finished copy, my agent sent me notes on each chapter, I was surprised at the lack of work I needed to do on 1-6. I’d gone back and edited the thing before sending it to him, but I still needed a bit of work. Next he sent me 7-16. Things were cruising along fine until chapter 9.
From 9-12 he used the phrases, “Don’t be so graphic”, “Leave something to the imagination” and “there’s probably a better word for that” somewhere in the vicinity of 50 times. There were minimal notes the rest of the way but as I looked at 9-12 I realized something. I try hard not to write when I feel crappy, so I didn’t. Then I got tired of my Muse telling me just to write and I wrote no matter how I felt.
Eventually I went back to writing only when I felt good, but do you want to guess what chapters coincided with my writing while in a funk? Boom. Chapters 9-12. I’m glad my Muse pushed me through it. Really.
You may not believe it but I really don’t like to put out stuff I feel is mediocre. As I edited the chapters I kept the same basic story but found ways to make it better. Realizing at what point in my life I wrote the angry stuff really made me take note of what a dick I was then and I’m glad I metaphorically pulled my head out.
Love, if you can hear this sound
Oh, just give me something, something to believe in
The bottom line is that I’ve gained back my confidence when it comes to my writing. I’m still not completely comfortable being around people but one step at a time, right? I’m excited and optimistic about the book and my health has generally improved some. I still can’t do everything I want, but I’m getting by.
I’ve lost 50 pounds since November 2 and I feel a little better about myself for that. I decided to hop on the “feeling better about myself wave” and ride it all the way to the shore. For the first time in 16 months I feel like I have something to believe in and that is a rad feeling.
* “Less than enjoyable” actually means “sucked ass”.
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