It's a NEW Day!!

March 15, 2005 11:07 PM

You know, one of the big reasons I kind of stopped writing here is that I've always pretty much written about ideas, and not so much about my life.

The problem is, ideas are castles in the sky . . . pleasant to look at, but not really viable places to live. Ideas don't have floors, or furniture you can relax on, or real sex. Ideas look good on paper, but rarely end up being as attractive when manifested in three dimensions.

And ideas are a world apart. When I spend time contemplating ideas not directly related to my day-to-day life, that is time I'm not spending doing housework, exercising, or developing relationships with other human beings.

I stopped having time for ideas because many things in my life weren't working. Specifically, many things inside me weren't working. The panic attacks . . . I've written about them. The depression, the agoraphobia, the social anxiety, I've written less about.

My life, in a sense, was an idea. It looked great on paper. My job is interesting, and surrounds me on a daily basis with fun people. I have a comfy apartment and an even comfier partner. I have done things few people even feel able to aspire to . . . I've trained for years as a psychic, sung duets with Broadway stars, and at age 33 I earn about three times as much money as the average inhabitant of San Francisco.

But somehow the actual living of this good-looking life was - and is - not always happy. Who can say why.

I've missed this forum, this cyber-place, the sense of community that inevitably arises among those of us who do this, as different as we all are. But I haven't had time for ideas. And I've been getting healthier, spending less time in idea-land.

And it suddenly occurred to me . . . I could just write about my life. Why don't I do that?

The answer wasn't very pleasant. I didn't think my life was worth writing about.

This is kind of a sad admission for me. I've struggled against it for most of my life. But the truth is, I don't have a very high opinion of myself. I should. I know I should. It defies all logic that I don't. If I knew someone exactly like myself, I would have an extremely high opinion of him.

But, as I've discovered, logic isn't the issue. Life is. The fact is, I don't value myself. I'm a talented actor, so I've gotten good at acting and talking like I think the world of myself. But on the inside, emotionally and mentally, I abuse myself terribly. The harshness I frequently express toward myself, in the privacy of my own mind, is unbelieveable.

It's terribly embarrasing, knowing that people will read this. But I feel like I've got to admit it in order to change the situation. I need to take better care of myself. I need to think more highly of myself. I need to decided that my life is worthwhile . . . worth writing about.

So hopefully you will be hearing more from me. But for now, I've got to listen to NPR on satellite radio, because Terry Gross is interviewing Tim Curry.

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	March 15, 2005 11:07 PM You know, one of the big reasons I kind of stopped writing here is that I've always pretty much written about ideas, and not so much about my life. The problem is, ideas are castles in the sky . . . pleasant to look at, but not really viable places to live. Ideas don't have floors, or furniture you can relax on, or real sex. Ideas look good on paper, but rarely end up being as attractive when manifested in three dimensions. And ideas are a world apart. When I spend time contemplating ideas not directly related to my day-to-day life, that is time I'm not spending doing housework, exercising, or developing relationships with other human beings. I stopped having time for ideas because many things in my life weren't working. Specifically, many things inside me weren't working. The panic attacks . . . I've written about them. The depression, the agoraphobia, the social anxiety, I've written less about. My life, in a sense, was an idea. It looked great on paper. My job is interesting, and surrounds me on a daily basis with fun people. I have a comfy apartment and an even comfier partner. I have done things few people even feel able to aspire to . . . I've trained for years as a psychic, sung duets with Broadway stars, and at age 33 I earn about three times as much money as the average inhabitant of San Francisco. But somehow the actual living of this good-looking life was - and is - not always happy. Who can say why. I've missed this forum, this cyber-place, the sense of community that inevitably arises among those of us who do this, as different as we all are. But I haven't had time for ideas. And I've been getting healthier, spending less time in idea-land. And it suddenly occurred to me . . . I could just write about my life. Why don't I do that? The answer wasn't very pleasant. I didn't think my life was worth writing about. This is kind of a sad admission for me. I've struggled against it for most of my life. But the truth is, I don't have a very high opinion of myself. I should. I know I should. It defies all logic that I don't. If I knew someone exactly like myself, I would have an extremely high opinion of him. But, as I've discovered, logic isn't the issue. Life is. The fact is, I don't value myself. I'm a talented actor, so I've gotten good at acting and talking like I think the world of myself. But on the inside, emotionally and mentally, I abuse myself terribly. The harshness I frequently express toward myself, in the privacy of my own mind, is unbelieveable. It's terribly embarrasing, knowing that people will read this. But I feel like I've got to admit it in order to change the situation. I need to take better care of myself. I need to think more highly of myself. I need to decided that my life is worthwhile . . . worth writing about. So hopefully you will be hearing more from me. But for now, I've got to listen to NPR on satellite radio, because Terry Gross is interviewing Tim Curry. TRACKBACK (0)		Your Words