though all's fair in vanessy

I have very slowly been emerging from my latest depression. Medication and therapy have helped get me to a point I can feel more or less human, get myself up and about a bit, and interact with the universe on a level greater than that of a hermit. And though I’m not feeling bad, I haven’t felt all that confident about myself and what direction to take. Just getting to this point has been tremendous progress; however, I’ve felt stalled, plateaued, unsure.

This is an all too common theme throughout my life. I manage to reach an unseen barrier I can’t bring myself to cross. I have talked about this with my therapist, as well as with my psychiatrist. It was with my doctor I got a subtle, though deeply felt shock to the system: a positive, hopefully helpful shock. I sat there talking about how helpful the medicines have been, how much more I have been doing, and how I always reach this point. My mood and outlook may improve and I may outwardly seem as though I’m healthy, well-adjusted, and confident, yet I have not figured out how to even begin the process of figuring out how to give direction to my life. Essentially, in many ways, I am eternally stuck in the moment.

He asked THAT QUESTION, the one that comes up in myriad situations; from job interviews, to social introductions, and to on-line personality quizzes. “What are you passionate about?” The dread began pouring into the pit of my stomach. I stammered, I hemmed, I hawed, and I blathered on while my mind raced through countless memories when I’ve been asked iterations of this question. I remembered how I hated this question because I hated giving the answers that people expected. The standard responses came to me just like data scrolling down the screens of computers in cheesy old shows.

“I’m passionate about work,” bleep-bloop-blip, (what am I supposed to say?) “I’m all about family,” schritch-schritch-zip, (what’s the right answer?) “Working for a better world,” brrrrpp-chchch-fwoop, (GODDAMNIT) . . .

Fuck it, “Well, really there’s not all that much important I’m passionate about.” Might as well admit how truly lame I really am, “But there are two things I’ve absolutely loved all my life.” I felt the burning adrenaline radiating from the middle of my chest, took a breath, “The Denver Broncos and science fiction.”

My gaze had defocussed and wandered down to the table between us. I took another breath and looked up to meet the mostly suppressed grin and knowing eyes that spoke of just how much work he had to do with this guy. Except, his face had no reaction. He just looked at me as if I had told him yellow was a color. If anything, his expression seemed to say, “Tell me more about that.”

“I was born in Denver and have watched them my whole life. And I’ve never known a time when Star Trek, science fiction, and later fantasy haven’t been my favorite things.”

That was the beginning of a subtle shift in how I thought about myself and my life. For years now I have wholly admitted to being a nerd and a geek, and embraced the things I’ve loved that fell into those categories. But I’ve always held something in reserve, something resembling the “sensible adult” we are expected to become.

“Do you know about the Appalachian Trail?” he asked me as he shifted in his chair.

“Yeah,” I said, “I assume you don’t mean the euphemism the just re-elected South Carolina governor coined.”

He chuckled, “Right! My wife and I were on vacation and we were on the Trail when we met up with this couple. We got to talking and they live for hiking. They get jobs and save up enough money for their next destination and go. That’s what they do, they make enough just so they can do what they love.”

His eyes zoomed in on mine, “You like conventions? Have you ever been to one?”

“Oh, yeah,” I said, and I could feel my smile, “I’ve been to several. It’s weird, even though normally I’d totally freak out in crowds, I love being there. All the things I love and all the people that share that feeling make it enjoyable.”

“Then why not make that the thing you do?” I couldn’t believe the earnestness on his face.

“Have you ever written?” he went on before I could answer.

“I have, and it’s one of the things I’ve always wanted to do, as in for my life, not just journaling or for a hobby.” I found myself telling him.

“Then here’s my challenge to you: write a thousand words a day. Whatever comes to mind. It’s tough, and it’s tough to write well. You’ll fail. But you know what? Everyone fails. All the time. It’s OK to fail.”

So, that was nearly a month ago. I went right home. Opened the Star Wars Moleskin© a friend had given me a year ago. Numbered all the pages just as he instructed me. Then wrote this:

So, a thousand words. How hard can that be? For as long as I can remember, I have been a nerd. I cannot remember a time that Star Trek has not been a part of my life. I sat, enrapt, in front of the TV imagining myself soaring from star to star discovering what has never been seen, fighting off the most dangerous threats, and just being the coolest of the cool. It almost seems like Star Trek was my whole life, and that’s not a huge exaggeration. But that’s not my only claim to nerd-dom. I read everything I could get my hands on, often far above my age level.

Which is where I stopped. Not just for the day, but for weeks. I failed. I didn’t write well, I barely got a tenth of the way to my daily goal, and most certainly didn’t write every day. But I will get there, and more. Because I have a lifetime of things to say that I’ve suppressed: things about Star Trek, Star Wars, The Lord of the Rings, the Broncos (sports ARE geeky), movies, books, life, the universe, everything.

I am Nerd McGeek