33

Above is the video version of this blog, but if you prefer to read, the following is the transcript. If you’d prefer to skip it all, here’s the punch line: Be nicer to yourself. I probably love you.

When I was 12, a 33 year old wasn’t just an adult, they were wise. As a guy that is now as old as the mortal Jesus, I realized that maybe I’ve always been kind of dumb.

I’ve thought alot about this particular birthday. The religious subtext only accounting for a tiny fraction of those thoughts. I really wanted to be further along by now. I think that when I was younger I just assumed I would have found a higher level of success. Like, shouldn’t I have a jet ski by now? I was under the impression that I would.

That’s not to say I’m ungrateful. I recognize and appreciate the enormous privilege of the life I’m living. I have, objectively, the best child on the planet who is constantly teaching me as I stumble through my own flailing attempts at doing the same for her. I work for myself and drink enough coffee to cause some pretty serious heart issues in a few years. 

Yesterday, I didn’t shower until 1 pm. 

I am, by any measure, pretty damn lucky.

But that’s the thing with luck. We all have this desire to earn something. To chase a goal and achieve it, but I think the irony is that we tend to shift the goal posts. No matter where you started, by the time you reach that first milestone you’ve learned enough to realize how shortsighted your initial ideas of success or achievement were.

I’ve been thinking alot about the music. I wanted a band that played a few shows and got to travel. Then I found out that it really doesn’t require much more than just calling and asking to play somewhere to get a show booked in another city. So then I wanted to get paid. Which is also remarkably more common outside of my hometown. I traveled and got paid to play music and still felt as though I hadn’t done much, because in reality, I hadn’t. I was a kid with a guitar, asking adults if they would pay me to poorly cover Matchbox 20 in their coffee shops. AND THEY DID. 

Kind souls, each and every one.

The same goes for most of the tentpoles in my life. Chasing that elusive mistress we call happiness resulted in a lot of cool things, but never a true sense of accomplishment, and certainly not happiness.

So I started writing books. My cousin wrote a fantasy epic and caused me to reflect on the countless novels I had started in Google Drive over the years and never finished. No-Mod felt cool the entire time I was writing. It took alot of work, but guess what? I was still unsatisfied. I wrote the next one, immediately throwing myself back into the project. It came out today. I don’t care if you buy it. I’ll sales pitch it or something with another blog. 

The meandering point is this: I’ve spent an entire life chasing the approval of other people and that will forever be a hollow goal of vapid motivation. My favorite quote from the Showtime series “Californication” comes from Meredith to Hank Moody before she leaves: “You love women, but you hate yourself, so that any woman who ultimately does like you is deemed a fool.”

It’s a rephrasing of a common trope, “love yourself before anyone else can”, but it’s stuck with me for a long time.

I want my 33rd year to be one in which I am kinder to myself, and I hope writing this out maybe allows someone else to recognize their own self-admonishment as a negative trend and they join me in trying to be more chill.

Jesus died at 33 so maybe it’s time I stopped playing the role of the martyr and started living life. Thanks for reading, I probably love you.