I operate under a fever of desperation, harboring the belief that such intense, frenetic effort will get me out of my latest predicament. While productive in the short term, (and dopamine inducing), it’s often underscored with urgency that is short lived.

But soon after, whether it's an hour, a day, or a week later, I look back at what I've done and often realize it doesn't really match who I am now.

The shadow audience plays a significant role in my life, constantly whispering reminders of dwindling time, my age, and the seeming futility of my efforts in a world where "everything has been done."

My task, then, becomes a daily, sometimes hourly, exercise in self-assurance, to persistently remind myself that the shadow audience, no matter how loud or persuasive it may seem, doesn't hold the ultimate truth about my capabilities or worth.

Admittedly, the thought of making these inner musings public fills me with a sense of apprehension, a clear indication of their genuine and raw nature. Yet, it is precisely this feeling of vulnerability that convinces me of the importance of sharing them. Through this post, I hope to provide a candid glimpse into my personal explorations and the discoveries I anticipate making with Grace's guidance.

For a span of two years, my mailbox became the unexpected drop-off point for an anonymous individual's handwritten hate mail. As for whether these letters continue to find their way to me today, I remain blissfully unaware—having handed over the task of mail collection to someone else. These letters were exactly as you'd imagine: distressing, jarring, and chillingly effective in silencing me. It felt as though a troll had leapt out of the internet and into real life, echoing the harshest critiques I feared others harbored about me—that I was nothing more than a self-promoting show-off, better off silenced. This barrage of negativity wasn't just an attack; it was a mirror reflecting the worst perceptions I believed the world held of me.

When I face a difficult creative problem, I sometimes scroll through my notes, searching for something—a solution, a spark, an insight—that could crack the case. I usually don’t remember writing down the idea.

Let me give you an example. I'm trying to decide what to write next. I pause and scroll through my notes. I find something I jotted down on September 14th, apparently at 9:11 am. I must have been out for a walk.

It says, “Find the space between two ideas-interpolation.”

Hmm? Interpolation?

What the hell does that mean?

There's an undeniable magic in successfully channeling your universe into tangible forms. When you begin to harness and articulate the visions, melodies, or narratives that flutter through your dreams and deepest contemplations, your work gains an unparalleled focus. It transforms into a mirror, reflecting your singular essence, yet astonishingly, it also becomes a canvas where others can project and recognize fragments of their own selves.

Embracing Creativity as a Daily Practice for Sustaining Sanity

I devote countless hours to the singular obsession that dominates my musical journey—it's a one-person show entirely orchestrated by my passion. This obsession permeates deep within me as I fine-tune it, trim it down, and craft yet another variation.

It has transformed into my very own Mr. Holland's Opus.

That is a way back kind of reference, huh?

It’s a complicated life project: a 60 minute musical monologue, with tempos, themes, connecting scenes, multiple characters, with a three act structure. 

It is not something I threw together. 

I have never worked harder at something in my life. 

I don’t get paid to do it. 

In fact, I lose money doing it.

And it continues to teach me patience, faith, and courage.  

I struggle to make authentic friendships.

You might not guess I find it tough.

You might feel the same, secretly.

Or not so secretly.

We both assume others are swamped with friends. Meanwhile, they're likely looking at us, thinking we're the social butterflies.

The truth? We're all wandering, questioning why it seems like everyone else is the life of the party.

Virtually every soul traverses the journey of life, haunted by a chorus of internal inquiries: "Why don't they find me likable?" "Do they appreciate my presence?" "What can I do to win their admiration?" "We shared a bond once; why has it faded?"

These questions, echoing in the recesses of our minds, are not mere whispers but loud cries for understanding and acceptance, reflecting a universal quest for belonging and connection.

I’m thinking about a clever phrase I heard yesterday, coined by Esther Perel. Another kind of AI is artificial Intimacy.

As I've gotten older, I've realized the importance of aligning my friendships with my values. Without this alignment, I risk finding myself in midlife surrounded by people who don't truly see me.

And worse, they don't seem to care.

To channel creativity through my mind instead of my body requires intense concentration. Making people laugh with a funny walk, a stumble, or a quick physical gesture comes naturally to me.

Crafting the equivalent of a comedic fall using only words, however, poses a greater challenge.

For me, it involves dedicating myself to a sustained and intentional creative practice.

It's a component of my creative spiritual routine, cultivated over the past five years, which has become a cornerstone in how I confront and understand my own mortality. Sorry to be so blatant. 

What exactly is creative spirituality?

There's an endless list of roles our social selves play: tirelessly working to appear loyal, honest, attractive, strong, and lovable (insert yours here)—all while securing the perfect balloon arch for my three-year-old's birthday.

Once, while undergoing a CT scan for pneumonia that had spread to my lung lining, I could barely stand—essentially on the brink of demise. Yet, there I was, phoning my mom to ensure she could grab a balloon arch for my daughter's birthday party, before spending the next six days in the hospital.

Yeah. That’s culture.

Today marks day one of a 100 day writing project.

Deep down, I want to be a writer.

And I guess I am a writer. I have two published plays and I’m working on a third.

But I’m also an actor, a voice coach, trying to be a creativity coach (who isn’t?), a part-time web designer, a producer of concerts, a funeral singer, a mom, a wife, a dog mom, a person with a chronic illness (and I love to mention that to anyone I know), a this, a that. Just everything.

The most difficult thing for me to be is…anything.

Because I want to be everything.