2005-01-16

It's funny how silly our minds can be.

I feel like I'm not doing anything interesting with my life and nothing I do really matters. It's silly—it's completely stupid. It's really ridiculous that I feel this way, considering the facts. I mean, I got a few emails this week from people I met during my year–long trip who thanked me for visiting them and told me that me being there with them helped them to change their life for the better. Today someone told me they love my record. My family hugs me on a regular basis. What's so bad, then?

I've learned something very important about the nature of these wispy clouds we call feelings: the way you feel doesn't necessarily have anything to do with the way life actually is. You can feel terrible and down while surrounded on all sides by abundance. You can feel on top of the world as the world crumbles around you. The point is simple. Feelings and reality: not the same.

Let me illustrate. I've felt so dismal lately. It's been harder to get out of bed than ever before. I feel so alone. I feel like my life is going nowhere. My self–esteem seems to be echoing the US economy—plummeting to new lows each day.

That's how I feel. (And the fact that I even feel that way makes me feel worse. It's like feedback.)

But, my life is actually quite good. I have a beautiful album that people like. People buy my photographs. Not too long ago I even got paid to shoot a series for Suicide Girls. Opportunity knocks on my door quite frequently. Yesterday, a friend in Los Angeles was so excited about my CD that he asked if he could take it to his friend, an A&R rep for Interscope Records. A few days ago my entertainment lawyer called and asked if I was interested in starting a management company with him, seeing as I was already managing two great artists.

It keeps going, though. I have two good eyes, two legs, two arms, and two hearts. Ok, maybe I only have one heart—but it's a good one and has never failed me. I can sing. I know how to swim. I have friends that love me. My family is proud of me. I'm proud of myself.

But it's funny. Some days, some weeks—and during the worst times, even entire months—are dangerous and dark, rocky waters for my state of mind. (Don't be fooled—feelings are not part of the physical world. They're not real. They're a state of mind.) Smashed against the rocks by a storm I invented with my little brain, my heart is battered and torn. It sinks to the bottom like a shipwreck. Never mind the blue sky embracing us from above until far past the horizon; never mind the statement of I love you from an old friend that I know means it beyond any horizons.

And all the while life is great, and it keeps on rocketing forward faster than the speed of thought. While I sit here and mope, even.

It's funny how silly our minds can be.


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