My Yearly Panic Attack: The Twelfth Day of Giftmas 2011

My Yearly Panic Attack: The Twelfth Day of Giftmas 2011

The gifts have been given, the parties have been partied and the cookies are starting to get hard. It’s time to take down the tree and change your facebook picture to something less merry. It’s time to dig up that list of resolutions you said you’d complete by this Saturday and start bargaining with your past self. And it’s time to stop turning the pages in that calendar and throw the empty rind in the trash. For me, that also means it’s time to add a digit to my age. It’s not necessarily more depressing saying “37” than “36,” but it’s still another number that’s higher than the last.

And as much as I like to really hope it isn’t the case, I can’t help feeling bad for myself when I see other people doing the things I want to do. And no, I’m not talking about Snookie. Well, yes I am – but this is a different thing. I saw an innocent enough post from an old friend about him outlining an idea for a story and how he can’t believe that is considered “work.” My best man posted something similar in response. A good friend would have felt happy for his two writing friends. Not me. Not today. I was pissed. How has the world passed up this talent of mine? Suddenly, The Tree of Life made sense. These guys were two of my biggest fans at one time and now they’re out there in the world doing what I want to do. And I know them. They’re real people. What do I have to show for all my years of honing my humor skillz? Just a blog no one reads and a bunch of youtube videos of me doing stand-up at open mics.

Oh yeah. I forgot. I very often forget. I did do something about it. I gave it a try, though a little late and maybe half-assed. But I integrated myself into the stand-up circuit in Cincinnati. And to prove it wasn’t a fluke, I did it again here in DC. And honestly, this dream of writing only recently developed as an off-shoot of that dream. And shit, I’m 16 credits into my graduate degree in Creative Writing. Oh yeah, and I got married last year. And performed in front of 1,000 people at the Lyric and had an award-winning, inspirational show that sold out the Fringe Festival and beyond.

Panic attack deactivated.

Now I just need to use this yearly panic attack for the forces of good. Not to just use all these words to make me feel better about being unproductive. To get off my ass and start doing something. This blog has proven it’s going nowhere, at least not in its current format. Anybody else know that this is the 100^th post of this year for the first time ever? Didn’t think so. And happy as I am with everything I just mentioned, I now want more. I want recognition. I want 2,045 twitter followers. I want a paycheck. I want to say “I’m a writer” and mean it. And maybe next year I’ll be able to feel good for John and Mike, who deserve their success for pursuing it. Hopefully I won’t just be blogging about it to no one but my future self. Thanks for reading, whoever you are. May you have a happy and productive 2012.