The first post in The Education of a Writer (TEW) series.
It was the year that I started working for myself. From home, perched in the second floor corner bedroom arranged as an office. Overlooking the crab apple tree and our backyard. I thought it would be the year of flying.
It was the year I fell apart.
I thought I would enjoy working alone. I’m an introvert. I prefer ideas over people. Books over cocktail parties. I thought working for myself would be utopia. One step closer to heaven on earth. A dream I nurtured since I was a teenager reading William Burroughs.
A house on a hill. A room with a window. A desk near the window. A typewriter on the desk. Piles of books about the desk.
Look down from the window and you see a garden. Then a long lawn. And a road that winds through the hills. Miles before it reaches civilization.
Morning, noon, and night spent reading, writing, and wandering. In the evening a novelist pops in for a pint. On the weekend a photographer and a poet crash until Sunday afternoon.
Bliss fit for an Emily Dickinson, J. D. Salinger, or Thomas Pynchon. Bliss fit for a self-absorbed intellectual snob.
But I went about it all wrong.
In the morning I walked the forty feet to my office, opened the blinds, opened my lap top, and did nothing but write behind closed doors. Occasionally I would bounce from email to social media to Skype, but then back to the writing.
I would pop out for lunch or dinner, but hurry back to the office. I would pop out to crack a joke with the children, but hurry back to the office. I would pop out for a refresher to throw some washers. That it was in the middle of the summer made it seem all the more oppressive. I could not bear to be out long in the heat. And so back into the office.
It didn’t help I tried to take a 16-week biblical Greek course in 5 weeks at the same time. My goal was to scratch a ten-year-old itch–the one I entertained each year: Go back to graduate school. Get the credential. The BA is not enough.
Yet the course ate me alive. And I’m certain my family thought I would eat them alive. In just two-and-a-half weeks I barely passed three quizzes and an exam. My professor said while those grades were passing–those were the easy tests. The real work lay ahead.
Mind you, this was not for a lack of trying. I would spend 17 hours over the weekend studying. No children. No wife. No fun. We refer to it as the black days of biblical Greek. I made a very tough, but wise, decision to quit.
Once I pitched Greek to the side, I focused on work. I made working my number one priority. And I began to accept every bit of work that came my way. This led me to working long hours on long days. Including weekends. And choosing some jobs I wish I hadn’t (more on that later).
Fourteen hour days were not unusual.
Month after month I cavorted with the players in my industry. Wrote blog posts they loved. Rose in reputation. Made good money. It started out sublime, but I eventually came to hate every minute of it. I felt cheap. And worthless. Is this how I wanted to be remembered? Something was wrong–but what?
Soon, my life was nothing but work. I grew to dread it and found myself cracking open a beer or two in the middle of the afternoon to get through the remainder of the day. I took to ducking underneath the desk when my phone rang. I began to stay up later and sleep in longer. At 9 in the morning I would have to physically pull my head off the pillow and make myself get out of bed to face the day.
Freelancing was supposed to be liberating. But it was the year I fell apart.
Mind you: this was the year I thought I was finally–truly–doing it my way. But it was not. It was fear every step of the way. My prayers were a catalogue of modern-day anxiety:
Do not let us lose the house.
Do not let us go bankrupt.
Save me from this misery of constant work.
Do not let me go crazy.
There is no question about it that during this time I was flailing. I reached out to literature. Read books like Catch 22 and Jonathan Franzen’s How to Be Alone … which did nothing but feed into my despair. Wrote poems about my misery. Bad poems, like the following:
What would possess a man who saw a combine
chewing up soybeans on a sunnyOctober afternoon to break his nine-
minute mile stride to cut across the roadand plunge headlong into the rotating
blades? Most theories are so-so. Boredom.Failure. Broken heart. I’ve fallen for all
three at some point in my life. But of lateI’ve been smitten by a fourth…
I brooded on music like the terrifyingly fantastic song “Failure” by the Swans, a hymn to futility. But why? I wept for every reason and no reason at all. This was like being in high school all over again.
Other bizarre habits formed. I would weigh myself four or four times a day (I’ve weighed the same for the last ten years). Read tabloid blogs. Curl my lip and fly into a rage if someone tweeted something annoying.
Then I would stare in the mirror and wonder: Why are you doing this to yourself? Why are you sulking? Why are you tormenting yourself? Can’t you see beyond yourself? Why can’t you see your way out of this? What is there to see? You know better, Demian. You know better.
This was not about getting old. Or losing a child. Or being crippled. Or being unemployed or divorced or abandoned by friends. This was about something else entirely. But what? And why?
It was January 2012. We circled the church under a ceiling of grey clouds for half an hour, the 80 foot gold steeple our hub. I wore a long sleeve shirt and fleece jacket. My pastor wore much of the same. My ears were cold and his nose was red. My teeth jumped around in my mouth as I untangled the past nine months, and my hair kept getting into my eyes. I spoke a mile a minute, catalogued and classified griefs with the compulsion of a hoarder. I never let up (odd behavior coming from a guy who can’t wait to get out of a conversation the moment he starts it).
My pastor listened patiently, asked questions deftly, kept pace adequately. Towards the end of the conversation, after letting me exhaust my mind and wear a path around the church parking lot, my pastor, getting me to finally state the obvious, asked, “Is it possible you are depressed?”
We stopped walking. I looked up at a lamppost. A car shot by on the road. I said, “Depressed? No, I’m not depressed, I’m falling apart. And if I don’t do anything about it I think I’m going to die.”
Next up: “This Is Not Writing–High School Poetry.
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Image source: Sometimes I Wish for Falling
Beautifully tormented story, Demian. I truly love the way you painted the screen red with the emotions of that year. That was amazing. Thank you for sharing this deep history with you.
Thank you Tania, much appreciate it. Glad you are along for the ride. 😀
Wow, this is weird. That was actually going well for you. That wasn’t what happened to me!
Now, I am going back to your other article.
I thought it was going well. In some sense. 😀
Were it not for the foreshadowing of better times ahead, I might not be so excited to read the future installments of this series. But I am. Keep ’em coming. I have a feeling I’ll be able to relate…and learn.
Yeah, was trying to not paint such a dark picture and leave no hope. That was one of my worries. But it was sufficient to start in the middle of the story–when the plane is falling out of the sky so to speak. Fortunately I’ve got a humorous life so not all grey clouds ahead. Thanks for hanging in there. 😉
I believe I was just beginning to start the wheels turning on my own year of falling apart. I’m freelancing but I have no idea what I want to do exactly. I’m taking on many opportunities to see what appeals to me, but I’m having trouble balancing my experimentation with stopping and taking everything in. Do you have any advice for someone staring down the barrel of the gun, so to speak?
By the way, you are a living writer that I truly admire. It’s nice to get a glimpse behind the curtain and see that you’re a real boy! I feel like it provides mentorship to people who also want to become writers, on a very large scale. Can’t wait for next week.
The best piece of advice (in a short amount of time) I could give you is to always keep your options open. The more options you have, the better you will be at making good decisions. Also, chase what you love. All work and no play make for a dull boy. And thank you for your kind words.
Wow, Demian, I am so looking forward to these. This is the real stuff.
Jonas
Wonderful writing. I cannot wait to read the entire series.
Glad to see you reading, Don. Miss the old days. 😉
Your gut-wrenching honesty here brings me a sense of peace, actually. I am just now closing in on 8 months of freelance writing and this story (which I was able to read several month ago in a slightly different version) helps me to relax and enjoy the journey, instead of anxiously trying to be all things to all people (prospects and clients).
That doesn’t mean I haven’t experienced my own bumps in the road, but your story reminds me to stop and take time for prayer, family, friends, and simple pleasures…Keep Gratitude for what I have…And be Confident I can succeed at my own pace, on my terms, doing work that I love.
Your example is priceless and I appreciate you more than you know.
That’s a great outlook to have, Matt. You are my brother from another mother. And don’t you fUr-geet THAT.
Boy do I know the falling apart feeling. It’s what my whole entire 2012 felt like.
Thankfully, I found, like you did, a church and pastor that could help put the pieces back together.
The funny thing is, it’s not the whole spiritual thing that does or even the belief in God. What puts the pieces together is the people who care enough to stop, observe and help you stop breaking apart.
Keep these coming. I’m inspired by the rawness.
Jarie
Indeed, personal support is critical. I couldn’t have done this without my wife.
Awww…my pleasure, babe. And keep these coming. Although I recall The Dark Days of Greek all too vividly, I still learn new things as you put this all into writing. And I agree with Jerod. If I didn’t know that “this, too, shall pass,” I might have a tough time diving into this series. But that year was nothing but a bump in the road of life–and a huge opportunity to grow and learn. So grateful to do it beside you!
I feel as if I’ve lived this story more than once, and have questioned why I seem to repeat the pattern. Until recently. And now you’re a part of the story; you’re words of wisdom in comments and posts have helped me find not answers but understandings.
That brings to joy to my heart…the part about giving you understanding, not that you are repeating the same old patterns. 😉
Beautiful piece of writing, I can definitely relate having just come to the end of my first year of freelancing. Look forward to the rest of the series!
Hey Milo, thank you for joining us. Look forward to hearing your story, too. Take care and thank you.
Thank you for being brave enough to share this.
Awh, schucks, Rob. It’s nothing. 😉
I feel you are telling a tale of what may be awaiting me (any probably others), as I can totally relate to the journey you chose to undertake. From some of the comments already posted here, it appears you (we) are not alone in this quest for something more. Hesitantly looking forward to the upcoming installments. Thanks so much for your honesty in sharing your story here.
Your welcome. I appreciate your support–that means a lot.
Demian, I can relate to practically everything you wrote. Thanks for baring your soul a bit. It makes me recall a Dawes lyric: “Yes you can stare into the abyss, but it’s staring right back.”
One thing I’ve learned: As painful as times can be, you always come out stronger when you get through them. Keep it going!
That’s the truth, Brad. At least you hope that’s the truth while you are staring at the abyss–I’ll take any silver lining in those moments.
As someone who has just found you and just started writing herself – fantastic! And thankyou
No, thank you, Karen. I’m glad we’ve connected. Let me know if you have any questions.
Great stuff Demian.
Diving into work can be sickening, even life destroying.
Like an addict or alcoholic, the symptoms and lifestyles of these people all look the same, yet each have a deeply unique and personal story. You’re not alone. So glad you are sharing. There is healing in it. For us readers too.
I believe Socrates was right when he said “The unexamined life is not worth living.”
Be bold. Be intentional. Continue to be courageous in all you do.
And thank you.
Justin, that means a lot. Thank you.
Sometimes we have to fall apart in order to move forward. In the depths of our insanity comes a clarity that we didn’t have before. Great writing.
Thank you, Carole. Thank you for your kind words.
Depressed? No, that sounds so plain.
Falling, on the other hand, is so liberating!
Looking forward to reading the next episode!
These lines really hit me:
” I wept for every reason and no reason at all. This was like being in high school all over again.”
I’ve been “freelancing” a bit myself and I could really hear my process in your work. Thank you for sharing it and giving me a good laugh in there too.
Sarah, yeah, with something this heavy need to thread some humor in there to not seem like a NIN’s album.
I have no words. I’m not trying to do a drive by comment. I just wanted to say thank you – it’s good to know I’m not alone in feeling this way sometimes.
No worries. I appreciate any support you can give. 😉 Love your site, by the way.
Hello there! Do you know if they make any plugins to safeguard against hackers?
I’m kinda paranoid about losing everything I’ve worked hard on.
Any tips?
This is more than a story Demian! This is a way to awareness. People need to bring this “stories” out so that we may all understand we are actually heading in the wrong direction. Cause we were mislead to.. by the other “stories” we read around that have nothing to do with life or reality. Thank you for putting “this” into words!
Hi Demian, I’m a real person, but write under a pseudonym. I have published a short ‘booklet’ – about 30 pages, about the really good news that is found mostly in the Bible. I believe it to be a message of great hope for all – hence the name ‘Truly Good News’. If I got you a free copy (purchase price is 99c because Amazon forces you to choose this minimum price even for only 35% royalties), would you be interested in reviewing it and letting me know what you think?
I have published under a pseudonym because I want neither the flak nor any recognition which may accrue… and certainly not a ‘following’.
Please let me know. My email address is whatifitisso@gmail.com
Hi a writer,
I’d be interested in reading it, but not sure if I have the time. Feel free to email it to me.