Turning Resolutions into Intentions

As usual, November knocked me on my booty. But hey! I won NaNoWriMo and have a great starting point for a podcast experiment, so at least there’s that. I also regrouped with some neglected friends and have plans to get back to some D&D shenanigans, and am penning the last sentences of my wintry lesbian love story. 2019 will be a productive year, if I can stick to my intentions.

And gosh, do I have a lot of intentions.

I’ve been experiencing a bit of Baader-Meinhof (the phenomenon in which one encounters a word or phrase for the first time and then sees it everywhere) about the word “intention” recently, even though the concept isn’t new to me. Still, the term keeps turning up, and the little me in my head that believes in magic and meaning can’t help but sit up and listen.

Just the other day, a blog I follow (Karmen Fink’s “Spark & Celebrate”) posted about setting intentions for 2019 rather than resolutions. It comes down to a difference between setting goals and promoting a certain state of being.

Now, goals are great. Stars know I love a good list to check off. However, I’m increasingly attracted to the idea that personal change must come from the inside out rather than the outside in. I could set a goal of drinking so many glasses of water a day, and maybe that would work, but what if I set an intention to desire water instead?

Here’s where we start to get a little hippie-dippie (even for me), but let me unpack more of what I’m trying to say.

Unfortunately, I am my great grandmother’s great grandchild when it comes to drinking water. One of her oft-quoted lines within our family is: “Water? Never touch the stuff.” Great Grandmother preferred Manhattans, and I’ve inherited her taste for the cocktail, for better or for worse (but hey, she lived for over a century, so maybe she was on to something).

I don’t really get thirsty. I drink for energy (coffee, energy drinks, Diet Coke) or for relaxation (tea, alcohol), and… yeah, actually, those are pretty much my only reasons. Water neither energizes nor relaxes me (at least not to immediate or noticeable degrees), so I don’t often bother. If I’m caught drinking water, it’s for one of the following reasons:

1. I’m desperately trying to atone to my body for taking it out drinking with a bunch of college kids and mistakenly believing it and its 28 years of begrudging service could keep up with the younguns.

2. I’m about to start my period, which is an irregular event that catches my PCOS-suffering self off guard whenever it suddenly chooses to cycle, thus confusing my body into believing that it should start to do other normal human things too, like drinking water, eating vegetables, and sleeping more than five hours a night.

3. The primal part of me that still desires to live despite the current political climate, the rapid deterioration of the only life-sustaining planet humans have access to, and my own sense of worthlessness has seized the opportunity in the middle of the night to awaken me and pilot my unwilling body to the bathroom sink in order to lap water directly from the tap like a feral nocturnal beast.

Security footage of me captured in the wee hours of last Thursday morning. Source

Yes, things are so bad that my reptilian brain has to step in and force me to suckle water from the faucet at three in the morning. Something must be done.

I want to like water. There are so many well-researched health benefits that I’m a fool to continue mistreating my body like this just because I find water boring and don’t experience a strong sense of thirst. So, I’m setting this intention for 2019:

I intend to desire water and enjoy its benefits.

Whew, there it is. OK. But how does it work? Do I just magically start enjoying water?

Alas, like everything good, this will take conscious effort and positive thinking. As I’ve mentioned once or twice or a thousand times, I’m the Empress of Negative Self-Talk. Some little sprite in my consciousness is constantly out to drag me for every mistake, real or imagined. I know firsthand how negative thoughts can manifest a negative reality. I also know that positive thinking can manifest a positive reality by creating a mental environment that’s better at coping with stress, and thus better at keeping the rest of me healthy and happy.

In order to act on my intention, I must internalize it. The first few weeks or months, I know I’ll need to specifically “schedule” drinking a glass of water into my daily routine. When I drink that scheduled glass, I’ll need to be present in that moment, and grateful for my access to clean water. I’ll notice the taste and appreciate the coolness of it. I’ll also need to think about those health benefits I mentioned, and look with optimism toward a future with clearer skin, increased energy, and fewer headaches.

In short, I’ll practice mindfulness and optimism, things I should be working on anyway. With enough repetition (as you probably already know, it takes 21 days to make a habit), my mindset should improve, and I’ll desire water and the good feeling it gives me in the present and the future.

And that’s just one example! There are plenty of things I intend to do in 2019, and I want to train my brain to approach my tasks with enthusiasm and gratitude, whether I’m planning a D&D adventure or studying for a financial exam.

What about you? What intentions do you have for 2019? Whatever they are, I wish you the best with them.

Happy New Year, y’all!

10 Ways to Kick Writer's Block in the Booty

First, and immediately contradicting my title, let’s not call it writer’s block. The word “block” sits like cement in my soul, and instantly conjures that (profoundly scarring) drowning scene from Aladdin. You know the one:

Source (memetic commentary added by yours truly)

OK, so it’s actually a ball and chain for Al, but the association remains strong in my mind. “Block” is just too heavy and impermeable. Besides, when I experience writer’s block, it’s less like slamming into a concrete wall, and more like wandering into a misty valley. My vision closes in and I find myself off-trail and paralyzed by uncertainty. Where did I come from? Where was I going? Where did I leave that bag of gorp (Cotton-Eye Joe)?

In those moments of writer’s fog, I question everything. My ambition is locked by my irrational fear of imperfection. I worry that one misstep will ruin whatever project I’m working on. Panic swells in my chest at the thought that I’ll never straighten out my plot or settle on the right, impactful wording. I see no way forward, and my brain feels too soupy to puzzle out a solution.

But the cool thing about fog is that the sun eventually rises and burns it away (unless you’re in a mysterious, eternally-misty forest, in which case, maybe you have bigger foes to face).

Human brains are all about cycles. You probably know a little about 24-hour circadian rhythms, but you also have ultradian rhythms that repeat within those 24 hours. Our energy fluctuations during the day can be described by ultradian rhythms, and research indicates that our best balance of focus and energy levels throughout the day can be achieved by breaking our “work” time into 90 minute chunks of productivity, followed by a short, 15 minute breaks.

What I’m trying to get at is that we all naturally cycle through different levels of focus and productivity, and while we can coordinate with our cycles to some degree, there will always be periods in your days, weeks, months, years, and beyond that are simply, unavoidably “down.” Your writer’s fog could set in for a few minutes or a few weeks, and while it seems scary and frustrating while you’re lost in the mist, take comfort in the knowledge that it’s a temporary and normal experience.

That said, I do have a few methods to help burn off the fog a little faster. I’ll start with the obvious one that sits at the top of every list like this:

1. JUST WRITE, YOU COWARD

I’m not saying it will be easy. I’m not saying it will be good. But it will force you forward, even if every word you write is garbage that you’ll erase later. That just means you explored a route that didn’t work out, which narrows down the direction you’ll eventually take your work. It doesn’t matter if you feel like you’re just running circles in the fog, because at least you’re running. Plus, you’re practicing your craft, and even when you don’t think practice is improving your performance, neuroscience says it probably is, and you’re making future endeavors easier to tackle.

2. PULL A TAROT CARD

As I mentioned in a previous entry, I’ve been embracing my inner witch lately, and sometimes this witch likes to pull a tarot card to help her view her challenges from new angles. I even draw a card or two when I’m in my fog, like a mini writing prompt when I’m stuck between paragraphs or on tough lines of dialogue. A number of folks have written about using tarot cards as writing prompts not just to get out of the fog, but to guide plots and deepen characters. I use a physical deck for my draws when I can (for the Aesthetic™ of it all), but I also have a free app on my phone. There plenty of free online decks to play with as well.

3. DANCE PARTY

You’re slumped on the couch, folded over yourself as your laptops overworked battery burns your lap, your eyes glazed, with the same line of a Boyz II Men song repeating in your head because of some subliminal connection you made with one of the lyrics while you were deciding between boring steel-cut oatmeal or the irresistible enchantment of magic-hatching dinosaur egg oatmeal at Kroger earlier that day.

You’re stuck, which means it’s time to dance! Throw on some jams and get wild! Not only are you shifting your attention and giving yourself a little break (which we talked about earlier as being a normal and necessary component of productivity), but exercise stimulates the dorsolateral prefrontal cortex, the part of your brain that deals directly with focus, concentration, organization, and planning… All things that you need to get back in the writing zone.

4. TALK IT OUT

When you’re buried in your own writing process, it helps to bring other people into your world to help dig you out. Call a parent or sibling and chat about what you’re stuck on. Trap your significant other in a car with you and ramble about what you have so far, and where you want to go next. Join a writing group! Make a post on a writer’s forum! Line up your collection of antique, porcelain, totally not haunted dolls and show them a PowerPoint presentation about your fledgling novel! It’s lovely if your audience has input (as long as we’re not still talking about those porcelain dolls), but even if they don’t, the simple act of vocalizing your concerns can help you work through your problem.

5. MEDITATE

Everyone knows that meditation is a scientifically supported method of improving apparently every aspect of your life. And I was like, pffffft, yeah, OK, science is a liar sometimes. And then I downloaded an app to try some guided meditations and… it actually does seem to help? I use meditation to manage my anxiety, help me sleep, and handle moments of extreme emotion. More and more, I’m also using it to shift myself from “work mode” to “creative mode” after I get home from the office. A 5 to 10 minute meditation refreshes and relaxes me, and while I haven’t specifically tested it out on writer’s fog yet, it seems like just the sort of thing to clear the air and get my focus back.

6. EAT BRAIN FOOD

My most hypocritical suggestion is to eat stuff your brain likes. Well, not the pleasure centers of your brain that evolution has taught to repeat “SWEET THING TASTE GOOD; EAT MORE TO SURVIVE WINTER”, but your actual neuroarchitecture. Foods like blueberries, salmon, spinach, and beets can boost your brain in both the short and long terms. It’s harder to get trapped in writer’s fog when you’re taking action to keep general brain fog at bay.

To immediately bolster your focus and improve your chances of defeating the fog, try a snack of a square of dark chocolate and cup of green tea when you’re feeling slumpy.

7. TREAT YO SELF

Source

Not a fan of my spinach solution? No sweat! Sometimes, you need to prioritize your emotional health in order to move forward.

My writer’s fog often sets in when I’m feeling extra stressed. I panic and tell myself to work harder, but that’s not always the solution. When I’ve tried my other in-the-moment methods of resolving the fog and am hitting a wall, I give myself permission to relax and do something that makes me feel good. Maybe that’s hiking, or maybe it’s playing a video game, or maybe it’s detonating a bath bomb and applying a charcoal mask. Whatever it is, it’s a way to lift my own spirits so I can return to the battlefield refreshed and emotionally prepared to try again.

(Of course, it’s tempting to rely on this option to avoid writing… Be mindful of whether you’re practicing self-care or just procrastinating.)

8. SHIFT YOUR CREATIVE FOCUS

No writer is just a writer (and everyone is a writer or storyteller, by the way). You are a creative force, and just because your writing is stuck doesn’t mean the rest of your talents are too. Feel free to switch it up. If you write prose, try poetry. Better yet, toss word-based creativity aside, buy a cheap paint set, and go to town! If you play an instrument, spend some time practicing or composing. Heck, get your hands on some playdough and sculpt fake food just for funsies, and then lick your fake food to confirm that yes, playdough still tastes like salt and toddler hands.

Don’t worry about quality. Don’t worry about purpose. This is about letting your creative juices flow, even if that entails inventing a new and terrible kind of grilled sandwich, because if a calamari and cottage cheese panini isn’t creative expression, then what is it? An abomination, obviously. Still, the point stands.

9. SET THE MOOD

Creating a writing-focused setting for yourself is critical in terms of beating and preventing writer’s fog. If you usually write propped up in bed, try making it a little more formal by writing at a desk or table. Take control of your environment by clearing the clutter. After all, a messy work-space has a negative relationship with productivity.

Perhaps most important of all: treat your writing seriously by giving it a specific, uninterrupted block of time. Even if you can only set aside 10 minutes each day, dedicate that time exclusively to writing. That means no checking Reddit between paragraphs or texting your boo to complain about the problematic meme you saw when you weren’t supposed to be looking at Reddit. The muses are jealous hoes. They’re not going to help you if you ignore them on dates and text other people.

All of this mood-setting has long-term benefits, too. You’re training your brain to focus longer and to pick up environmental cues (the desk, the time of day, etc.) that signal it’s time to write.

10. FORGIVE YOURSELF

You can try all these techniques and more and still find yourself stuck, and that’s OK. That’s normal and expected. You aren’t any less of a writer for losing yourself in the fog now and then. First, forgive yourself for that.

Second, forgive yourself for imperfection.

The single biggest hindrance to my own writing has been my fear of making mistakes and looking foolish. The writing process is messy and complex, and it’s so easy to look at a first (or second, or third, or fourth) draft and cringe at the jumbled yuck of it all. Nothing discourages quite as potently as your own biased self-critique.

Accept that your writing is never going to be perfect, because no one’s is. We’re humans. we’re MADE out of jumbled yuck. As a creative person, you’ve probably spent a lot of your life looking at your own yuck under a microscope, and that can really skew your perspective. It’s great that you want to analyze your imperfections and improve yourself, but don’t let that stop you from getting out there. Take it from my favorite fictional teacher:

Take chances! Make mistakes! Get messy!

Source

The Castle under the Bed

I've talked about it for months. I've scoured Amazon for the cheapest copies of official rulebooks. I've devoured hours of relevant podcasts and YouTube videos (thanks, Second Rate Dungeon Masters!).

And last Saturday, I finally followed through. I trapped six of my friends in my living room and made them play Dungeons & Dragons with me.

If D&D were a disease, I've exhibited symptoms all my life. For starters, there's my ongoing obsession with swords, which began with an inexplicable affection for the Mouse King from The Nutcracker.

Yes, that Mouse King. Source

Yeah, so, try unpacking that one. Or don't. I've been digging for the Freudian root of both the sword thing and the terrifying multi-headed villain thing for a long time, and trust me, the deeper you look, the weirder it gets.

Swords aside, I grew up in an age of fantasy resurgence. With The Lord of the Rings in theaters and Harry Potter on bookshelves, magic pulsed through my favorite pieces of fiction. My mother and I read The Hobbit together, and determined that we were meant to be hobbits all along. Even The Chronicles of Narnia deserves some credit for shaping my proclivity for the fantastical.

Those stories trickled down into the games I played with my younger brother, particularly a half storytelling, half make-believe adventure starring my bro as a traveling king in a magical land, accompanied by a talking, rainbow-furred wolf and an army of gymnastic elves, burly rogues, shape-shifting feathered dragons, and... fantasy pro-wrestlers? There was a lot going on. So much going on that I later painted a mural of it on our shed:

As I asked my mom to send me photos of the mural (thanks, Mama!), I was reminded of a discussion I had with my dad before I went to college. While my mom was tucking boxes of condoms (yes, plural, because apparently there was a sale at the CVS) into my duffel bag, my dad warned me of the dangers of D&D. This will always stand as a rare moment in my life in which my father demonstrated greater insight regarding my identity and priorities than my mother. I guess Dad had seen too many of his collegiate brethren fall prey to the temptation of the role-playing table, neglecting their studies in the process. 

Luckily for everyone, I turned out to be very gay, and despite housing a desperate lust for twenty-sided dice, was bad enough at socializing that I couldn't even find a D&D group in a liberal arts college in Ohio. 

My D&Disease became the unscratchable itch, and I know where I first picked up the illness. 

"There's a castle under the bed," my grandmother told me, when I was small enough not to question it. I was also small enough to fit under the bed to look, and discovered that yes, there was indeed a castle under there. 

I hauled the plastic and cardboard construction out and brushed away the dehydrated spiders that had perished in its dungeons. It had belonged to my father and my uncle, and because Douglases are genetically predisposed to draconic hoarding, it had lived for several decades beneath beds or in basements, awaiting their return.

I am 99% certain this was the set, and also pretty sure I couldn't figure out how to put together the raised rocky bits, and so the miniature well with the little retractable bucket couldn't even descend anywhere. Source

An obsession was born. I paraded knights across the drawbridge and plotted an uprising among the armored horses. I bee-lined for my army every time I visited my grandparents, forgoing my dad's dusty G.I. Joes in favor of the castle's flimsy walls and red roofs. 

Sometime around the discovery of the castle, we went to that famed and golden land, Medieval Times, deepening my sickness. The jousting was fantastic, of course, but the dungeon displays called to me the most (another Freudian rabbit hole to avoid). It's almost as though I were being primed for my true calling in life: nervously stumbling through dungeon-based medieval fantasy roleplaying games.

Which brings us to last Saturday, my first time being a Dungeon Master.

For those of you unfamiliar, the Dungeon Master (DM) is the person who provides the narrative framework for a group of D&D players. They are a storyteller and a physics engine, both announcer and referee of an imagined sport of their own design. They contribute a setting to a story starring the players, and can be both a cheerleader and an opposing force for the fictional heroes. 

As I juggled binders, maps, rulebooks, browser tabs, and spreadsheets on Saturday night, I realized just how weighty that duty is, especially for someone fairly new to the the actual rules of D&D. But I also had a terrific time building a mystery for my players to investigate, and responding to their interactions with my fledgling world. 

Some parts of the game went better than others. Six players, ranging from highly experienced to "I'm only here to support you in the hopes that you'll finally shut up about D&D, Abi," are a lot to keep track of and appropriately challenge. They slaughtered my first wave of monsters with little more than a scuffed boot between them, which prompted me to engage them in a higher-stakes battle deeper in their adventure, one that could have seriously impaired the party had they rolled slightly worse (and had my stupid laser-rat actually succeeded at his lasering before getting splatted). 

I fear I slowed the game down with my choppy battles filled with multiple monsters with unfamiliar stats. I also fretted over providing enough of the right information, whether while acting as an NPC (non-player character, as in, everyone in the world other than the player characters) or just as a narrator. Towards the end of the session, my adrenaline high had taken a toll on my cognition, and a guide character I'd placed in the dungeon my players were exploring became similarly loopy.

But other things went fairly well. My players successfully discovered secret doors and uncovered clues about an ancient cult. They also got into character, intimidating my poor gnomish tavern-keeper into upping their pay and making the inevitable jokes about ball-licking that come when one of the characters is an anthropomorphic cat burglar. 

However it played out, we still told a communal story, and I definitely want to try it again, even if it set my anxiety into overdrive and convinced my FitBit that I was going into cardiac arrest halfway through the night.

D&D is a weird mix of group storytelling, strategy, and luck, and speaking as a writer, I consider it literature-adjacent. So, more likely than not, you'll hear more about my tabletop adventures in the future.

Until then, may your dice be blessed and your ale be strong, and try not to extort the bartender. 

Fairy Tale

Controversy erupted earlier this week over the release of a picture book featuring a lonely princess who, in a daring twist of convention, is rescued from her draconic captor by a handsome prince.

The book, titled innocuously as A Day in the Dragon's Tower, hit shelves with little initial fanfare. However, once readers brought the book home to their families, they discovered its contentious content, and were quick to express their distress on social media.

"Like all good catmoms, my wife and I read bedtime stories to our furbabies every night," self defense instructor Sharon Meyer-Richards (they/them/their) posted on a Facebook page called "Animoms." "Now we're forced to address a highly sexual topic with our cats well before they're ready to hear about that kind of stuff. Our youngest hasn't even been fixed yet! What are we supposed to tell her?"

Luxury soap shop owner Martin Ramirez (he/him/his) commented via Twitter: "It's a sorry day when children's books turn political. Further evidence of the #StraightAgenda."

His sentiment and ones similar to it have been repeated across the internet at a viral pace. Even the President chimed in with her opinion through a Tweet featuring the book's cover and the simple caption: "Sad. :("

Not all responses carried as much vitriol. "They could be bisexual," Tumblr user straightrightsally (unspecified pronouns) argued, spurring another online debate of whether bisexuality is even a thing.

Several mainstream booksellers are now championing the book, featuring it prominently in window displays, festooned with black and white streamers reminiscent of the Straight Pride flag. While many in the Straight Cisgender and Questioning (SCQ) community applaud the act, some remain skeptical.

"I appreciate the gesture and the representation, but, I don't know," a self-identified cisgender, heterosexual woman said in the cafe of one such bookstore, turning her copy of the book in her hands. "Like, I love that there's a story out there about a woman and a man falling in love, and the woman's even a damsel in distress, which is something you hardly ever see in kid's stories. But it feels like tokenism, you know?"

Others have voiced a similar concern, comparing the book's promotion with the tendency of large companies to adopt a black and white color scheme during Straight Pride Month as a marketing ploy. 

"They're just trying to make a buck off of SCQ folks," the shopper continued. "The author isn't straight or cis, either. Maybe xe is an ally, which is great, but I'm always a little suspicious when it comes to products that seem targeted at a cishet audience."

The author, Des Walker (xe/xem/xir), has made few public comments regarding xir latest children's story, beyond a statement on xir public Facebook page that the book's characters are open to interpretation. 

Fans of Walker's page support that perspective for the most part, with one anonymous user writing, "I don't see why such a big deal is being made. I assumed one or both characters weren't cis. Not that it should be a problem if they're both cis. It should be left up to the individual reader."

Ty Matsui (he/him/his), director of Straight Jokes for Queer Folks, disagrees. 

"It's a matter of representation," Matsui said in a vlog on the Straight Jokes website yesterday afternoon. "In the industry, we call media like A Day in the Dragon's Tower straight-bait. It's teasing its readers, suggesting the two characters could be straight, but never outright saying it."

Later in the video, Matsui talks about the representation he used to dream of as a child.

"It would have made life so much easier to have seen healthy, heteronormative couples on TV when I was young. Every time I saw a different-sex pair on the screen, it got dismissed. 'Oh, they're just siblings' or 'Oh, they're just friends, don't make it sexual,' or 'Oh, that's actually his grandma's ghost, so if you interpreted any of the dancing and hand-holding as flirting, then that's on you.'"

Despite Matsui's progressive stance, his show has received flack from SCQ viewers for reinforcing negative stereotypes and making light of straight experiences. Straight Jokes is a reality show featuring five straight, cisgender hosts who descend upon uptight queer people (usually nominated by their family members) to teach them how to dress down, relax, and appreciate the little things. The premise seems friendly and palatable, but many consider it condescending at best, and appropriative at worst.

We spoke with our own Sports writer (and casual fan of the program), Rick Brown (he/him/his), to learn more.

"The problem with [Straight Jokes] is that it takes straight culture and tries to sell it to the masses. I feel like my identity is being used as entertainment for people outside of the SCQ community. They glorify these stereotypes about us, but it doesn't make the real world any kinder to straight folks."

Brown, a cisgender man who had to wait for cishet marriage to be legalized three years ago to marry his high school sweetheart, discussed the prejudice he encountered when trying to order a cake for their wedding.

"The bakery we settled on was supportive and willing to bake for us, but when it came to the cake topper, we were harrassed over our choice. It was humiliating."

The cake topper Brown and his fiancee wanted featured a groom being dragged by the back of his tuxedo by his bride, apparently reluctant to marry the woman he proposed to. The bakery questioned Brown, suggesting a more traditional topper, perhaps one involving two people embracing, as if they both wished to be married.

Pictured: a cake topper similar to the one requested by the Browns, featuring additional elements of straight culture, including cheap beer, multi-player shooters, and poorly-fitted formal wear. Source

"That's just not our culture," Brown explained. "They talked us into a topper with a bride tugging the ear of the groom, a compromise. I didn't want to argue with them over it. I was still able to paint 'HELP ME' on the bottom of my shoes, and my best man cracked up the reception with his speech about my new ball and chain."

Brown also suspects shows like Straight Jokes encourage SCQ stereotyping in other corners of pop culture. 

"Every Halloween, you see more queer couples dressing in traditionally SCQ costumes, like plugs and sockets, hunters and deer, and giant pairs of boobs. I know it doesn't seem like a big deal, but the small things stack up."

Brown's statement is reinforced by the recent viral news story about a straight bar's emails with a queer bachelor(ette) party. The bachelor(ette) party asked the bar if it was "clean" and if there was a chance "those with uteri could become pregnant by using the [bar's] bathroom, since heteros are so susceptible to unplanned pregnancies."

"We advise you read a little more about pregnancy before you impregnate our club with your ignorance," the bar shot back.

The spread and exploitation of other cishet customs has sparked similar offense. Curious queers have insulted the SCQ community by trying out traditionally heteronormative pastimes, such as catcalling, drinking Mountain Dew while walking around Wal-Mart, entering their children in beauty pageants, and paying employees less based on their gender identity.

"If you want to engage with straight culture, that's great," Brown said when asked about SCQ appropriation. "But you also have to be on board with our cause. You have to back us up, give us your support. While our rights have come a long way in the past couple decades, we still have a long road ahead."

For many SCQ citizens, A Day in the Dragon's Tower is much more than a simple children's book. It carries a message of tolerance and diversity, even if the delivery of the message is flawed.

The woman in the bookstore cafe told us her copy of the book is for her younger cousin (they/them/their). 

"I just want them to grow up in a world where people like me and my boyfriend aren't viewed as abnormal or implicitly sexual. I want them to feel safe and loved if they happen to discover they're cishet someday," she said. "Because, at the end of the day, if you're upset over a book that's all about love and being true to yourself, then maybe you need to reevaluate your priorities."

All Out

If you lived with me in college, whether as a roommate or a more general housemate, you may remember a recurring Saturday afternoon scene. Maybe you entered the house, coming back from the library, and encountered a pair of black marching shoes strewn across the hall. Further in, spats and wool socks, then a horse-hair sporran, then the signature yellow and black kilt, unspooled, stretching toward a figure lying face-down on the floor, hopefully in the correct room, occasionally not.

That was me after almost every football game in my college career. Some of it was a goof, sure. Despite my generally low self-esteem and tendency to go catatonic when over-stimulated, I've always been flamboyant. I like putting on a show, making reality a little more colorful and story-worthy. And ya boi loves some attention. I mean, I self-published a book and maintain a blog that is 90% me talking about myself (the remaining 10% is me complaining about cartoons not being gay enough).

A lot of my post-game collapse sequence, however, was real. 

I played tenor drums in the College of Wooster marching band. Imagine a set of five toms arced in front of your hips, held there by a stiff metal harness that distributes the considerable weight (often heavier than the snares or bass drums on the line) to your lower back and shoulders. With five (or more) drums to work with, the music for tenors can get complicated and showy, and as part of the drumline, it is mission critical that you don't donk up your performance. When all else fails, the percussion has to be there, consistent, timely, and precise.

The prototypical tenor player is tall and muscular. AKA, the tenor players on either side of me in this photo:

Exhibit A

Notice my expression? I'm wearing some variation of it in every photo I have of me marching the tenors.

Exhibit B

Though it may seem indiscernible from a "taking a moderately strenuous dump" face, that's my "oh wow, this hurts so bad I'm kinda worried I'm going to die on this astroturf" face.

For me, that pain could be debilitating, which was why I'd drag myself back to my dorm and strip down as quickly as possible before my muscles could stiffen up and trap me half in, half out of uniform. 

Then I'd lie down and wait for the hurt to stop and the exhaustion to pass. Sometimes in the middle of the floor in naught but my undies.

This isn't a "pity me" story. I wanted to play those drums. I chose to put my body through that, because I loved performing, and being part of that group of musicians. 

And all that suffering? That's the standard by which I measured my worth.

Because it wasn't just marching band. Everything I did, whether it was creative or academic, had to completely drain me, or I wasn't doing enough. My philosophy was that if I had energy to spare after completing a challenge, that meant I hadn't given my all, and if I hadn't given my all, then I hadn't done my best work, which made it subpar. Unacceptable.

I've been thinking about this lately because while I've mostly eradicated that philosophy from my head, remnants remain. I passed a small licensing exam recently, one that I'd spent a lot of time studying for and fretting over. The week leading up to the test, I essentially reread all of my course material, which was time-consuming and brain-numbing and what was the point of reading it all before if I was just going to read it all again?

Every night, lying in bed, I'd tell Kelsey about my fear that I wasn't working hard enough, that I was going to fail the exam and make a fool of myself and never succeed at anything again. I'm sure she loved having the same dang conversation every night.

After finishing the exam, I had to sit in my car for a few minutes, waiting for the shaking and nausea to pass. I drove home in half a trance, and my brain turned to mush for the rest of the week. I was proud, but not just of passing. I was proud that I'd fought so hard that my brain couldn't manage basic math the next day, despite being able to calculate the blend of interest and principal in the sixth payment of a 30-year mortgage for the test.

What a dumb thing to be proud of.

I passed the test with plenty of points to spare. I didn't have to worry and cram in such an all-consuming manner and leave myself intellectually out of commission for a week. I wasted energy. I exacerbated my anxiety, which in turn affected other aspects of my physical health. I wrecked myself for a test on a subject that I actually know pretty well. 

The problem with always giving your all is that you have nothing left by the end, and that may be well and good for the occasional game or performance or project, but it's not sustainable when it's applied to every aspect of your life.

It's so easy to feel like you're not doing enough these days. The world seems like it's in shambles, social media instantly informs you of the accomplishments of your peers, and it can all feel like too much to shoulder. 

The thing is, you're allowed to take care of yourself, and sometimes that means giving "some" instead of "all." It's not your job to be perfect, and you're not doing anyone any good by running on fumes alone. It's not a point of pride. It's a flawed way to view your worth.

You can't give your all when you're all out.

So next time you're face-down on the floor in a state of partial undress, think about what you gave to get there, and whether it's worth it. And take a heckin' nap while you're at it. You look exhausted.