Life Takes Direction

What is the meaning, or purpose of life? A question so many people have taken a stab at, and rightfully so, it’s a damn important question. But, I feel this question should be answered personally, by everyone who has ever lived. Thus, there will be no broad sweeping answer that covers all bases and finally makes sense of everything for everybody. My answer won’t be the same as yours, and your answer won’t be the same as somebody halfway around the world. But it’s essential to your life that you tackle the question.


The answer, as stated in “The Hitchhikers Guide To The Universe,” a lovely book by Douglas Adams (and movie), would tell you that the answer would be 42. Unfortunately, it isn’t so simple.

Time for my stab at the question of life:
I was riding my bike around my neighborhood this evening (playing Pokemon Go) and my mind got to wandering, and I couldn’t get off the thought that there has to be something better out there for me. I feel like all I do is work, play video games, and drink. I got to thinking further about each one of these individually.

Work: I show up when scheduled because I have to be able to afford the basic things in life, i.e. an apartment, a car, health insurance, including dental and vision, my laptop, electricity, phone, and food.

Video Games: I play video games to distract me from the long list of things that I need to do in order to get my life on track.

Drinking: When I get off work, and video games aren’t enough to distract me from how bad a day I’ve had, and how long my list of things to do has gotten, I drink to forget all of it. And forget is exactly what I do, because I end up blacking out and passing out somewhere (hopefully in my apartment, but not always).

If you’re wondering why I choose to do this, because clearly I’m watching myself burn to the ground, and completely aware of it, I couldn’t tell you. But, whilst riding around tonight and staring at the stars, I realized that nothing is going to change for me, and that if I really want this change that I talk about so much, then I’m going to have to be my own catalyst. Or I could just stay a piece of shit, but…


There has to be more to this life for me than wondering if my shitty car is going to start in order to take me to my shitty job that I need to be able to afford the shitty apartment I have, along with my shitty health insurance that I don’t use for GOD KNOWS WHY!?

My answer:
Life is exactly what I’ve made it. I’ve become complacent, and in order to break my cycle I’ll have to put an end to the things that shield me from attacking my list. I am afraid of change, afraid of failure, afraid of what will happen if I find a way to actually get my writing out there. I’m afraid to the point that I’ve settled, and until now I’ve accepted my fate as an underpaid, overworked, and underappreciated line cook. I’ve spent twelve years in the kitchen, and being a corporate slave for twelve years is long enough to make me look inside myself and question the very nature of why I do the things I do.

This is my life, and it will go where I say, I just have to find my voice.


Can Writing Podcasts Save Me?

The holidays stress me out. The kitchen (my job) stresses me out. But, most of all, my complete lack of anything resembling a motivation to get out of the kitchen stresses me out. It’s like I enjoy the pain of working in a kitchen, like I wouldn’t be the same if I didn’t have to go to work and babysit people my own age, and get paid shit for working way too hard.


Writing stresses me out. I constantly doubt myself. I listen to podcasts that tell me not to doubt my writing, that I should just write and write. And still? I doubt. Writing is the one thing in my life that keeps me sane, as my body is too battered to skateboard anymore. OK so that’s a lie, my girlfriend keeps me sane too, and she doesn’t read this, so don’t think this is a shout-out to her to gain brownie points, I have all the points I could ever need. She’s at her parents this weekend, and I have nobody in which to unload all my frustrations. So, lucky for you dear reader, you have inherited that honor.

Unloading zone.

I’m actively aware that I hate the line of work I’m in, yet I do nothing, well not nothing, but not near enough to get me out of the restaurant industry. I have around ten short stories currently without endings, and the beginning of a novel started, but I just can’t finish anything. I wrote one short story about four years ago about my friend being a jedi-hybrid that could control his dreams, and that had an ending, but I left it open to have a sequel, and the more I think about it, the more I think I’m incapable of writing actual endings. Am I cursed? How do I shake this?

Cue writing podcasts. I recently started listening to a few writing podcasts, and my favorite so far is the Dead Robots’ Society. It was created by Justin Macumber and is currently hosted by Justin, Terry Mixon, and Paul E. Cooley. The podcast consists of advice they have, stories they have, how they got to where they are, and answers to listeners questions. It is quite entertaining, and for me, extremely helpful.

They give me hope that I can eventually make it out of the kitchen, but in order to do so I’ll have to stop procrastinating and just fucking write.