Personal

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Optimism is a Choice

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Essays Personal

My optimism comes from a strange and twisted place, I suspect. I took “it could always be worse” and lived through it multiple times, defiantly wielding the phrase against yet another disaster in my life, over and over. 

No matter how “worse” things got, I hung on, looking to the knowledge that things have been better to get me through those times. And there was always farther I could fall, so for now, this was tolerable. 

“It could always be worse” inherently implies “Things have been better and could be again.” 

Usually, the worst I could imagine was being dead. Once you’re dead, there’s no chance of redemption or escape from the bad place you’re stuck in. I even said that when I was in the hospital after I did indeed almost die: “How am I? Could be worse! I could not be here!” Doctors and nurses, family and friends all heard me say that in a cheerful voice, because I knew how lucky I’d been. I was thrilled to still be here, even though I was in pain with a giant incision. I was alive, I could recover, and now we had answers to why I’d felt so bad for large swathes of my life. You bet I was cheerful. 

After that, being dead was firmly established as rock bottom. 

It allowed me to deal with further surgeries, even though I was scared. I had a second intestinal resection and fascial dehiscence repair, both of which were a lot harder than my first surgery in some ways. I wasn’t as strong or as healthy [outside of Crohn’s Disease] for those surgeries as I was for the first surprise surgery for bowel perforation. And I’d gone through a very long recovery from that first surgery–almost a year!–and multiple bacterial infections.

But when I woke up after, in the recovery room, I was grateful and optimistic. I was still here. I got to live. 

You have to understand, I have been through a lot of bad things in my life. I’ve been unhoused, and homeless. [they are not the same thing] I’ve been in several abusive relationships. I’ve gone through some of the most traumatic things a person can go through, and still, still I refuse to let that dim my optimism.

I’m still here. Things could be worse. 

Now I have accomplished so many of the dreams that I had when I was young, including careers  and experiences that people often think are impossible to easily achieve. I managed that with another handy philosophical phrase: “What’s the worst that can happen?” 

No one’s died from being told “no, you can’t be a DJ” or “your book sucks.” Luckily I haven’t had those experiences [yet] but I can confidently guarantee that I won’t die if they do. A busted gut didn’t kill me, rejection sure as hell won’t!

A cheating husband didn’t kill me. It shook my faith in myself for a while, but it didn’t take me out. I avoided being taken out by drinking and drugs, thank goodness. [and I’ve been sober for 20 years now!] Depression hasn’t killed me, though it tried really hard a couple of times. Losing jobs, homes, friends, whole eras of my life? They didn’t take me out, either. They all hurt like hell, but I made it through, and had happy times again. 

The rise of fascism in the country where I live? That might take me out, eventually. I’m not the first target in their crosshairs, but I’m on the list. I’ve been loud about my opposition, and loud about my support for those who are currently targeted. But I’m still here, still fighting for others who are in the crosshairs before me, and I will do that until they manage to kill me. 

I’m still here. I’m still loud about that. I’m loud about others not being as lucky–and that’s what it is, if I’m honest, luck–and I will continue to draw attention to the things our government would rather we were silent and accepting about. That’s not going to happen. They’ll have to kill me to get me to shut up. 

And even still, my optimism that we can have a better world keeps me going. At this point, it’s not for me. It’s for the people who will be here when I’m gone, especially those who have had less privilege and luck than me. I want it for the children of the people who barely had chances to get ahead, who had to fight against racial prejudice and the systemic reinforcements that stem from that prejudice in every corner of their lives. I doubt I’ll see it change in my lifetime; in theory I probably only have another twenty years or so. That’s a sobering thought, but also one that lights a fire under me to do my best to reinforce the optimism I carry with concrete action. 

If you have more projected time than I do, you have more time to work toward that goal. What are you doing with that time?

So yes, I’m an optimist. It’s my fuel for going forward, for doing my best to push for positive change in these times for future generations, ones I’ll never see. That’s the difference between someone like me and those in power right now, who only look to fill their pockets and their soul with pleasures of the moment, no matter the cost to others. 

We have to use that optimism to envision a better world and also to work for it. Otherwise we’re just pacifying ourselves. Otherwise, you might as well just sink down into despair, because what’s the difference at that point?

Which will you choose?

In My Body, In My Mind

Essays On Creating Personal

Using one’s body to work through trauma, stress, and challenges is a valid therapy. Some people run or hike. Some people work out, lifting weights. I like doing that, too. Some people play sports, or swim.

I dance.

I’ve been dancing since I was tiny. I took ballet and tap classes while we could afford them, and even after I had to stop, I continued on with my exercises, and I made my own cute little choreographies, too. Body movement was an important was for me to work through anger and frustration and other big feelings, and to express joy, too. And dance let me feel like I was inside the music I chose, in a different way than singing did.

In high school I was part of a dance troupe, where we choreographed dances to pop songs and would perform them anywhere possible at the drop of a hat. That was when Michael Jackson’s Thriller was big, and we learned that dance and would dress up and perform for parties and the like. It was a ton of fun, and when it was time to go off to college, I continued my dance studies. I took modern dance and ballet. I knew ballet wasn’t a serious option for moving forward but it’s a great foundation for movement and control. I glowed when my teacher told me I had “great feet” because I’d worked hard on keeping my basics.

Dance got me through the hard parts of those times. It kept demons at bay growing up, or at least it tried; it gave me a way to control a tiny part of a life that was spiraling out of control while I watched everything crash down around me in college. When I discovered dance clubs, and then the all-night members-only fallen paradise that was my Friday night retreat, I finally felt like I could dance some of the pain and trauma out of my body, casting spells on the disco light illuminated floor with my feet as my arms traced out graceful symbols. I would stay until the sun rose, blinking in the bright light before wandering off with all my other dusty-black clothed friends in search of breakfast.

I’ve been chasing that feeling ever since.

I haunted various goth/industrial/synth oriented club nights for a while, then became the caretaker of one as well as a DJ, traveling to some of the clubs that I’d participated in as an attendee before I was able to add to the magic myself. I was known as a “floor starter,” someone who wouldn’t hesitate to get out there all by myself to dance–and often helping to draw other people to the floor as well. I generally have no shame when it comes to art, and dancing is a lot of things but most definitely is an art. You don’t have to be fancy to dance well, but you do have to let yourself express the music without worrying what you look like. Losing yourself in the tune, the rhythm, the vibe: that’s when you’re at your best as a dancer. I conveyed the joy of moving to the music in a way that drew other people to join me. That’s also a form of magic. Curating the music, creating the vibe, inviting others to join: alchemy.

I make music. I’ve always sang, always danced, always been entranced by what music brings to us. It’s a form of connection, creation, expression, communication. I want to lose myself in it; I want to offer myself up to it. I want to feel it move through me and move my body, not in possession but in partnership.

When I’m in my body like that, I’m fully in my mind too.

Dancing puts me in a kind of trance but it’s not an out-of-body experience, it’s being as at-one with my body as I could possibly be. My brain benefits from those moments, becoming refreshed, then inspired. It’s why one of the most common pieces of advice that I give writers that are dealing with creative blocks is to get up and dance, or chair dance if that’s not an option. Pick music that demands that you connect your body to it and let it lead you out of your blocked place and into something fresh and energized.

This is why all my books have soundtracks, by the way. I use that music to put me into the mood, to define the vibe of the chapter I’ve associated it with, and to express that energy to the reader. Music is shorthand for emotion and by sharing it, I’m offering you mental insight into the scene that might already be expressed in words but is always heightened by the inclusion of the tune that helped shape it.

Now if you don’t mind me, I’m going to turn on my tiny disco lights and move across the room to some beautiful songs.

A journal with writing in it and a pencil lying in the fold is overlaid with a photo of Min Yoongi and the text My Secret pen pal, a confession, and a wish for you

My Secret Pen Pal Revealed

Personal

When I write journal entries these days, I address them to Yoongi. He’s like a secret pen-pal, except these are letters that I’ll never mail, to a person I’ll never know.

There’s a good chance you’re asking who that is, so let me explain.

Min Yoongi [ 민윤기 ] is part of the rap line in the Korean band Bangtan Sonyeondan – 방탄 소년단 – otherwise known as BTS, where he goes by his stage name SUGA. He’s also a solo musician under the name Agust D. He recently released the last album in his trilogy using that name, a series of works that delve deep into his pain, fears, and inner workings in a way that is astonishingly vulnerable and soul-shaking.

I’m used to people tuning out or worse when I mention BTS, which is something that deserves its own essay, because I’ve seen too many folks dismiss them for superficial [or racist] reasons that have nothing to do with their music. But if you’ve ever struggled at all with mental health, or fighting your way up from nothing, or battling yourself as you try to heal and understand who you are and can be, Yoongi has words for you. He’s got empathy and shared tales of pain and insight to spare. And hope, so much hope to share with us.

From SUGA's KKUL FM: a listener says "I gave up on my dream" and SUGA responds "I don't know what circumstances you were in, but I think you must have had tremendous courage. Giving something up decisively takes lots of courage. And, you worked hard. Fighting."
Quote from Yoongi: translated/shared thanks to DoolsetBangtan.

He wants you to dream, but he also tells you that it’s okay if you don’t have one. He advises that quitting decisively is also a form of courage. Those are messages that are rare to hear in this world where everything’s about measured and flaunted successes. He even honestly points out that for a long time he fell into that trap of being greedy for success, a shadow that almost swallowed him.

He understands that failing also teaches important lessons, and pain can lead to breakthroughs, if we dare to face it so that we can understand why we’re in pain. Again, it’s a message that doesn’t get said enough.

I started addressing my journal entries to Yoongi about a year ago. Things were going really poorly for me, health-wise, and I was deeply depressed and scared and felt very alone. Those feelings also dredged up a lot of past trauma, because even when you’re healed or as close as you can be healed from past events, they still live in your brain. [see Agust D’s Amygdala, which I mention below]

I don’t really have people I can tell all the details about the things I feel when it comes to my illness. I mean, I could tell some of the ones I’m close to, but I don’t want to. There’s a lot of reasons for that, but one of the big ones is that it changes how I feel when I talk to them. I’m not worried about the ones I trust most being disturbed or uncomfortable by what I tell them. I don’t think it would affect how they see me. But it would change the nature of how I see my relationship with them, and I would feel like yet another thing was the victim of my disease.

I know that isn’t based in anything solid or real. But that’s how I feel.

So I confess to someone who I don’t know except through his songs and media presence, in a journal I write on paper in my language, which even if he could see, he probably couldn’t read because his main language is Korean. And of course he has no idea who I am at all.

In those pages, I can tell this imaginary version of a musician who lives on the other side of the planet all my fears and pains and damage without judgment and with no fear of being ignored or misinterpreted. I don’t have to worry that he’s too busy or that I’m scaring him. If he could read it, he’d understand. That’s something I know in my heart.

Image taken from Agust D's Amygdala video, featuring a long haired Yoongi in tattered grey clothes, reaching out to another Yoongi sleeping fitfully on a black couch.
A still from the Amygdala video.

This week he released the MV for his new song Amygdala. [SERIOUS trigger warning for the video; if you want to hear the song and read the translated lyrics instead, go here. If you can handle the video it is a beautiful but heart-wrenching piece of art that visually explains his struggles. I also suggest looking up some of the analysis of the song to understand more of the story and symbolism.]
It is the most raw and vulnerable dive into the pains and trials that made him who he is now. I can admit that I bawled the first time I watched it, just like I did the first time I heard the song. Even before I got the English translation, I could feel the hurt, the anguish, the search for answers within himself in the music. It was painful to witness, but also a cathartic moment for me.

Like Yoongi, I’ve had a terribly hard life. I don’t say that lightly, or to gain sympathy from people. In fact, so many people that I know – and know well – don’t even have any idea about most of the things I’ve been through.

The clues for a lot of the challenges I’ve faced are in my writing although a few of the worst may never come forth for reasons that are less about me and more about protecting others who could get hurt.

One day. Perhaps.

But also like Yoongi, I write about those times and situations for two important reasons. One is to face them and work through how they affect me. The other? It’s to connect with others who have gone through similar things and hopefully give them something they need. Maybe it’s just being seen, or perhaps there’s advice or catharsis for them in my writing. It could be as simple as feeling less alone.

I’m willing to be vulnerable if it means that someone else can get help or solace from what I share. It’s one of the first things I liked about Yoongi, too. If talking about how we’ve suffered can help even one more person get through bad times, we will do it without hesitation. And we want others to feel safe to do the same.

Why am I telling you all of this? It’s a personal share, I know. I’ve told absolutely no-one until now that I, a 56-year-old English-speaking USian person who is known for being a fantasy author and a goth/industrial DJ, writes journal entries addressed to a 30-year-old K-pop idol, rapper, producer, musician who has no idea I am.

This is me being vulnerable, too. I’m giving you insight into one of my coping mechanisms.

I’m telling you because I want you to be able to talk about the things that haunt and hurt you. I want you to find it possible to be vulnerable and open, and to heal and grow. And I can say with all the confidence in the world, that even though I don’t actually know Min Yoongi, he want that for you, too.

Even if you have to start out by telling someone you don’t know through letters to them in your journal, I hope you find a way to let your pain out. When you face it and find your way to work through it, you leave so much more room for joy, for love, for hope.

I can’t tell you that everything will be better. But I can tell you that even if you don’t know me and I don’t know you, I’m out here cheering you on, hoping for you to heal and grow and thrive and dream.

And even though Yoongi may not be aware of either of us, I know he feels the same.

Note: This was difficult to write and share, but I did it anyway. Finding a title for it even more so, because everything felt trite after this deep confession. If it resonated with you, it was all worth it.

Photo by Masaaki Komori on Unsplash

It Shall Pass 지나가

Personal Writing

There’s a lot about my personal life that I haven’t shared on this platform before, but I think it might be time to change that. I’m sorry, this is probably going to be long.

I’m not difficult to know, not at all. If you follow me on Facebook or Twitter you’ll see that my self-claimed title of “exuberant oversharer” is well-deserved. I don’t steer away from uncomfortable subjects, especially when it comes to myself. I’m a firm believer in normalizing difficult or awkward topics, so I am open and honest. That’s a tricky path to walk as a semi-public figure, let me tell you.

One thing I’ve been increasingly forthright about is my health and specifically, what it’s like for me to live with Crohn’s Disease. I specify “for me” because everyone’s experience varies, of course. I’ve mentioned that some of the events I’d planned to attend fell through for me, and I think I’ve also talked about how writing the current WIP has slowed down because of my Crohn’s as well. The truth is that I’ve been miserably sick, which I hate to admit because I despise feeling weak or unable to do the things I love. But it’s the truth, and I think it’s important to acknowledge it.

Forgive me if I tell you things that you already know here, but for those who don’t know about Crohn’s, here’s a rundown of what it’s about. It ain’t sexy by a long shot, but this is something that needs to be normalized talking about as well!

Crohn’s Disease is a type of Inflammatory Bowel Disease. What that means is that my immune system thinks that parts of my digestive tract are Bad Guys and goes after them like misguided little superheroes. That has led to a lifetime of undiagnosed pain and issues which finally got a name when it all unexpectedly went to hell about three years ago.

I had a sudden trip to the ER, a surprise surgery to put my busted guts back together, and a long recovery that included 11 days total in the hospital and an extended, unpleasant infection that I learned to take care of myself. GOOD TIMES, right?

It took about a year to get an official diagnosis and some treatment. That’s pretty normal, and terribly frustrating for the person waiting on that diagnosis. Medications for Crohn’s are in a couple of different classes, and approach treating the disease through different paths. I went on a two-medication approach that included a biologic. For a while, that made things better — not resolved, I didn’t go into remission — but it was tolerable, mostly.

Then I failed out of the meds I was using. What that means is that they were obviously not doing the job anymore, and my doctor and I could see that things were getting worse.

I should mention that these drugs are SO GODDAMN EXPENSIVE. If I didn’t have the coverage that I have [thanks Obama] I would be paying thousands of dollars for *each* treatment. The drug I’ve recently been moved to has an average retail price, without insurance/coupons/etc, of $4600 a dose. Why so much? There’s no generic for this one as of now. Guess who didn’t like that at all? My insurance. I had come off the previous prescriptions in order to get my body ready for the new meds, and then my insurance started dragging their feet. That went on for months, which allowed my Crohn’s to ramp back up in that unmedicated gap. I have an entire rant about insurance and pharmaceutical companies having so much power, but I’ll save that for another time.

The State of Me right now is that I started the new meds, and then about a week before my first self-administered shot, I started feeling weird. I quickly determined that I had a flare coming on, and it was going to be a doozy. A flare for me means lots of lower quadrant bowel pain – right around where I originally had my resection – fatigue, and uncomfortable bathroom issues. This time I also was having chills, and then an inability to eat much. I started dropping weight rapidly, and I was frantic trying to find things to consume that would keep me going and staying functional.

“Everyday I pray

내가 좀 더 나은 어른이 될 수 있게

that I can be a little better grownup

And everyday I stay

사람도 아픔도 언젠가는 죽기에

Because all humans and all the pains eventually die

무뎌지려면 바람을 맞아야 하잖아

We have to face the wind to become numb

꿈 속에서는 영원할 수가 없잖아

Nothing can last forever in the dream

힘내란 뿌연 말 대신

Instead of those vague words to cheer me up, 

다 그렇다는 거짓말 대신

instead of those lies that this is how it is supposed to be,

그저 이 모든 바람 바람처럼 지나가길 I pray

I pray that it shall pass just like all these winds”

– RM/Kim Namjoon, “지나가 Everythinggoes”

What happened after that was a CT scan and then a five day hospital stay to get rid of and infection in that area. And now I have a plan to have a second resection, this time to hopefully eliminate the stricture and possible fistula that formed after surgery #1.

Most people who have Crohn’s and have a resection surgery will end up with another. In my case, it was an emergency resection thanks to a catastrophic situation, and that made everything more complicated. I’m honestly lucky to be alive.

All that said, it still is extremely frustrating to be hampered by my illness. I wrote ISYK and CASOD while I was in a good period of health, and they went pretty quickly. The current manuscript is in a holding pattern right now because I barely have enough energy and brains to get through a day while sitting on my couch and staring at the computer, much less trying to focus on a plotline and put the words to the screen. It’s also extremely depressing to be in this state, which does nothing for my creativity. But as Kim Namjoon sings, 지나가. It shall pass.

I’ll have my creativity back, and my energy. I’m a determined and focused person, I know I can do this. Hell, I can’t write a book right now, but I’m learning Korean! I can’t walk for extended distances, but I can freestyle in one spot in my kitchen. [No, I won’t post videos of that!] And I can try to keep in contact with all of you and let you know what happens in my life.

Everything, everything, everything goes.

ps – this is a song that’s given me immeasurable amounts of strength during the past days, so I wanted to share it with you.

Translation thanks to Doolset