By the time I wake up I can usually tell. If it's not by the time I wake up it's by the time that I [should] start working. If not by then, by the night, or the next morning—especially if the cycle repeats itself—I’m certain that something is wrong. I’ve always been in touch with myself at least in regards to being able to diagnose my emotional state. Rarely have I been able to lead myself astray from the reality of my condition whether it be for better or for worse. This can be confirmed by the many moments when I’ve been asked “How are you?” and I’ve replied “Not that great.” This is probably, in part, why I have often been labeled as extremely blunt in the past. I can be incredibly facetious up until the point of realizing that the circumstances [pertaining to my own well-being] could, potentially, have significant consequences if disregarded. This could sound a bit strange and certainly hypocritical but I’m not emotionally attached to my emotions. We can’t avoid feeling sad when impacted with tragedy which is an inevitable part of life. We can’t avoid feeling elated when life rewards us with a shot of dopamine... for whatever reason. While being able to confidently identify and address my emotional state is probably not rare, it's also quite two-dimensional to represent the emotional spectrum only via Sad-Happy-Mad. Anxiety and stress, two very critical emotions, that add a lot of dimension to the more commonly discussed, aforementioned, states of mind. To take things a step further, It's an even “flatter” representation of the emotional spectrum when the source that elicits said feelings are not identified. “Why are you so happy?” or “Why are you so stressed?”
Thanks to the late Larry king, Why?, has been the most valuable question that I’ve ever asked myself. There’s a level of self-confidence that I’ve gained by being honest with myself.
“Why am I sad?” “Because I got my hopes up.”
“Why am I upset?” “Because I saw this coming and ignored the signs.” “Why am I happy?” “Because I just am.”
Sometimes, a lot of times, that self-interrogation can result in a multilevel exercise that allows me to repeat that question again. “But why?” In regards to happiness I’ve learned and accepted that it’s ok to have an unscheduled good day. But what makes one mundane day feel so less satisfying than the following? Has there been an absence of good days? Maybe. Did this hypothetical normal day involve a unique, but objectively common, interaction with a person, place or thing that started the day off on the right foot? Maybe. The short of it is I am constantly investigating the source of every emotion that I can account for at all times, 24/7.
Again, this is for our two-dimensional representation of feelings. Anxiety and stress are two things that have gotten very little attention in the dialogue of a cis, straight, Black male and thus makes unpacking them a much harder challenge. The one thing I have are the signs: Accomplishing nothing, staying in bed all day, finding—nee creating—tasks that may be important but are mis-prioritized in regards to their urgency. Most of those are globally recognized signs of anxiety. The last one, which is unique to my own lifestyle, smoking a shit ton of weed. I’ve been smoking since I was 12. It’s not a brag at all. But now, at 37, it means I’ve had a very long relationship with the habit and thus I’m very in tune with how and when I choose to smoke. It’s also noteworthy that over the 25 years I’ve spent living out my birthright as a California native I have, without complication or challenge, quit smoking for 1, 2 and 9 years, respectively. Each time has been with defined intention: graduating high school, moving away from CA [so it seemed like a nice refresh] and the birth of my son. I’ve been smoking for well more than half my life and barely a third of it at the same time. But when I have the urge to grab another Baby Jeeter—or a doobie—from its airtight packaging for the third or fourth time in the same day, I know something is happening or a sign that something is about to happen.
“Why am I smoking so much all of a sudden?” “Because you’re stressed.”
“About what?”
“Life.”
Since the pandemic I’ve experienced all of the same ups and downs that a lot of people have but I can happily testify that my pandemic resulted in a net-positive. I changed careers to one that is exponentially more fulfilling and in line with my lifestyle. I’ve met more amazing people in the last two years than I could possibly imagine. If the exercise of writing this journal is meant to bring me any closer to the source of my anxiety it’s likely because I don’t like change very much AND I’m pretty sure the honeymoon phase of this life change is coming to an end. I’ve prepared for it. I’ve become more organized. I’ve updated my resume. I’m advancing in this new career of mine. Nothing is going wrong. But throughout life I’ve flown by the seat of my pants, in my opinion, to avoid the responsibility that comes with needing to plan out some of the more important steps in my life which I am historically bad at. Who needs to plan when you can just luck out?
That was the old me. What I left out is that the new me is on a campaign to destroy the old me... or at least some of those bad, old habits—not the smoking weed part. I’ve been planning more. I’ve been more proactive. But the thought that I could have possibly missed a detail in my plan or the possibility that I could just fail has left me completely frozen. Email deliveries have been put off or prolonged. Pre-production for photoshoots is taking days longer than normal. Recently, a lot of days have been all out battles to accomplish some of the simplest tasks just in order to keep me from falling off the proverbial wagon entirely. As mentioned, I can be facetious until I’m not. At the time of writing this, last week, I accomplished doing 30 push-ups. That’s it. No shower. No bike ride. I ate, eventually. I got out of bed to do said push-ups and promptly got back in bed. It’s a drag but I accept it.
For me, dealing with anxiety isn’t a bummer but it sure is a fucking task! It’s probably, even more so, a skill. A skill that must be learned. So I treat it as such. I have no, or at least very little, emotional connection to the fact that this feeling, this state, could potentially last for a while. It’s not foreign. I’ve been here many times before but the difference is that, before, I had no clue what I was dealing with. After many years, decades, of navigating the beginner’s guide of
emotional literacy I think I’m ready for the advanced version. Finally creating this Substack was a huge start. Deep breath. Let’s go!
