Sad Guy

I begin every post that delves into what I perceive to be my depression with a caveat that, not being a licensed mental health professional, I'm technically in no position to make such a judgment of myself. If it is true, then my opinions are even more suspect. Who could trust the word of a crazy person that they're crazy? They're just not credible. In any case, I feel sure that I have at least periods of legitimate depression.

I always think of a broken compass. Just as an actual broken compass would leave you ignorant of north and south- ignorant, let's say, of whether you're blundering further into a lethal desert or heading back to civilization and salvation- I often feel that my emotional compass, which keeps me connected to what's happy and what's sad, is off. Just being sad is not sufficient to declare that one is depressed, I think. You've got to be sad with no pathway evident to happiness. Everything seems to lead deeper.

Validate My Parking (And Me)

No small amount of thought has already gone into trying to understand why people go into performance or writing as a profession. Each is a long, hard slog whose end is success only for a select few. Since I myself have embarked upon both, I have formed my own opinions on the matter, and have in this blog a forum to air them without any risk of being shouted down as boring or uninsightful as I might be elsewhere.

The title of this post gives the whole thing away. For those who make it in creative endeavors, there is no more effective form of validation to be had. It comes in vast numbers, and from so many objective, external sources that it simply must be the unvarnished truth. When you're succeeding, the positive feedback is instant and vociferous, washing over you like a tidal wave of happiness. It's sort of like a runner's high. Where the comedy I have a predilection for is concerned, I find it to be most potent in live performance, and I'm sure that you'll agree with that.