Whenever you read a memoir from someone who either suffers from depression or had massive struggle before they got successful, they’re generally lauded for their honesty. They’re like, Wow, this author really cracked open their chest and let you see the blood and viscera, and showed us how they sewed their chest back up and are now running marathons, and a successful company, and have a great family. “Look how successful I am, but it wasn’t always like this; I struggled, too.” But, as someone who suffers from depression, those stories can sometimes start to feel like a reminder of how you haven’t become successful yet. Plus, also, you haven’t quite sewn your chest back up, yet. So, your story still just feels like the struggle part. And you’re rounding the corner on 40.
If there’s a memoir out there in which the author hasn’t sewn their chest back up by the end of the book, so they’re like, “I don’t know, guys. My chest is still a gaping wound. I might just die. The end,” please tell me what it is.
And I FULLY recognize how insane it might sound for someone in my position to say they haven’t become successful yet. Obviously, I have had massive success and continue to enjoy a pretty lucrative and steady career. Or, rather, I am, once again, after a long hiatus, enjoying a pretty lucrative and steady career. But there is always the next goal. And maybe that’s a tiny lesson I can impart amidst this rambling: No matter how high up the mountain you climb, there is always another summit to conquer.
Also, yes, I just came off a national tour of a Tony-winning play, and I did a terrific stint as a recurring on a new TV show (still can’t announce it publicly…), but I still have to collect unemployment to make ends meet (i.e. to afford to live at all), which means I have to prove that I’m looking for work, which means occasionally I have to go to job interviews for awful jobs that I don’t want, and then not get those jobs and be insulted (“I didn’t want your stupid job anyway!”). And I still have to wonder what would happen if I never booked another gig (which apparently is a fear that all actors live with forever no matter how high up the mountain they get, but still…). And I still feel the need to panic when a gig is ending. And I still actively think about what my backup career should be. And, yes, I recognize my privilege.
So, no, I don’t feel like I’m at the point where I can say, “I may be successful now, but it wasn’t always this way. Let me tell you all about it in this best-selling memoir!”
Anyway, the point is, I’m in the thick of it, and it feels scary and vulnerable to share what that looks like and how it feels. And there are a few voices of trolls past who said I’m a downer and that I complain too much. But I’m starting to be comfortable in my complaining. There is a lot to complain about. The world is on fire and life is hard. And I will leave it to others to write inspirational pieces about finding the light within, and walking with god, and how eating chia seeds will help align your chakras, or whatever. That ain’t my brand. My brand is: We are all pushing our rocks up the hill. Let’s talk about it. And I’m becoming increasingly okay with that.