The Good Life... I Might Need Some Serious Guidance... A Love Letter

Note: This post operates under an assumption that is quintessentially American. That is to say that it is a marriage of the ambitious and the industrious. Seeing the successes of Henry Ford and George Washington Carver, I have come to believe that I am above average. Since the age of eight I knew I could achieve something big and beautiful. 

Additional Note: Though we dabble in personas and fake personalities here at Hindenburg, these are the pleas of one Joel Walkowski. 

It feel like Atlanta, it feel like Miami, it feel like LA - Kanye

***** 

It's Spring Break! 

Half-way through the semester, studies halt. It's high time for college students to let loose, get drunk,  throw confetti and assume the future will wait for their hangovers to dissipate.  It couldn't have come any sooner. It couldn't be any sadder. 

I have barely lifted a book this semester. The prospect of school has been but a blip on my mental radar. Don't let this laziness fool you. I am exhausted. Utterly tired and unable to wake up. I've hopefully sat at my computer and waited for great words to pour out, but they haven't. I've had the freedom to enjoy every human interaction, but haven't. I've made one film this semester and hoisted boom for another. I am learning skills that could pave the way for some semblance of an adult life but can't pay attention for the (adult) life of me. I see all this and know I could save myself with the lift of a finger, but I might as well be Steven Hawking. 

In the past two months, I have felt the "general malaise" slip it's clutches around me for the first time. This is a big deal to me.  A HUGE DEAL. The closest I've come to an all out state of emergency. I've had near death experiences without any real urgency. 

To wit:  

I awake in Berlin. That is the first thing I know. I know I've been sick. I know I just had surgery and that no Dallas Mavericks games will be on TV. I know because I asked about Dirk Nowitzki while being  put under. 

A pretty doctor hovers over me. She is assigned to me because she is the only staff fluent in English. Four others linger over her shoulders, peering at me, checking the tubes that descend into my testicles to drain the poison spouted forth by my ruptured appendix. 

"What is your name?" she asks. 

"My name is Joel." 

"Why are you in Germany?" 

"I wanted to go to Europe and see my sister." 

"Oh yes. Really?" 

"Yes. Is there something wrong?" 

"Yes. You have some bleeding in your abdomen. We need to have another operation." 

"Will I be ok?" 

"That depends on the surgery." 

"You better heal me. I'm gonna go to school in California. I'm going to make movies with my friends. I'm going to do good." 

*****

Here I am, living my dream situation. Everything I've ever wanted laid out on a silver platter. It could all be mine. I could conquer every dream, diminishing them as mere childish ambitions on my way to conquest pure and true. There is something to be said for not knowing your limitations, how you work, or what's required for greatness. 

It's two years later. I am living in Los Angeles with the two best friends I'll ever have.  (There are other great friendships, apologies to Mr. Bianco, the Silly Italian, and Cicadas.) Their impact is so great we no longer have friendship. We say hello, we play sports, and have good conversations, but we aren't friends by the college definition. We don't invite each other on night time forays, we don't bring our sexual partners around, we do our best to make our own lives. In essence, we have to. Our friendship is so great, so all encompassing, it transcends typical boundaries. We could easily stay satisfied in our tight circle but have opted to branch outward to other kids, drugs, and exploits.  If not, we'll stay 17 forever. Looking back, that might not have been a bad thing. 

We know the power of our love. It  goes past friendship and into brotherhood in it's purest form. We aren't linked by blood. I know we'll forever face the share of barriers and obstacles that come with human endeavors. Somedays I will hate you. Somedays, you're the only reason I'm here. Without you two (3=Bianco), I'd have long ago followed the Updike route, running away from it all. Sometimes I expressed this. Rabbits need to run. There are no conquests on the horizon.  I have nothing left to talk about, no jokes left to tell. With nothing to chase I begin to feel small. I get scared. 

Whether I want to or not, I'll love these two silly bastards for the rest of my life. 

I'm attending the best film school in the world. I have a spiritual and literary advisor who doubles as my  nurturing boss. I have a bevy of good ideas. An inspiring  first draft of a novel sits in front of me. On my hard drive are several short stories worthy to be printed at this current moment. (I am a severe critic of my own work and know these are among the best things I have ever done). Over the past year and a half I've obtained knowledge of what makes a good movie, how novels work, and what is inspiring. This has been bestowed unto me as an unprovoked blessing. 

Given the wealth of knowledge while being cognizant of my lack of insecurities it would be safe to assume I'd be stretching these boundaries to show what I can do. (You should know I wasn't always this lovable flake. I dreamed of movies so vibrantly, approaching them like a Mussolini inspired imperialist. I directed absurd plays. In short, I achieved where I shouldn't have, along with these friends, of course) I didn't ask what was expected. I did not do what was required. I set forth with a lack of conscience that Lil' Weezy would envy. 

I am here now. In the place I always imagined. It looks like I pictured it, better even. 

*****

I am in the midst of living moment to moment. Everyday is an adventure. Great people, delicious meals,  La Dolce Vita to an infinite degree. The problem is...  I don't feel it. At least not now, it's such a battle to maintain ownership of my life, that I struggle to expand the parameters. This means I don't care. I DON'T CARE. When I am out, riding my bike, living life, making jokes, drinking wine, smoking pot, there are so many inspirations. The average thought can be utilized, groomed into some fun, beautiful idea. It might not be great but it will make me smile at the very least. Out in the world I am awash in these ponderings, lost to the point that I forget myself. As an aspiring creative person, this is the mindset you strive for, save for the fact that it empties when it's time for self-expression. 

I know I can get there, to this fuckin' Zion, but I'm struggling. What was once fresh is now stagnant. I ain't hungry, not like the Brandon Jacobs of the world, striving for every yard. I feel like Maurice Clarett, a couple steps from jail, especially with this credit report. A few days ago, I began to view life in a van as my best possible prospect.  I see all this in front of me. So many ideas, so many opportunities. I seize these some nights, stumble on great success and feelings of exaltation. The other nights, I sit,wait, and pout. I think back to the great nights, instead of being quelled I get damned irritated.  Watching as my potential turns into disappointment. Tim Thomas all over again.  All I have to do is consider, analyze, and type. I know it's there.  Fascination and immersion could make all the difference, but these aren't the sort of things you can force. 

The past few year's diligence and effort have been put forth towards the moment when something is so great that I'm left with no choice but submission. Now that it may be here, I am shrinking away. 

I adopt a facade that I don't care. I CARE. I pretend the bad nights don't get to me. THEY DO. I pretend I'm capable of everything I imagined myself to be. TO BE DETERMINED. This is not to say I don't love my life. I DO. The friends, the laughs. the Japanese food. Somedays are so good, I can't do anything but smile, but that isn't enough. 

This is no coincidence. As of late I have been overcome with the malaise, thinking that nothing matters. Feeling as if there is no escape from my current life. There are so many ways to pull myself out,  but I find myself in hiding. When I feel myself hiding from my abilities, what have become duties I go out and have fun. Because of this strange loophole in causality I sometimes feel guilt alongside my fun. This is against everything I believe in. 

*****

Life is about the journey!

*****

My initial plan for Spring Break was to hunker down, alone in my room, and write. I've had writing hanging over my head like a cleft lip for months. This was my chance to tackle it. To spark the inner renaissance I've been pining for since I realized it was possible. 

This will not do. I am terrified of this prospect. I can't bring myself to care. I can't allow it to take over me.  I get ready to surge forward with nothing but free time ahead of me. 

I'm going camping instead. I will have a great time with exceptional people, but I won't be doing the thing I feel I should be doing. Maybe someday. Something needs to happen. To scare away the fear. To awaken the beast. I know something else, something bigger and better, lies dormant within me. I've seen it. I know what my drive can be. I know the feeling of wanting something so bad it hurts. I used to go to sleep inspired and troubled with the idea of doing myself justice. 

Lately it's a burden. Maybe we'll have to settle, find zen in basketball, eat zucchini, and have eight daughters. It'd be a great life, but deep down, I'll know I'm settling for less. 

SPRING BREAK!!!!!

How do I want it again? 

In closing, my credit score is shit, I owe money for something I am unsure of, there are no tags on my car, I don't do my taxes or fill out vital financial aid forms, I can't bring myself to write, and am incapable of caring about anything besides friendship and love. Witness 21 year-old Joel Walkowski, months away from testing one's ability to coast through life on charm alone.