THE YEAR OF 35

I'm 35 today.

When I was in fourth grade, I was in a program for gifted students where we did independent study. The first thing I focused on was a study of the presidents, a subject I found fascinating. I memorized all of them in order and learned lots of facts about them - William Henry Harrison dying after only a month in office; the fact Ulysses S. Grant wasn't his original name...Hiram Ulysses Grant (HUG) anyone? I also decided that when I grew up I would be president and I told everyone about it. I was promised quite a few votes from classmates, teachers, and other adults.

The funny thing about the program was that I only studied two subjects that whole year - the presidents and the Rough Riders (led by future prez Teddy Roosevelt). Other classmates managed to go through many subjects but I was a bit of a procrastinator. I was very interested in those subjects but I was also interested in reading every Hardy Boys book that was published up to that point. I started to read comics around that point as well. I was in love with story.

I was good in school, even with my tendency towards procrastination. Everything came easily to me and I could whip out a paper at the last minute. I think those deadlines helped me focus; it meant I couldn't spend my time reading a book or some comics or listening to records. I was able to do homework quickly and would then have the rest of the time for myself. I always had a book or some comics with my in school. I graduated as valedictorian and headed off to Penn State for college.

I wasn't sure what I wanted to do when I got to college. When I was younger, I had a Princeton course catalogue and I would make up student names and choose their courses and roll dice to see what grades they got. Yeah, I was a dork. Still am. Anyway, when I was faced with actually making those choices I had a hard time. I didn't think I wanted to be president anymore but I was still very interested in politics, so I signed up for a high level political science course (I was able to do that as part of the honors program I was in). I lasted maybe a week before I dropped it and picked up something else. In fact, I made liberal use of the drop/add program over my years at Penn State - you could do it over the phone! But as I went along, I just became more and more lost with what I wanted to do. I started taking some fiction writing classes and by the time I went to declare as a writing major you could no longer do so. It was English or nothing. I started having problems with depression around this time too, something I'd never had a problem with. It all came to a head the second semester of my junior year; I had a mini-breakdown and my parents came and got me. The plan was to go back after spring break, which wasn't too far away. But I didn't go back.

Eventually I tried a local branch of Purdue for one class. I was depressed and had an unreliable car and didn't show up for class a whole lot, though I did all the work. Handed in my final paper only to have my professor tell me I wasn't there enough for her to grade it and I ended up with an F. I didn't get Fs. I didn't go back.

I tried a third school, Columbia College in Chicago. I wanted to be a DJ. Took a class and realized that I wouldn't be able to play the music I wanted to at most stations I would have a chance of being hired at. Ended up in that writing/English vein again. I had been working at Subway but got an opportunity to join the staff of my hometown paper as the junior reporter. Before too long, the guy above me left and they hired in someone new with no experience (just like me) and I was the senior reporter. I was responsible for writing articles, taking pictures, and laying out the paper every week and was going to school two days a week in Chicago. I completely cracked and that was the end of my career as both a reporter and a college student.

By this time I knew I wanted to be a writer. The problem was that I didn't write. Or I'd try to write and give up after a few paragraphs, thinking it was horrible and I would never amount to anything. I was still depressed and I was working at Subway again, which didn't help my self-esteem. I had rediscovered my love for comics and started to publish a small fanzine about them. I also started writing letters to comics, something I had done for a while in my high school days. This lead to me being recruited to join an APA (amateur press association) about comics called Legends. Through my zines I met a bunch of people who were like me. It was nice. Eventually, I worked on a comic with some of those friends, a small anthology from Slave Labor called LOVE IN TIGHTS. I had two scripts published and was considered a comics professional.

I was still riddled with doubts and fears of failure and gave up quickly (sure, I wrote up some proposals for more comics but I had no artists to work with and just didn't push). I removed myself from the comics scene after a time and have been fighting with those impulses ever since...trying not too care too much about the medium I loved since I was 10 and keeping it at an arm's length by only buying trade paperbacks. I've been fighting with myself about comics for the last five years.

That's actually become my mode of operation. Keeping myself shielded from things that I have an interest in doing. Holding off comics so I didn't have to think about my failed attempts (and failure to continue those attempts) at becoming a consistent comics writer. Wanting to write songs but not picking up the guitar for more than a few days at a time and then putting it down for months or even years. Stopping my incessant notes full of story ideas. Stopping the pursuit of the dreams.

As that was going on, though, I began to have a healthier outlook on life. I haven't been depressed in a long time. Having a child helped that; as the at-home parent I couldn't afford to wallow in my own head all day long. Finally getting out of Subway helped too and I went to work with my wife running the drama department at the high school (which was also where I went to school). The kids repsected me and I enjoyed working with them. And once I started my job working with little kids at the Y, I was able to see that I had worth as a person and it had nothing to do with my ability or inability as a writer or a creative person or anything. I had discovered how to be happy along the way.

So, here I am at 35 years old. I am now legally able to run for president. Obviously, I don't want to be president anymore. But I don't want to give up on my creative dreams. So I am going to take this year of my life to pursue those creative impulses. I'm going to write fiction and really play the guitar and do whatever else comes to mind. I'm not going to put any restrictions on myself, all my rules. If I want to buy a single issue of a comic, I will. If I want spend two hours playing guitar poorly, I will. I'm going to see what I can do. It may not go anywhere. That's fine. I'm still going to be happy. I'll still be finally going after my dreams and that will be worth it in its own right. But wouldn't it be great if it did go somewhere?

I plan on writing about that pursuit as well, seeing if I can get a book out of the pursuit. So be on the lookout for posts marked with "The Year of 35" to see how that pursuit is going. I'll still be doing my regular sort of entries as well. I'm interested to see where I'll be with all of this a year from now. I hope you find it interesting along the way too.

It's my year of being 35. I'm looking forward to it.