I've been thinking about my life lately.
Those of you who know me know that "I've been thinking about my life" lingers somewhere on my list of phrases between "I need to clean the bathroom" and "I'm going in for my prostate exam today."
Given the fact that I have a morbid imagination, sitting around thinking about life never comes to any good. I inevitably depress myself, and the main effect of that is that I get unusually quiet. Being quiet at all is pretty damn unusual for me, honestly.
I've come this far through life by barreling through it like a blinded bull in mating season, and I think it's worked out well. Overall, I know that my problems are small and petty, and I'm well-adjusted enough that people feel comfortable discussing their lives with me, since I'm a good listener and won't try to butt in with my own problems. I just don't think my problems are worth talking about, since I know that given time and effort they'll work out without anyone ever needing to hear me whining.
But I turn 25 in three weeks, and the state things are in has me thinking hard about where I am, and where I hoped to be at this age when I was younger.
Strangely, what got me thinking about this was The Onion and Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, and how it relates to my career and this very rant space. (There was a college football factor, but that's a separate rant and will go up later)
You see, when I started writing earnestly, I was at GamePro, and I didn't just write jokes to make people laugh, but to make a point. The jokes told a story in and of themselves, pointed out little things that wouldn't necessarily have gotten expressed in narrative, and while I'm not deluding myself into believing that I was doing any sort of hard-hitting journalism, I like to think that people at least _remembered_ what I was talking about and learned something. The same applies to my Newtype USA writing, where I hope not just to entertain, but actually _tell my side of the story_ through inane analogies and strange little jokes.
But on the whole, and especially in this space, it seems like I'm writing jokes for jokes' sake, just to put smiles on people's faces for 15 minutes. The two works I mention, the ones I read and watch every week, they're comedy with an edge, with a point, and most importantly, with a conscience. I write comedy with a bemused smile and a series of non sequiturs that relate only to my life and how I just don't seem to be like other people.
I'm okay with that to a point--you write what you know, and I know my own little quirks and anxieties well enough to know what other people will find funny about them. And certainly, comedy as a method of self-examination is an established and often popular form - just look at Woody Allen movies, Everybody Hates Chris and certain Dave Barry strips.
But I think about if I'm doing enough with my voice, even in the most insignificant ways. I've kept my political opinions out of this column for years, for one because I know that my views on politics are wishy-washy and I'm horrible at backing up my opinions. But here I sit watching countless horrors inflicted by Americans on each other and the world out of fear, ignorance and anger while I just shake my head and wait for the political climate to change. Did my parents flee Communism so that I could sit on my hands in freedom and shake my head at the ridiculous lengths people will go through to appease their fears and keep themselves in power? I vote diligently and in ways I think are responsible, but what am I doing, really? Talking about how blackjack dealers named Blanka and Robert Garcia will take your money while conveniently ignoring how the government is afraid of my tiny tubes of TOILETRIES while soldiers are going out every day and dying in what has rapidly become a self-fulfilling prophecy of hate and unrest.
What am I DOING with myself? What SHOULD I be doing with myself? It's never too early to be asking yourself this question, and it seems like I haven't asked it in far too long.
Part of this goes back to my job, too. I'm not complaining about the job itself--the pay's fine, the co-workers are great and I have no right to complain about the 10-minute commute. But what am I doing here? My job here is not to entertain and inform, it's to make people more efficient and knowledgeable about software packages and services.
Was this why I abandoned computer science 6 years ago? To write about software and business process design from the other side? Can I really say that this is what I plan to be doing for the rest of my life? Can I say that this is what I want to be doing by this time next year?
Once, Newtype casually asked me how willing I would be to move to Texas were they to consider hiring me on, and while I know where I want to be (which is right here with everything and everyone I know), I told them that I'd move out there in a heartbeat because it's what I want to do. But I thought, deep down inside, that I'd be willing to settle for almost any writing/editing job that let me stay in the area, and it looks like I've done exactly that. Where does that leave me? Home, where I want to be.
What does that make me? That's a stickier question, and it's contributing to a lot of time spent staring at the ceiling. What am I doing, and how does that compare to what I should be doing?
What have I accomplished over the last year that I can be proud of, really? When I look back at 2006, will I look at it as the year that I became financially stable and paid off my debts? Is that what I'm wanting out of life? Will it be like a friend worried about when I said that I was working at SAP, and is it the year that I gave up on the succession of dreams I had been living previously and settled for stability?
Would I be willing to quit this job just to look for my old dream jobs in the publishing industry? Or would that be foolishness to leave a job after just 7 months in order to try and bust back into an industry that's going through its crash cycle soon? Would it be brave of me to wander back into the unknown, or would it be cowardly of me to back out of my current challenge and run back into a misty-eyed fantasy before I was done with what I want to do here? Would I be doing it just for the sake of change? Would I not be doing it just for fear of change?
I know that in many ways, these problems are insignificant, given that I'm still living what many people would only dream--I interviewed Nanase Aoi for Newtype, I signed autographs at San Diego Comic-Con and I made thousands upon thousands of people laugh, brightening their days just a little, which would be enough for anyone.
So I usually shut up about it and keep these kind of things to myself so that they don't bother other people. But sometimes I can't help but wonder, and that's when I slow down and try and figure out why.
There will be one more rant of me wondering what I'm doing at this stage of my life, and then I'll return to being the weirdo you're used to--it's just that sometimes, you can't help but sit down and dump your troubles into your keyboard.
However, if I'm reminding you guys too much of Fred, just tell me and I'll gladly bash myself silly with a nerf bat, throw myself into the bright green waters of the Dotonbori river and go fishing for Japanese novelties that have been thrown in there over the years. It's only fair.
PS: The voice of Doraemon is really good at Arkanoid. This makes me happy.