Dead Cells (2018)

I turned forty a few weeks ago

Dead Cells
by Motion Twin
Released on Nintendo Switch in 2018

Sometimes you can’t push through unless you lower the difficulty settings. I paused this blog to prep for a theater gig. Then there was a health scare in my family. Then my day job’s union authorized a strike. For three weeks we held signs and marched in circles and chanted until our voices went hoarse. The step counter on my phone said I averaged nine donut-fueled miles a day. I had little energy in the evening for anything creative. I played video games. I cooked dinner.

We won our contract, modest as it was, but a victory nonetheless. The strike ended suddenly, and I had little time to process the experience before returning to work. Back at the office, I felt more demoralized and disinterested than ever. I’ve spent almost six years at my job. I make shit money. I have no room for advancement. 

It’s time for a change. Now I’m plotting my escape. If I can get it together financially, I’m thinking about becoming a therapist. When I told my dad on the phone, he said he’d been praying that I’d find work that truly fulfilled me. Prior to that conversation, we had never discussed my discontent. Was it that obvious?

It’s the hard that makes it good, says Jimmy Dugan in A League of Their Own. I think that’s true, so long as you give a shit about the end. I turned forty a few weeks ago, and it hit me hard enough to email my therapist on my birthday and schedule an appointment. During our session the next week, I talked about how writing has at last become a joyful act—a kind of play. It’s not that I just throw fuck-all on the page (maybe I do a little here?). I like the discipline of working through drafts, untangling my ideas, finding clarity.

I’ve grown far less enamored of the routine of practice and the anxiety of gigging. Playing music has always felt like something I’ve had to justify through mastery and performance. I want to let go of both. I don’t care about being in a pit or working on my soloing. During lockdown, I had so much fucking fun doing nothing but recording Les Mis covers and working on the Planet Radiant soundtrack. I miss the liberty to do literally whatever, with no goal but to make something I think is cool. Now: I just want to write stupid goth songs in my basement. Shouldn’t that be enough?

I’ve been crying a lot, close to every day. My psychiatrist seemed skeptical, but I don’t think this is another bout of bipolar depression. I spent the last two days of my Christmas break dreading my return to the office. My chest tightens at the thought of the one show I have to play next month. It’s trash night, and someone keeps dumping piles of contractor bags at the community can Jess and I take care of. Everything feels like an obligation, like a hard. I just want more time for play. I want to feel good.