David Brandt, Ver. 37 — more work required
In remembering his comedic idol, Louis C.K. once discussed how the late George Carlin would write new jokes every year for the set he would eventually perform on his annual HBO special.
“I listened to a CD of George talking about comedy and workshopping it, talking about it seriously,” he said. “The thing that blew me away about [Carlin] was that he just kept putting out specials. Every year there would be a new George Carlin special or a new George Carlin album. And each one was deeper than the next, and I just thought, ‘How can he do that?’ It literally made me cry (over the fact) that I could never do that.
“(An audience member) asks him, ‘How do you do all this new material?’ And I hear him and [Carlin] says, ‘Well, I just decided every year I’d be working on that year’s special, and I do the special, then I just chuck out the material. And I’d start again with nothing.’
“And I thought, ‘That’s crazy. How do you throw away (the material)? It took me 15 years to build this shitty hour. If I throw it away, I’ve got nothing.”
I turn 37 on Aug. 11, and I can declare with unquestionable certainty that it was during my 37th year of life when I truly realized that I made a complete mess of my life — largely thanks to poor decision-making over several years leading up to this one.
A year ago, as I was finishing with version 36 of myself, I aimed for accomplishing big goals while building version 37. I was going to cut my personal financial debt in half. I was going to finish my “cancer/Uber” memoir that was already a year and a half in the works. And I was going to pursue training to become a full-stack Web developer.
Instead, I flamed out of a Web development training program after only three weeks, forcing me to pay back a portion of the loan I borrowed to participate in the three-month course. This disappointment forced me back into driving for Uber full-time (having left regular office employment in early 2016 to pursue the career change), which has led to more than $5,000 of necessary vehicle repairs within the span of four months this year alone. And as for the book, I’ve done the math on how much useless crap I’ve written and posted on social media versus what I’ve contributed that’s genuinely meaningful to anyone — especially me.
I pursued my goals this year neglecting a basic life principle: “Planning is a fool’s errand.” Lately, I’ve been feeling like an abysmal failure after a year that I anticipated to be an adrenalin shot of success. Compile that with discovering that I have not nor may never move beyond living as just a cancer survivor, I’m only left with a lethal mix of doubt, regret and shame.
If an individual’s primary goal is to live daily at “100 percent me,” then I’m currently hovering somewhere in the 30 percent to 35 percent range. I feel more defeated than ever before and I know for certain that I allowed this to happen.
A former friend once told me years ago, “David, your ambition is going to end up leaving you alone.” Well, it turns out she wasn’t wrong, though she wasn’t entirely right, either.
I’m a major advocate of personal reinvention. It’s a process that requires a lot of starting over, and though I’ve been working at reinvention for a long time, I have no choice but to go ahead and get this deep, sorrowful sigh out of my system once again and press forward.
Because there is no quit. There just isn’t.
As I spent much of the weekend Ubering my way around Atlanta to keep some level of income flowing in, I was giving a lot of thought in-between rides about what obstacles in my life needed removal and where I needed to direct my focus — core tenets behind the discipline of Essentialism. As I was preparing a mental list of people and things to leave behind, I was hailed by a young woman at a salon in Southwest Atlanta.
As conversation struck about what we each did for a living, she went on to describe her current circumstances and her uncertain future. She works at the salon earning barely more than minimum wage but not even for a full 40 hours per week. She lives in a run down motel that had been converted at one time or another into public housing and low-income room rentals.
“I don’t know what I want to do for a career, but I need to change something,” she said. “I want to go back to school, but I don’t know what to study.”
I immediately had an idea. “Do you have a computer or access to a computer? Do you have Internet access?”
“Yes.”
“Learn how to code.”
“Oh, I have a friend who does medical coding.”
“No, not medical coding. Coding for the Web. Building websites and apps.”
“Oh …”
“It’s not impossible and it doesn’t have to cost you anything. You just need to have access to the Internet.”
I went on to briefly explain HTML, CSS and JavaScript using my typical house analogy (HTML = wood structure; CSS = colors and wallpaper; JavaScript = doors, windows and utilities).
“OK, that makes sense,” she replied as her eyes grew bigger and her smile widened.
“I’ll even give you three websites where you can learn for free.” I gave her my suggestions and tried one last attempt to break through any disbelief she had about the idea before she got out of the car.
“When you code your first webpage, you’re going to be excited. Do me a favor and just try it. I promise it will be worth your time.”
Given my 2017 history with trying to make coding my new career path, it doesn’t seem like the kind of advice I should be handing out. But this wasn’t about putting myself at ease. I’d like to think that, in the moment, I metaphorically put my hand on her shoulder and simply hinted, “Even if it doesn’t look like it right now, you’re going to be OK.”
And just like that, I felt 5 percent better. It’s not great, but it’s better. And if I can give a complete stranger even just a little bit of encouragement, then perhaps I owe at least that much to myself.
So I’ll dump what I don’t need and start over with version 38, hoping for the best.
Because, whether it means success or failure, there is no quit.
I’m David Brandt. I’m a professional flawed person. I try. I fail. I write words. Practice coding. Shoot photos. Think about the future. Think about my future. Oh, and I’m 37. Read all of my Onion retweets on Twitter: @davidbrandtwho
