If you had asked me eighteen months ago what my five-year plan was, I probably would've answered, "Maybe I can leave the house before another wildfire threatens to kill me and wipe out my neighborhood."
Yeah...the bar was very low.
If you’re new here, the last year and a half have been one hell of a ride for me.
I’ve had breakdowns. I’ve had breakthroughs. Sometimes both before lunch.
Hollywood loves a makeover montage. Real life is a lot less glamorous.
It’s crying on a Tuesday because the Wi-Fi stopped working.
It's celebrating because I drove across town without talking myself out of it or having a panic attack.
It’s realizing the world isn’t quite as scary as your anxiety insisted it was.
It’s discovering that progress is measured in inches, not miles.
One of the biggest surprises is that, somewhere along the way, I stopped trying to become the guy I used to be.
My old self definitely had his moments. He was clever, creative, and stubborn enough to survive some pretty rough chapters. But I like this newer version a whole lot better. He's funnier. Kinder, too...at least most days. Maybe even a little wiser. He's finally learning that asking for help isn't a character flaw, and that taking care of himself isn't selfish. It's basic maintenance. You can't keep driving the car if you never change the oil.
I also learned something I really wish I’d figured out years ago: healing is a team sport.
We love the myth of the rugged individual who pulls himself up by his bootstraps, but that’s mostly Hollywood nonsense. Sometimes you need a therapist. Sometimes you need a friend who answers the phone. Sometimes you need somebody to drag you out for coffee, remind you to eat something besides cereal, or simply sit beside you while life feels impossibly heavy.
It turns out none of us were ever meant to carry everything alone.
My longtime friends loved me through my ugliest chapters without trying to “fix” me. They just kept showing up.
Then there are all of you. My friends and supporters on the internet.
Some of my closest friendships today started because somebody stumbled across one of my rambling posts online and thought, “This weirdo seems interesting. What's his deal?”
The internet can be an absolute dumpster fire. But every once in a while, it connects me to people who quietly restore my faith in humanity. Who knew?
Am I "cured?" Oh, hell no. I'm still perfectly capable of spiraling into an existential crisis because someone replied with a thumbs down emoji instead of actual words.
But these days, the good days vastly outnumber the bad ones.
I laugh more.
I venture out more.
I’m making art again.
I’m making plans again.
I’m making friends again.
And maybe that's what healing actually looks like.
Not becoming a completely different person.
Just becoming more yourself than you’ve been in a very long time.
The version of you that laughs a little louder. Trusts a little easier. Says yes a little more often. The one who starts looking forward to tomorrow instead of bracing for it.
Healing isn’t always linear. It’s more like trying to walk home after last call at the local gay bar: a little wobbly, occasionally undignified, and almost guaranteed to involve at least one questionable decision.
But somehow...you still get home.
Keep calm and get your groove on!
Clint 🌈✌️
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"Progress is measured in inches, not miles." Amen to that - you're doing spectacularly by all measures, Clint. Rooting for you, buddy. 🩵
I observe and smile, dear Brian. I throw in a thought, a perspective, and watch the ripples. You are good enough without further effort but you continue to re-emerge from fear - you grow with inner strength and confidence.