autobiography Blog

The perils of time travel

Searching through an old notebook, I found a slip of paper among unused ideas for comics. On it I had written:

There is nothing wrong with me that can’t be fixed by quitting my job.

I was probably 25 when I wrote that and I can still feel the desperation cutting through the years. I’m not sure how I got over that awful feeling of being stuck. My life is better now but not by the exponential degree you’d think it would take to get over how I felt then. I still need to work a day job and my prospects for getting Falling Rock syndicated are even slimmer than they were when I began the strip. Yet I feel, overall, more happy than I was in my twenties.

What gives? The perspective of years lived? An acceptance of the time it takes to do what you want to do? Is it all this Scotch I’ve been drinking?

I wish I could go back and reassure my 25-year-old self, but I know it wouldn’t do him any good. I guess we have to go through these bad times (middle school being first and worst) in order to become complete human beings.  To understand what it means to live in the world.  Not that I have that figured out, by a long shot.

That note was intended as an idea for a strip, but I couldn’t make it work.  The sentiment is still too strong for me to make a glib comment on it.  So here it is instead, on the blog, with a little commentary provided to make it seem less whiny.