Topher Graves's Blog, page 6
July 5, 2019
Turning Forty-One can be Forty-FUN!
"Finally, I'm 41! I can keep doing adult things!" said no one ever. Still, even as my hair slowly receeds from my scalp and reappears in other...places, as far as birthdays go, this one rocks.
Forget the fact that we're literally camping out in the parking lot of a convenient Wal-Mart, slowly marinating in our own sweat while mosquitoes fly through the open car windows to feast on our blood, this 24-hour supercenter has working toilets, air conditioning, AND free WiFi, no purchase necessary! The soothing tones of the street sweeper as it passes by the car is a pleasing lullaby, the hypnotic flashing light singing us to a morning full of promise. (And, likely, stiff necks.) All of these wonders, plus it's way cheaper than a hotel. They don't put that in the brocure!
Life really is what you make it. And when life gives me sweat, I'll make hot Topher juice. I don't know what that is, and I really don't want to know, but surely some idiot will buy it on eBay. So, please, tell your friends.
Forget the fact that we're literally camping out in the parking lot of a convenient Wal-Mart, slowly marinating in our own sweat while mosquitoes fly through the open car windows to feast on our blood, this 24-hour supercenter has working toilets, air conditioning, AND free WiFi, no purchase necessary! The soothing tones of the street sweeper as it passes by the car is a pleasing lullaby, the hypnotic flashing light singing us to a morning full of promise. (And, likely, stiff necks.) All of these wonders, plus it's way cheaper than a hotel. They don't put that in the brocure!
Life really is what you make it. And when life gives me sweat, I'll make hot Topher juice. I don't know what that is, and I really don't want to know, but surely some idiot will buy it on eBay. So, please, tell your friends.
June 23, 2019
Depression: The Rocket Ship Analogy
Living with Depression is a lot like piloting your own rocket ship. Occasionally, you'll break through the top of the cloud cover and feel the warmth of the sun reflected on your visor. However, just when you're about to break free of the planet's gravitational pull, your engines crap out and you descend back down into the turbulent darkness.
The rest of the time, you're just spiraling down through the clouds, with no instruments and alarms blaring, wondering if you're going to finally impact on the surface below, or if your engines will miraculously reignite. Usually, they do, and the cycle repeats itself.
Perhaps you're reading this (that much at least I think we can agree on), and you're suffering in silence. Most people don't want to hear you're depressed, because they don't really understand, so you bottle it all away and act like nothing is wrong. Or, maybe you do speak out, but you feel as though you're shouting into the void. Or, well-meaning friends recommend throwing medication at it so it just "goes away," perhaps so you don't bother them with it anymore. Sound familiar? If it does (and I sincerely hope it doesn't, but Life can get pretty bumpy along the way―for all of us), please just bear in mind that there are many of us who share your pain. Depression makes us feel isolated, like we're cut off from everyone else. (And let me tell you, social media does not help. You have to remember you're seeing a highly curated slice of other people's lives, presented in the best possible light. #allthefilters #allthetime.)
I'm not writing this to preach at you about what you should do, because different tactics work for different people. I'm just here to remind you that you are not alone. You would be surprised to know who else is in the same boat you are. That's oddly encouraging when you honestly stop to think about it. (Although, overthinking is usually the culprit in the first place. I write from experience.)
It's a harsh world, or so it sometimes appears. Personally, I try to avoid the news whenever possible, because ultimately their mission is to sell ad space. And drama gets those ratings, kids. The real world isn't really good or bad, ultimately, it's just the stage upon which we act our little parts, trying desperately not to flub our lines or trip through the curtain. And, of course, we do all of those things, and then pray that no one notices.
Such is life, my friend. You are not alone. There is a Universe filled with beauty and love out there, even if it feels like your rocket will never launch again. The Sun is always there, even on a cloudy day, and it will definitely appear again.
...at least until it explodes a billion years from now, but you probably didn't need to hear that.
The rest of the time, you're just spiraling down through the clouds, with no instruments and alarms blaring, wondering if you're going to finally impact on the surface below, or if your engines will miraculously reignite. Usually, they do, and the cycle repeats itself.
Perhaps you're reading this (that much at least I think we can agree on), and you're suffering in silence. Most people don't want to hear you're depressed, because they don't really understand, so you bottle it all away and act like nothing is wrong. Or, maybe you do speak out, but you feel as though you're shouting into the void. Or, well-meaning friends recommend throwing medication at it so it just "goes away," perhaps so you don't bother them with it anymore. Sound familiar? If it does (and I sincerely hope it doesn't, but Life can get pretty bumpy along the way―for all of us), please just bear in mind that there are many of us who share your pain. Depression makes us feel isolated, like we're cut off from everyone else. (And let me tell you, social media does not help. You have to remember you're seeing a highly curated slice of other people's lives, presented in the best possible light. #allthefilters #allthetime.)
I'm not writing this to preach at you about what you should do, because different tactics work for different people. I'm just here to remind you that you are not alone. You would be surprised to know who else is in the same boat you are. That's oddly encouraging when you honestly stop to think about it. (Although, overthinking is usually the culprit in the first place. I write from experience.)
It's a harsh world, or so it sometimes appears. Personally, I try to avoid the news whenever possible, because ultimately their mission is to sell ad space. And drama gets those ratings, kids. The real world isn't really good or bad, ultimately, it's just the stage upon which we act our little parts, trying desperately not to flub our lines or trip through the curtain. And, of course, we do all of those things, and then pray that no one notices.
Such is life, my friend. You are not alone. There is a Universe filled with beauty and love out there, even if it feels like your rocket will never launch again. The Sun is always there, even on a cloudy day, and it will definitely appear again.
...at least until it explodes a billion years from now, but you probably didn't need to hear that.
May 19, 2019
The Choices of a Lifetime
“This is not a dream,” the Angel says. My doubts are more than justified, I feel, because nothing else could possibly explain the scene that is frozen all around me.
I am literally standing inside a photograph. A single, pivotal moment, paused forever in time. Standing in front of me is an 18-year-old version of myself, dressed in the cap and gown that meant I was a high school graduate. I am surrounded by my friends and family; smiling an awkward smile to an unseen camera.
From my perspective, I’m smiling at me. I look down at my present, 40-year-old version. I immediately envy my younger counterpart’s slimness, his full head of wavy hair, and the years of stories and possibilities that still lay ahead of him.
Of course, I already know how many of those stories end, but not quite all of them. I mean, I’m not dead―only dreaming. At least, I think I am.
The Angel says, “What lays before you now is a choice offered to only a few, but envied by most.”
My eyebrows chase each other up my forehead. I am...intrigued.
“You can choose to return to this moment, if you wish. You can live your life all over again, to correct your mistakes and make different choices. We Angels have heard your prayers asking for another chance. Now, it is laid before you.”
If this is true, it is a tempting offer. Having the opportunity to undo all of the mistakes I’ve made in my life, and change my own future? How can I resist?
“Before you choose,” The Angel says, “I have a gift for you. Behold, I present the Book of Your Life.” The Angel is holding a comically large, leather-bound book. It is currently open to a scene describing this very moment. Already, it mentions the fears and doubts my younger self has about approaching adulthood. 18-year-old me has absolutely no idea what is to come in the road ahead, and he is terrified.
40-year-old me flips through the pages, reading events that have happened since the moment frozen in front of me. I see many of those fears realized: failed jobs, failed relationships, friendships I’ve lost. I see my sister, full of life and healthy, so proud of her little brother, unaware of the sickness that will claim her life just a few short years from this moment.
All of that is still in the future. A future I have a chance to change.
Even this encounter with the Angel is partly written, the words filling in as the events unfold. The pages that come after are still blank.
I’m being offered the chance to erase half of these pages and re-write my own history. I can go back and make different choices! Perhaps I’ll go to a different college this time around, and choose a different major. Maybe this time around I’ll study business accounting, or computer programming, or even astrophysics.
Maybe I can be a “Science Guy!” Now meet Topher, the Science Gopher! (Um, well the good news is at least I have time to write a much better catchphrase.)
Maybe I’ll even be a writer. I've always loved to write.
Heck, why not just be all of the above! The sky's the limit...all over again!
The 18-year-old standing in front of me doesn’t yet know what he wants. Already, I see the small seeds of doubt and worry in his eyes. They are feelings I know will only grow and multiply in the coming years. Maybe I can change all of that.
I’m aware of the paradox that my choice will bring. The person I am now will cease to exist, but so too will my failures. I have a chance to give a great gift to younger me. I will give him the chance to live a different life, without suffering so many moments of depression. Without experiencing all of those feelings of never being good enough.
Maybe this time, I’ll even figure out my actual purpose.
“I’ve made my choice,” I tell the Angel. “I accept your offer. I wish to return to this moment.”
The Angel’s voice booms, and I cower in fear. “Know this. Erasing what was offers no guarantee. Your life can be whatever you decide, but be warned, you will carry no memory of who you are today. Everything you now know will be gone forever, and cannot be undone. Make your choice wisely. Decide only when you are certain.”
I am terrified, but I desperately want a second chance. I may never get this kind of opportunity again. I tell the Angel I am certain.
“So be it!” The Angel booms. “All that was written before shall be unwritten, and you will once more live on from this moment.”
A bright light shines all around us, and I prepare to experience my life all over again. The earth shakes, the picture starts to move, and suddenly―
I wake up in a very familiar bed. Glancing down, I am still in my 40-year-old body.
Of course, it was just a dream. I collapse back onto my pillow, feeling disappointed. Some dreams feel so real that they leave a profound emptiness upon awakening.
“I told you that was not a dream,” The Angel says.
I bolt upright in bed. The Angel is standing right there, in the doorway of my closet. (I might have cleaned up a little if I knew I'd have a celestial visitor, but unfortunately, they rarely make reservations.)
“I don’t understand,” I say, trying to hide a pile of laundry under my comforter.
“That was not a dream,” The Angel repeats. “That was a memory. You were given a choice many years ago to return to a specific moment in your life. You accepted, and your wish was granted. You have again lived to the age when I first gave you the choice.”
My shock is swiftly replaced by anger. “But, I am still the same person I was before! Nothing has changed!”
The Angel is sympathetic. “You cannot truly change what has been, even if you are given the chance to try. You made the same choices as before because you could not remember making them the first time. You are who you are because of your failures as much as your successes."
I am angry―not at the Angel, but at myself. Even after a second chance, I am still every bit as worthless as I was before. To me, my life has only ever been a string of failures.
The Angel again offers the book. “You were in a hurry last time, and skipped much of your story. I thought you might want to read some of the other passages.”
I take the book and once again thumb through the Book of Your Life. Again, I see those moments of failure and doubt. Each and every one is neatly inscribed in breathtaking, angelic calligraphy, to be thus preserved for the rest of eternity.
But, I now see many other pages I skipped over before.
Here, I see an entry with myself and some friends laughing hysterically over something not at all funny, but in that moment it was hilarious. I smile at the memory. I wonder if they can still remember this moment, wherever they are now.
On a different page, I see myself offering words of encouragement to a heartbroken friend. I can't even remember this moment―in fact I barely remember the friend―and the words I'm speaking sound like tired old clichés. But, I'm saying them with sincerity, using some of my own personal experiences as examples.
Surprisingly, the book shows me more than just my own deeds and thoughts; it also shows those with whom I've interacted. I read on with my eyes slowly beginning to fill with tears.
The friend I comforted decided not to commit suicide that same night. “Someone cared,” I read in her thoughts. “Maybe others will, too.” I skip ahead in the book out of curiosity, and smile. Today, she is married and has a family of her own. Her heart is full.
I am crying as I read other moments. There are far too many to read all in one sitting―after all, there are literally decades worth of entries. But I now see an entirely different story than the one I thought I already knew so well.
The Angel says, “You were so preoccupied about your own failings that you were willing to erase most of your life. Among those failures, you also failed to see your entire story."
I immediately think of Clarence in It’s a Wonderful Life, and I laugh, despite myself. I think I should go ring a bell.
“Who do you think inspired that story?” the Angel says with a wink, then vanishes. Who knew Angels had a sense of humor?
The Angel is gone, but I am still holding the Book of My Life. My hands are trembling, but I can’t resist reading ahead. I mean, maybe this thing has some future lottery numbers in it, right?
Of course, you already know what I find. There are hundreds of blank pages, all still waiting to be written...
April 24, 2019
A Bittersweet Birthday
Today would have been my sister Stephanie's 46th birthday.
Because of her, everyone already knew me when I was a tiny new marcher nervously clutching my saxophone the summer before entering 8th grade, afraid of all of the intimidating "big kids." Those kids instead took me under their proverbial protective wings, for which I'm eternally grateful.
I would probably had a really difficult time otherwise, introverted geek that I was (and am), and perhaps I would have quit long before my senior year. Instead, the band became a kind of surrogate family that has been difficult, if not outright impossible, to replace in all the decades that have followed. In fact, my band friends are the main reason I still have a presence on social media. Again, all of this was because I had a big, cool sister who paved the way for me all those many years ago.
My sister has now been gone for nine years, and I often wonder what life might be like if she were still around. A lot of my modern memories are tainted with sadness, and though we move on, we never fully recover. Not really.
You can pave over paradise with a parking lot, but you'll always have the pictures.
In years past, I've said much on the topic of what I owe to my big sister, who left this Earth long before her time. I still can't believe that I, the awkward little brother, have now outlived my much cooler, older sibling. I mean, I'm cool and all, but I'll never be "Stephanie cool," and neither will you.
You kind of just have to learn to live with that.
Because of her, everyone already knew me when I was a tiny new marcher nervously clutching my saxophone the summer before entering 8th grade, afraid of all of the intimidating "big kids." Those kids instead took me under their proverbial protective wings, for which I'm eternally grateful.
I would probably had a really difficult time otherwise, introverted geek that I was (and am), and perhaps I would have quit long before my senior year. Instead, the band became a kind of surrogate family that has been difficult, if not outright impossible, to replace in all the decades that have followed. In fact, my band friends are the main reason I still have a presence on social media. Again, all of this was because I had a big, cool sister who paved the way for me all those many years ago.
My sister has now been gone for nine years, and I often wonder what life might be like if she were still around. A lot of my modern memories are tainted with sadness, and though we move on, we never fully recover. Not really.
You can pave over paradise with a parking lot, but you'll always have the pictures.
In years past, I've said much on the topic of what I owe to my big sister, who left this Earth long before her time. I still can't believe that I, the awkward little brother, have now outlived my much cooler, older sibling. I mean, I'm cool and all, but I'll never be "Stephanie cool," and neither will you.
You kind of just have to learn to live with that.
April 19, 2019
"Pika Pika?"
It is fascinating how sometimes life will toss us into completely unexpected situations. Just last week I found myself being the driver and chaperone for a high school prom, despite the fact that I don't have any kids. (That came out quite a bit creepier sounding than I had intended, but I'll offer no further explanation.)
Today, I find myself at an anime convention working on the rough draft to a ghost story, all while nerds dressed as anime and video game characters stoll by being uniquely weird and awesome. (It is a kind of pure Nirvana, if I'm being honest.)
I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried, which I sincerely hope isn't a commentary on my forthcoming fiction writing abilities. That, I suppose, remains to be seen.
But the point is...I'm wearing a Pikachu hat in a hotel lobby while writing a book surrounded by geeks, and this really isn't such a bad life.
Today, I find myself at an anime convention working on the rough draft to a ghost story, all while nerds dressed as anime and video game characters stoll by being uniquely weird and awesome. (It is a kind of pure Nirvana, if I'm being honest.)
I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried, which I sincerely hope isn't a commentary on my forthcoming fiction writing abilities. That, I suppose, remains to be seen.
But the point is...I'm wearing a Pikachu hat in a hotel lobby while writing a book surrounded by geeks, and this really isn't such a bad life.
April 5, 2019
The Unity of Infinity
I don't know who may need to read this, but...
When you gaze up into the sky on a clear night, and you realize you're literally staring into an infinite abyss, the idea may occur to you that compared to the rest of All That Exists, we humans are indescribably small and utterly insignificant. This thought is humbling, as it should be. We need humility.
Yet, amongst all of that seemingly incalculable creation, we exist. We are literally assembled from the very dust as forms the entirety of the Cosmos-all that we can possibly perceive or even imagine-itself.
We aren't merely standing at the edge of a vast emptiness; we are Infinity itself. We are connected to something so much bigger than at first appears confined as we are to our mortal shells. Put simply: we are not alone.
And that, my friend, I find pretty encouraging.
When you gaze up into the sky on a clear night, and you realize you're literally staring into an infinite abyss, the idea may occur to you that compared to the rest of All That Exists, we humans are indescribably small and utterly insignificant. This thought is humbling, as it should be. We need humility.
Yet, amongst all of that seemingly incalculable creation, we exist. We are literally assembled from the very dust as forms the entirety of the Cosmos-all that we can possibly perceive or even imagine-itself.
We aren't merely standing at the edge of a vast emptiness; we are Infinity itself. We are connected to something so much bigger than at first appears confined as we are to our mortal shells. Put simply: we are not alone.
And that, my friend, I find pretty encouraging.
