the machine can dream

Because of my headphones, I can’t hear the sound my feet make when they hit the pavement, but my brain imagines a thumping sound that I can feel as it travels up my legs with each step.

I ran for five minutes, and though I felt like I could keep going, I stopped to catch my breath for a minute, before going again for another ten minutes. It was important to pace myself, because I had a long way to go, and if I wanted to get out and back without hurting myself, I had to stick to the plan.

It turns out that it’s as hard to stick to the plan when things are going better than expected as it is when things are falling apart around me.

I sipped my water, shook out my legs, and began to run again. A gentle downward slope made it so easy to go, I had to resist the urge to go faster than I should have.

Running, for me, is not just a series of steps and a log of miles. Running, for me, is and endless series of metaphors, wrapped up in one giant metaphors.

It’s metaphors all the way down.

A few weeks ago, I could barely run for one minute without stopping, and the first time I had to run five minutes, I felt like my lungs had been filled with liquid fire. Today, I ran for 16 minutes without stopping. I didn’t run fast, but I did it without stopping, and as recently as one month ago, the idea of running even half of that — hell, one quarter of that — made me want to collapse in an exhausted heap. But as my feet thumped on the street and in my head, I felt empowered, I felt accomplished, and I felt good about doing something that was hard.

Say it with me: everything worth doing is hard.

It was about 1030 when I walked out of my door and began my eighth week of 5K training this morning. I’d been awake for almost five hours at that point, because my brain and body are on Atlantic time (and I’d like to keep it that way, as much as I can, because even though I’m going to sleep before 10pm, I feel like I’m getting more done in the mornings before my neighbors have even left for work). In the five hours that I’d been awake, I’d been trying to write about the JoCo Cruise. I wanted to write about how inspired I was by the performances, how inspired I was by the sense of community and family that has grown over six years, how proud of myself I am for not having a single slice of midnight pizza.

But all I could think about was how, even though I was inspired by everyone I saw on the various stages, all I can feel today is a sense of massive failure at the center of a delicious burrito of Imposter Syndrome. Instead of being able to get excited about the things I’m making (and the things I want to make), there’s this giant, menacing meerkat who is, like, fifteen times the size of a regular meerkat, who is just doing that cute little sitting thing they do, but it’s on top of me and is quietly saying, “you suck, dude. You had a good run, but you’re irrelevant now so don’t even try.”

Fucking giant meerkats of depression are the worst, man.

So I was sitting there (well, here, since I am in the chair I was in when all this was happening) and my adorable kitten, Eliot, who is a fluffy ball of cute murder, jumped onto my shoulders, crawled over them and onto my chest, and snuggled in, purring loudly.

This is where a normal person would make some great insight about kittens and how cute and fluffy they are and how great they make everything. But in this story, the giant meerkat of depression picked her up and ate her.

Do meerkats even eat meat? I’m pretty sure they eat bugs and sticks and stuff. This stupid giant meerkat of depression wasn’t just wrecking my morning, it was also going off its menu and eating my adorable kitten.

Metaphorically.

I let the meerkat in, of course. I let it in because I have an audition today for this thing that I know I can do, this job that I know I’ll do well if they hire me, this job that will be a lot of fun, and may even put me in front of one person in Hollywood who will turn to another person in Hollywood and say, “You know how we’re done with Wheaton, and we don’t want to hire him for anything? Well, I saw him on this other thing and maybe we should give him another look.”

I guess I should be optimistic and happy for the opportunity, but the last time I got a call like this (and I crushed the audition), it turned out that they were never serious about me. They were using me as leverage in a negotiation with the guy they really wanted. Oof. Boy, when I found out about that, I wanted to throw up.

But anyway, that’s not the case this time. I know it’s not the case because it’s a different network and a different producer, and when they called to ask about me, I said, something like, “I’m not going to be leverage in a negotiation for you. GOOD DAY.”

So I have at least one thing going for me when I drive to Bullshit, USA (which is what I call anything on the other side of the hill, especially if I have to drive through the canyons around rush hour) in a couple hours for this thing. Oh, shit, I have to leave in an hour, I just realized.

And I know I shouldn’t have said any of this in public, but you know.

So.

I was sitting there, underneath this meerkat, which is sexless for this metaphor because I think I feel bad enough without giant meerkat balls in my face, and I was just feeling bad. And useless. And helpless. And … like … frustrated and afraid.

Then I remembered that it was still early, and I wanted to get out for a training run today, so I wriggled out from underneath the giant meerkat of depression, put on my running gear, loaded up Zombies, Run 5K, and headed out.

It was hard at times, but it was, mostly, really awesome. I didn’t think about all the ways I feel terrible about myself right now, and I didn’t think about all the ways I feel irrationally afraid of everything today. Instead, I ran all the way up a small hill that you would laugh about if you could see it because it’s such a gentle slope, and I cheered for myself when I got to the crest, and let myself run a little faster than usual down the other side. I didn’t think about how I struggle every single fucking goddamn day with the feeling of complete failure as an actor who never books jobs he auditions for (three or sometimes even four times a year!), or wonder why that feeling decided to manifest itself as a giant meerkat today.

I thought about the thumping of my feet on the street. I thought about the breaths that I drew, one after another, as I kept going, even when the breaths threatened to turn the air into liquid fire. I thought about how I was deliberately doing something hard because it was hard because it makes me feel better when I’m done, instead of sitting at home feeling sorry for myself.

I felt empowered. I felt strong. I felt accomplished.

And before I knew what was happening, I’d run just under 4 miles in just over 40 minutes. So that’s, like, a really good pace for me, even though I wasn’t trying to run for time but endurance.

So now I’m back in my house. I still haven’t written all the stuff I want to write about last week, but this is nearly 1500 words about something else that I invented a giant meerkat for, and I feel better than I did an hour ago. I’m not quite there, yet, but I feel better … like maybe I’m about to finish the first mile.

And there isn’t a giant meerkat in here right now. There’s just my cute and fluffy kitten who is playing with a meerkat that’s just a little bit bigger than her.

And I’m watching them play.

Together.