It is 12:46 PM on a Sunday afternoon and I am ungodly hungover.
You may already be wondering why I thought it was a good idea to open my laptop and begin crafting another stream of consciousness while I’m still recovering from the previous night’s alcohol-induced stupor. And if we’re being completely honest, my brain is more deep-fried than a bucket of KFC right now. So why even bother? Why try to form coherent thoughts and explain an idea?
It is no secret at this point that I am constantly searching for new ways to challenge my mind, body, and spirit (as evidenced by my previous essay on invisible boogeymen). I often find myself asking myself if I am getting soft. The masculine urge to drop all of life’s obligations on a whim and march off to war, or something like that. And I cannot deny that when I woke up this morning, the idea popped in my head. The idea of writing a few hundred words today while my head is spinning. Writing those few hundred words, and doing so in a manner that will result in something that is publishable. A difficult challenge, but doable nonetheless.
And don’t get me wrong - I am not special for being hungover, nor am I special for writing while hungover. I am sure that there are plenty of good folks out there in the world that do this for a living - a real living. People who can enjoy the bottle all they want, but still have to have 1000 words, edited and scrubbed squeaky clean, on their bosses’ desk by end of day today, or else their wife and kids can’t eat this week.
Which is exactly the spirit I am trying to channel as I sit here and grind through this rambling train of thoughts. I love writing, and I love drinking, so why not combine the two? (Just kidding. I have no intentions of becoming the next Hunter S. Thompson or Ernest Hemingway. Although I cannot lie, the idea has tempted me.) But in all seriousness, why not try to write while I am out of my comfort zone? Are perfect conditions necessary for a work of art to be profound, or even serviceable?
I already hear the resounding answer coming from the lot of you who have made it this far, and it is two letter word with one syllable: no. Of course perfect conditions do not need to exist for creative work to shine and stand out. But I don’t think that is as obvious as it seems - at least not to me. Perhaps you have experienced this yourself, but I find myself often looking for those perfect conditions to write. For some reason, I have convinced myself that I have to be a well-oiled, flawlessly optimized, twelve cylinder machine in order to fully function. Eight hours of quality sleep. A healthy diet and ample exercise. No drugs or alcohol. Clear mind. You’ve heard this song and dance.
So let me be the first to tell you if have not already heard it: this idea of having to be in perfect condition in order to produce something worthwhile is utter nonsense. It’s bullshit, as my own father would so eloquently say. Because when I woke up this morning and the idea popped in my head, I couldn’t not sit down at some point today and not execute on it. As I stood in the middle of the dairy aisle at the grocery store, pondering what artisan cheese I was going to gorge myself on later today, I couldn’t help but think about writing this essay (if the old lady who was patiently waiting for me to move my cart as I zoned out staring at the different types of gouda is reading this, I sincerely apologize. Please curse me out next time, as I deserved it.)
I felt like a wet dog this morning, yet this internal flame in me burned brighter than one thousand suns. Everything about my existence this morning was more radiant. The crisp, January air felt soothing. Each drag of the cigarette felt like my first one, as if I was back sneaking around my parents to catch a glimpse of the fast life. Chords from punk rock songs sounded like the most beautiful music of all time. All because of one idea.
And I have plenty of ideas for writing prompts pop into my mind all the time. So as I parse through the reasons as to why this particular one stood out, I’ve come to the conclusion that it was not the idea itself that caused me to spring into action. No, the reason I am still pounding away at my keyboard right now boils down to one word, mentioned before in this essay, that is six letters and two syllables: spirit.
This morning, my spirit to create something out of nothing was carrying me through the physical and mental ailment caused by the tequila shots and Bud Light. Nothing except for death itself could stop me from writing today. And that is true for any great creator in the history of this world. When I thought of the spirit of writing, my mind immediately wandered to Ray Bradbury clicking away on his rented typewriter in the basement of a UCLA library as he crafted what has now become known as an American classic. Ray Bradbury could not be stopped. More specifically, his spirit could not be stopped by any limitation, physically, monetarily, or otherwise.
Your spirit will carry you through any hardship or difficult situation. My football coaches used to ask us how bad we wanted “it”. If we missed a tackle or dropped a pass, it was because we didn’t want it bad enough. I always thought that was just another cheesy motivational tactic that coaches used to install a feeling of fear in their players. But I am just now realizing this is wrong. When coaches ask you how bad you want it, what they really are asking you is: how strong is your spirit? Will your spirit carry you through the last sprint when your legs are tired and your lungs are deflated? Will your spirit to write force you to block out 30 minutes of your day, even if the rest of your world is on fire?
I fear that I am teetering on the edge of becoming a motivational speaker. If you are thinking this (I don’t think you are, but you never know), please get up from the couch, walk over to the sink, and splash cold water on your face until you return to reality. Because I am the furthest thing from whatever that is. I am a 25-year-old gym bro who likes brunettes, drinking hard seltzer in the shower, using spreadsheets to steal money from offshore sportsbooks, and acting like I am a well-rounded man. Oh, and I guess I have a strong spirit for sharing my thoughts, ideas, and observations.
It is about that time for me to wrap this thing up and take a nap. If nothing else, it appears as if I have created a nice mini-challenge for myself every time I decide to paint the town red with my mates (I’m not British or Australian, but I like that word better than friends). I’ve also reaffirmed to myself (and hopefully to you as well) why I am doing this in the first place. And why difficult conditions do not matter when you possess the spirit to perform your trade. I encourage you all to not let that spirit dwindle. The world needs more of that raw, unfiltered passion for life. Don’t let a bad night’s sleep ruin your workout or garden or essay or whatever else you had planned for the day. Don’t let a money twitter guru convince you that you can only write after you’ve mediated for an hour straight. And definitely do not let some health coach convince you that alcohol is poison.
Because as I’ve discovered today, on this random Sunday afternoon in January, that hungover thoughts, drunk thoughts, and sober thoughts are one and the same when you have the spirit.
Onwards,
Tony