LA Weekly

I had a private lesson on Saturday morning at my boxing gym. I sucked. It was the first time I've sucked in a long time. I had been getting better and better all the time, but this time I really sucked. I was slow and had no power and couldn't get anything going on. I asked my coach to bash me around a little in some light sparring, thinking that would wake me up, would summon the reserves of fortitude and defiance that are often there for me when I need them the most. They weren't. It was devastating. I felt like I had deserted me.

The boxing gym has been a safe harbor, a place where I felt I was at least progressing steadily in something. But not that day. When my lesson was over, I went to the stairs outside of the gym and sobbed. It took awhile for it to stop and I wondered what the hell was going on. A feeling of hopelessness and regret took over. I felt defeated. Not by the boxing, but in general. My sobs were big, they felt eternal. I thought to myself: this is the pits.

Probably what I'm writing here is better left for a journal entry, but I'm writing it anyway because writing is what I know to do. And the truth is, I feel at a loss. At a loss as to what to add to the public dialogue that makes a difference. What does make a difference? What the fuck do I know? And is anyone out there, anyway? So, this is what I've got.

I'm scared. Scared that I'm solipsistic, self-absorbed, self-pitying and don't have anything to offer that is unique or worthwhile. This isn't a fishing expedition, this is just what I'm feeling. I'm unmotivated and possibly depressed. I'm ashamed of wanting. Which makes it hard to get. It's a scary place to be at my age and it's not a place I reckoned on being. But there it is and here I am.

There's a difference between living and existing and sometimes the true terror at the center is the seduction of succumbing to the pull of mere existence. It takes energy and courage and openness to really live. And sometimes it can be a challenge to find those reserves. Some people would say I'm facing a spiritual crisis. Maybe I am. My relationship with God, as it were, has always been combative and for a long time I've felt like that was the way we both wanted it. Now, I'm not so sure. Maybe all that was just another word for ego.

I've felt like this before -- lost and unsure. Not knowing where I'm going next or what I'll even be. We all have. It's easy to remind oneself of one's blessings, and I have many. An embarrassment of blessings. And it's easy to be embarrassed in the face of those blessings by feeling as I did on Saturday morning. But sometimes even that exercise, of being embarrassed by one's sorrow, can seem shallow and false. I felt the way I felt and denying it doesn't make it different. Or go away.

Now, I remember what my father would tell me at times when I've felt like this before. He said, okay, so you're at the bottom, don't beat yourself up about it, at least you know where you are and which way to go. I'm not saying those words or that idea makes anything better or different, or this is me getting up off the canvas, coming out swinging. I'm not prepared to make such absolute declarations, and wouldn't they be corny anyway?

Really, I'm just saying hello.

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