Over the past few months I’ve been experiencing a growing sense of disconnect from my creative passion. More and more the thing that I love to do is becoming just “a job”. Without knowing it, I’m turning into one of those writers who I swore I’d never be -- I have it all and I hate it all. I’m a fairly self-aware cat, so when I get to these places, I am forced to ask myself, “How the fuck did I get here?” In my inventory process I was surprised by how little I had to dig to reveal the truth. It’s quite obvious what turns passion into dissatisfaction - money.

I guess that inevitability is catching up to me on Sons. I was under the false impression that the more successful the show became, the more room I would get to do it. But the opposite has occurred, the better the show becomes, the more corporate scrutiny I experience. This reality is chipping away at my spirit. At the end of my 80 and 90 hour weeks I start to ask myself, “Why am I doing this?” Lately, my answers aren’t that convincing. And when “money” is my only response, it’s time to walk away. The solution? I’m not sure. I’m not a quitter and my ego is too big to entrust the show to anyone else. I’ve contemplated setting myself on fire at Pico and Motor, but that seemed a bit extreme, even for me. So I guess I press on and continue to make the emotional and creative adjustments. In recovery, we talk about how expectations are future resentments. That’s very true in this case. I guess I need to stop going to the butcher shop for candy. I show up wanting something sweet and tasty and always end up with a slab of bloody entrails. I love what I do and need to find a way to bring back that love. My life is always about finding the balance between love and fear. Perhaps that’s the bigger lesson here -- learning to stay focused on the love while I'm being bombarded with everyone else's fear. Easier wished than employed. Guess I have some tuning up to do this hiatus. I know I didn't work this hard to be miserable.