Mill Pond

I always seem to get my best thinking done at Mill Pond.

I’m not sure what it is about the place—the natural beauty, the wildlife, the solitude (well, generally)—but when I’m there, the fog perpetually clouding my mind lifts, and suddenly, I can think clearly.

So naturally, whenever I have a big decision to make, I come to the pond.

In the spring, summer, and fall, I contemplate my big decisions while I hike the forested trail that wraps around the scenic pond, observe the ducks and squirrels going about their lives.

When the temperature dips below zero, though, and the pond freezes over, I think while I skate.

It’s November 22nd and I’ve got a big decision to make, so I’m here—at the pond—in the wee morning hours. Alone, bundled up, my blades laced.

Though my decision is a big one, it’s dead simple really: do I keep living or don’t I? Do I continue muddling through life as an unfulfilled failure or do I just put myself out of my misery?

I should probably back up and explain a couple things. But first, let me hit the ice.

As I step out onto the frozen pond, swirling flurries shower down upon me. I feel like I'm inside a shook snow globe. Pushing off the ice, I send myself gliding along. Bracing cold air gusts in my face.

Why am I failure?

Well, because all I’ve ever done is failed. Accomplishment and achievement have eluded me in every project or endeavour I’ve pursued. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear I was allergic to success.

The first of these many failed ventures was my futile attempt at publishing a novel. Writing has long been my passion in life. Well, to be more precise, storytelling. There’s something about spinning a good yarn—the kind that really moves people—that fills me with an unparalleled satisfaction.

My novel—A Perfect World—was a dystopian tale of a post-apocalyptic city ruled by an iron-fisted tyrant, and the plight of an underground resistance movement trying to overthrow him. I know—real original.

To make matters worse, I wrote it when books like The Famine Games and The Labyrinth Runner were inundating the market.

I sunk four years into writing, re-writing, and editing that manuscript, and another couple into querying literary agents—all the while slaving away as a desk jockey at Paperclips. You know, the office supply chain store.

I'm ashamed to admit I still work at that soul-sucking company to this day.

Needless to say, I never received any offers of publication for my novel—or any of representation. The closest thing I had to a nibble was when I lied to a Christian publishing house and said the book was religious in nature.

It didn’t take them perusing more than a few pages of the book to catch me red-handed in my fib.

After that debacle, I was understandably quite disheartened. Disappointed. Discouraged. And all the other dis words that go along with those. But I got back on the horse, deciding to pivot from novel writing to screenwriting.

I thought perhaps a change of medium would do me good. You know, spark a little success.

It was right around this time that I met Dani—my wife. If you had asked me then if I ever saw myself getting into a relationship, I would've told you that they were a surefire way to torpedo your dreams. After all, it’s hard enough to chase success when you have just yourself to worry about.

Add commitments and obligations to another person into the mix and hard enough becomes damn near impossible.

But there was something about Dani that I just found...irresistible. Still do. She has this magical charm about her and a whip-quick wit.

Often, I’d be working on my screenplay—a sports drama about an amateur MMA fighter trying to break into the professional scene—and my thoughts would drift to Dani. It took Herculean efforts to not pick up the phone and call her, to force my attention back to writing.

More than a few times, those efforts were in vain.

The distractions didn’t end there, however. Dani was going through a tough time in her life. Her job at CryptCoin (then a startup) was demanding more and more of her and her mother was struggling with schizophrenia and had several harrowing episodes.

She needed someone to lean on. And I was glad to be that someone. But I’d be lying to you if I said that my focus on my screenplay—and the screenplay itself—didn’t suffer for it.

Just like my novel that never was, the screenplay went absolutely nowhere. I sent it off to every agent whose contact information I could dig up. Never heard back from a single one of them. I submitted it to every single contest and competition under the sun, multiple years. It never even placed.

The disappointment of that failure hit me hard—much harder than the first—sent me slipping into quite the depression. For months on end, a grey veil of apathy pervaded my days and nights.

The usual pain-numbing substances made several appearances, as well.

Just as Dani had leaned on me in her time of need, so too did I lean on her in mine. Through it all, she was always so positive, supportive, optimistic—a lighthouse beam in the night, trying to guide a ship on choppy seas safe to shore.

Somehow, she managed to drag my dead weight out of that deep dark pit.

Despite the dreadful experience and two colossal swing-and-misses on my record, I decided to dive straight back into another project, a new project—making music—like a true glutton for punishment. As you might imagine, Dani raised concerns—all valid. But I wasn’t just going to accept defeat.

I started taking guitar lessons and writing songs. Mostly ballads. I told you before—I’m at storyteller at heart. Soon, my music was at the stage where I felt confident sharing it with the world. And so I started playing open mics, coffee shops, dive bars.

To my great relief, the reception was overwhelmingly positive. People really seemed to connect with my songs. And for the first time in a very long time, I actually felt happy, hopeful.

I’m not sure if it was because of that shift or not, but just after things began looking up for me, Dani started asking about having kids.

The subject had been brought up a few times over the years—exclusively by Dani and in such a way as to subtly gauge my thoughts on the matter. I told you before I was reluctant about getting involved in a relationship, because of all the responsibilities and sacrifices and distractions. Well, for the exact same reasons, I was dead set against having children.

At least with a relationship, if things turn rocky, if one party wants out, you can end it, go your separate ways. Not so with kids. They’re a minimum 18-year commitment—often more.

But Dani so deeply yearned for children. And, like I said, things were going well for me. I was in a good place, and I wanted her to be too, and so I gave Dani what she desired.

Our daughter Robin was born 9 months ago. I know every new parent says something like this, but Robin really is the most precious bundle of joy I’ve ever laid eyes upon. I’m genuinely shocked at how much I’ve grown to love her in such a short time—despite all the hard work and sacrifices it’s taken to raise her.

Between that, my 9-to-5, and caring for myself and Dani, there hasn’t been nearly as much opportunity to work on my craft as I’d like. Still, I’ve found time, carving out hours early in the mornings and late at night.

I actually recorded an album—If At First You Don’t Succeed… The LP didn’t get picked up by any labels, but I’ve been selling a lot of copies at my shows and online. It’s gained quite a bit of traction—enough to score me an invite to compete on Belt It Out! You know, that show that takes a dozen amateur artists from around the country and pits them against each other in singing competitions.

My season hasn’t aired yet and I signed an NDA so I’m not supposed to be saying this...but fuck it: I convinced Dani to let me participate and flew all the way out to LA just to get booted from the show the very first goddamn week.

This happened two days ago.

During the intervening 48 hours, I’ve felt a lot of things: angry, depressed, worthless, crushed, pathetic, hopeless, ashamed. I’ve felt like I should have never had Robin, should have never gotten together with Dani. But mostly, I’ve felt like killing myself.

I know what you’re probably thinking: So things haven’t panned out exactly the way you’d hoped for—that doesn’t mean you should end it all! You have a wife and a kid! So much to live for!

To that, I say: a life of mediocrity is not a life worth living.

I mean really, what’s the point? What’s the point of aimlessly drifting along through years of insignificance? Whether I end it all now or let Father Time slowly chip away at me, the final result will be no different. I’ll die a failure, a footnote, promptly erased from history—like footprints on a sandy beach, washed away by the tides.

So why the hell shouldn’t I just save myself the suffering and—

CRACK! The ice beneath my skates suddenly gives way. My breath catches in my throat. My stomach drops.

Straight down, I plunge into ice-cold water, submerge beneath the surface. A frigid chill shoots through my body. Panic unlike any I’ve ever felt swells inside me.

Desperately, I try to swim back to the surface—but despite my flailing arms and kicking legs, my skates drag me deeper underwater. It’s like I have lead weights tied to my feet. And though I’m terrified beyond belief, the irony of the situation is not lost on me.

I keep sinking, frantically struggling to tug off my skates. They won't budge—they’re on too tight. So I start trying to undo the laces. You’d be surprised how tough that is when you’re underwater, freaking out, and the air in your lungs is quickly running out.

As I feverishly struggle to loosen the skates, a deluge of memories suddenly flashes through my mind—simultaneous yet distinct: summertime baseball as a kid with my family; my high school creative writing teacher, Mr. Scire, complimenting me on my first ever short story; locking eyes with Dani for the first time at my friend Betty's housewarming party; my heart stopping at the birth of my baby girl.

In this moment, more than anything, I want to play summer baseball with my kin one more time. I want to move another person with a story. I want to hold and kiss Dani. I want to hold and kiss Robin.

I don’t want to die—I want to live.

I always seem to get my best thinking done at Mill Pond…