Author: Matthew Groff

I have been watching in slow horror to what the Trump administration has been doing to migrant children. I know he has scapegoated immigrants from the start, but I still find it difficult that anybody over in the White House thought this would be a good idea. Regardless of the reaction, and thank God the decency of Americans came though on this issue, but the mere fact that people thought that harming children was a good idea is horrifying and stomach churning to me.

And if I spend time thinking about it, I was raised to believe that this type of thinking was old, anarchistic, almost comical in the small mindedness of the hate. I grew up, and went to public school in Texas in the 80’s and 90’s, so I’m not talking about an elite liberal coastal education. In a nutshell, my education in American history basically followed this line of logic; America is a great place, because we have this great Constitution, it protects our rights as people, we are all immigrants, diversity is good in the melting pot, and though this country has made some horrible catastrophic mistakes, we always try to fix them to make it a more perfect union for all! USA! USA! USA!

When I see how Trump and his supports are treating immigrants, the first thing that pops into my head is my junior year in high school US History class when we were learning about Chinese Exclusion Act, and how my very diverse classes reaction was, “That’s fucked up,” followed by, “but it will never happen again,” because even to high school students, it was self-evident that laws against immigration are inherently evil and racist, and used to scapegoat.

But here we are…

When I was a kid, I went through this period, I was around the age of 8 or 9, when everything thing gave me anxiety, and I worried about everything in the world going wrong. It was like a smothering blanket would kill any positive thought I could have. It made me feel that I was going to die at any moment, and I would miss out on all the things life would have to offer. It could get so bad at school, that I would break down in tears, and be unable to go to class, or move. It was also difficult to see my friends look at me when these moments arrived, and they couldn’t fathom how to help me feel better. It was one of the first truly self-conscious moments in my life, when I knew I was different from everyone else, and it wasn’t a good different.

My depression was my own, and it was serious, but I am thankful that I was never put on medication. My parents sent me to therapy, and I learned tools to cope, but I have never gotten over it, I am still always dealing with it.

I know what can trigger it, which is when my life begins to enter a transition phase, but not always. If I am prepared for it, looking forward to it, then I can handle it. If the change is thrust upon me, that it starts badly.

The first therapist I went to, his advice has served me to best. He told me that when the fear and anxiety start to build up in me, I should draw or write the worst possible outcome that could happen to me. Then read it back, and write what the second worse outcome. And just keep writing al the outcomes, and see, when I’m done writing, if they were as scary as I thought.

The expression of emotions, the examining of how we think, and what might happen, is what creating art is about. Maybe I would have gone into the arts no matter what, but anxiety and therapy gave me to tools to create.

Sure, I might be in the middle of a slow mid-life crisis, or it could be that I am ready to start changing careers.

It’s more like I should change careers, or at least I am thinking about it. Actually, doing it is another story.

But I started looking at grad school again; history, English, creative writing, or something with theatre. These are all subjects that I would like to explore, but I keep pulling back from committing to a real search. I’m holding off from taking it seriously.

Am I comfortable where I am right now? Yes, that would be a true statement.

Am I sacred to change things in my life? That is also a true statement.

Do I want to stay put forever? No, I would like to keep learning and growing.

So, I am letting myself be pulled in many different directions. That is also true.

I want to try something new, but there is a kid involved with my life, and I don’t want her to go without. I feel like whatever choice I make, someone will get the short end of the stick. Is it more debt that gets added on? Is it the kid missing out on the things that other kids her age get to do? But if I do nothing, then the kid gets a father who is miserable. That’s worse than her not getting to go to Summer camp.

One of the things I have failed at as a father is that I really, and I really wanted it, was to document everything it was like to be a father, so I would have something to pass along to the kid when she got older. It sounded like a sweet idea in my head, something that would be a record of what an awe inspiring, life changing event it was to become a father, and how much love filled my life.

Then we had the kid, and I learned that I will now and forever be tired, but especially for those first three months when nothing made sense and life with a newborn was like a rollercoaster ride that I couldn’t get off… Not that I wanted to get off of it, but if it slowed down for like five minutes, that would have been great.

The plan was that I would write anywhere from one sentence to a paragraph about that day’s experience with the kid. I don’t think I ever made seven consecutive days. It was spurts and stops and starts, and I would jump from that first week to three months to a year, and then nothing else. It’s kind of embarrassing that I could follow through with it. I have complete respect for the parents that can keep on top of daily pictures, of first year journaling. That was not my thing.

For me, parenting is such an “in the moment” thing, that it never dawns on me that I should document it until it is too late. And then I try to remember and write it down, some other kid event happens that pulls me away. Holding on to cards, and odd drawings makes sense now. That is the tangible memory that is created.

I forget things, which is something that I have written about twice. But this isn’t about car keys, or not remembering why I walked into a room.

I had forgotten the things that make me feel better.

My job can, from time to time, not be the best, and I slipped into a puddle of stress and anxiety this morning. As I was at my desk trying to calm myself down, I tried taking some deep breaths, stretching, and in a weird shot of clarity it came to me, “Listen to Abbey Road.”

Yes! The Beatles!

I put on my headphones, started the album up, and it really was like a wave of relaxation came over me. Slowly, I started getting myself back into gear, and got on top of it all. It worked like it always has.

From about the age of 15 to now, that band has been with me when I needed them. From studying for tests, to inspiring me to create, to calming myself down before a major drama competition, to keeping me awake on a long road trip, to helping me deal with the pain of living a life, that music has been there, right on cue.

I am a Beatle fanatic, and I could talk about them forever. But the thing about them, about their music, which still holds true is that they are completely inclusive. Everyone is welcomed to their party. And the only way you can get kicked out is if you are an asshole. This place is about love and fun, and if you can’t dig it, then you should move, but I bet if you try, you can dig it.

Anyway, I forgot for a second…