5 Things I’ve Learned as a Beginner DM

You may have noticed that after doing pretty well about keeping to my monthly blog posts for most of the year I’ve fallen off track over the last few months. There are a few different reasons for this (traveling, my chronic focus/procrastination problems, etc.), but also some of the time I would have spent writing blogs has been spent prepping for sessions of Dungeons & Dragons instead. I first started playing D&D at the start of the pandemic, as it was a solid escape from *gestures vaguely at the state of the world* and a way to keep remotely connected to friends on a regular basis. At the beginning of September I took the reins and started DMing for the first time for one of the two D&D groups I’m in.

(These are the 1st nice set of dice I ever bought, for my 1st D&D character, my paladin Ellie Crane. You can find them here on Kraken Dice’s site.)

Up until this point, this group hasn’t been playing with much of a formal system, but I requested that we try D&D 5e because that’s what the other group I’m in uses and I’m someone who really does the best with firm structure, lol. Instead of using one of the many campaign source books that exist, we’re using a setting and story of my own creation, because I was afraid the group wouldn’t enjoy the more structured nature of the 5e ruleset. If at the end of our journey through my little story they want to continue with their characters, I can easily pull a premade campaign book for us to use because I’m not planning on taking us to a very high level, but if they don’t want to continue with 5e then we can move on to another new system.

The original plan in March 2020 was actually for me to be the first DM of this group, but I was nervous and felt overwhelmed by the idea so I gently bowed out and two of my friends took turns to lead us through stories before I finally felt comfortable taking a turn. I was nervous the first night we played in my setting of the marshlands of Fendria because I was afraid they wouldn’t like my more high fantasy/historical-ish setting (there have been both werewolves and the mention of a salt cellar so far). However, they do seem to be enjoying the story so far – yes, I did directly ask because I’m that worried about everyone having fun, lol. I do still feel a little nervous before each session, but am getting more comfortable every time.

Leading the game via DMing has been a whole new learning experience for me and over the past two months of doing it, here are my main takeaways:

ENUMERATE EVERYTHING: When setting the menu at the first inn/tavern the party went to, I casually included chicken nuggets as a fun little throwaway because when I had the players complete character surveys before we began someone mentioned their character enjoying them. Somehow I did not anticipate that player asking, “What is the maximum number of chicken nuggets I can buy?” leading to me having to unexpectedly decide how many orders of chicken nuggets the barkeep had. This incident has since been followed by “How many bowls of porridge will the innkeeper let me have?” and “How many dog biscuits did I loot from the dead werewolf?” Fortunately from the porridge incident onward I realized that having the party member roll a d6 to determine how many of the item they get is a good way to deal with that kind of situation. Going forward though, I do intend to remember to determine proper quantities for more of these grouped items.

(My desk in D&D prep mode.)

PLANNING TAKES A LONG TIME: Probably there are many DMs who can sit down for just an hour or two to prep for a session, but I am not that that person. If I were working from a sourcebook I probably wouldn’t have to spend as much time as I do prepping, but since I’m making this campaign up from scratch it takes me a long time to get ready for each session. A good portion of this is because I basically wind up doing my notes twice, once by hand and the second type when I type them into my computer. I’ve written a bit before about how if you stick me in front of a computer and expect me to easily write, it’s not going to work very well. The words just don’t flow as easily and I also don’t have the self-discipline to prevent myself from wandering the internet instead. The dual process is helpful because I get my ideas down easily by hand and then can revise and reorder them in my computer as necessary when I type them up. However, this combined with my horribly distractable nature means that I can often take up an entire Sunday afternoon prepping for our Monday night sessions, which kind of sucks and I feel like it shouldn’t be that way, but I guess this is my curse to bear.

But my players do seem to be enjoying the story/setting I’m creating and so while I’m frustrated with myself for not being a more efficient prepper, their enjoyment makes it worth it. Making my own campaign gives me the space to include all of the silly little in jokes that I find funny. For instance, I created a recurring character very vaguely based on Criss Angel who I’ve named Christoph Engel and the laugh I got when I first introduced him and mimicked his “heavy breathing while doing magic” thing made me so glad I had written him into the story.

I’M BETTER AT IMPROV THAN I THOUGHT: As someone who thrives in planning and organization, the thing I was most worried about as a first time DM was the element of chaos the group would bring. I can only plan for so much, after all, and also the group is very capable of making decisions that could throw my plans off and force me to scramble. We’d been playing narrative games together for a year and a half before I took the lead so I was very familiar with the potential for my friends to do unexpected things, like when we decided not to not go kill the medieval versions of our characters’ bosses in the first story we played through or in our second game when someone rolled a crit to instantly stab and defeat a scary boss fight with a robot. Nothing so catastrophically game changing has happened to me yet, but I have turned out to be better than I thought I would be at dealing with the various surprises the group throws at me. For instance, at one point I created an opportunity in the story for the cleric to provide some spiritual solace to a distraught person and instead she chose to slap them in the face to snap them out of it and I think I rolled with it pretty well. It probably helps that I’m very much the type of DM to say, “well, sure, if it feels reasonably plausible to me, you can do it,” instead of overly analyzing the rules or having a very strict idea of what flies in the setting I’ve created. I’m sure at some point they will find a way to break my story, and hopefully I will be able to handle it gracefully.

(The rest of my shiny math rocks hoard! My favorite dice are from Everything Dice and Cozy Gamer, but I also have a few micellaneous sets that I’ve acquired one way or another.)

THE PLAYERS ARE A FANTASTIC RESOURCE: I mean, I guess this isn’t something I’ve necessarily newly learned because I’ve been playing narrative games with this group for well over a year, but boy are they good providing suggestions for situations that pop up during sessions that I struggle to find a solution to. For instance, a big “problem” has been the fact that one of the party members is a warforged. Warforged are constructs that do not eat or sleep and I have an unfortunately high number of situations in the campaign where eating or sleeping happens, such as waiting until morning to depart from a place. During our first long rest the warforged requested to go in the forest and hunt wolves and I was torn between “don’t squash the player’s fun” and “I don’t want them to take damage because they’re going to a boss encounter the next day.” One of the other party members helpfully suggested, “well, what if he just doesn’t find any wolves?” and so that’s what we went with. I consider this game to be a collaborative effort above all. I’ve written the story, I’m leading the way, and I’m the one making final rulings on things, but I’m also flexible and open to the players’ ideas.

DON’T USE IMPOSSIBLE ACCENTS FOR CHARACTERS: When I was helping one of the players put his character together, he mentioned to me that accents would really help with his immersion in my campaign. That made me internally go, “Well, fuck,” because I’m not terribly good at accents and can’t do very many of them, but now I knew I had to at least try to use them even though I hadn’t been planning on it. For the most part it’s been okay, but there have been a few setbacks. One of the main accents I can do is a rough, deep, gravely British-ish kind of accent that makes me cough when I use it for more than a sentence or two, so the two characters I’ve wound up using that for have been a bit tricky. But even worse was my decision to give the aforementioned Christoph Engel a Russian/Eastern European-ish accent. I’d thought I was okay at that one, but it turns out I am awful at sustaining it for any extended period of time. The party has suggested that it turns out he’s faking the accent, but I want to stick to my original idea instead of going that route, so instead we’ve decided that he’s traveled around so much that his native accent isn’t quite firm anymore. Engel’s accent is something I slightly regret choosing, but not so much that I’m willing to give up yet.

I’m sure I will have more lessons/advice to share the longer I DM. I do feel kind of silly for avoiding it and being nervous about it for so long because while I don’t claim to be the best DM ever, I’m far better at it than I expected. I have what I call my “big sister instinct” where I just want to take care of my friends and make sure they’re having a good time and I suppose that DMing kind of feeds off of that, lol. I’m excited to see what the players do with the rest of my story. I’m sure we’ll have a lot of fun!

Farewell, Old Friend

When we met, it felt like fate. I was looking for a fluffy hooded jacket and there you appeared on one of the five racks my local Target seemingly grudgingly allots to plus size clothes, and in one of my favorite clothing colors to boot. I tried you on, olive green and cozy, and immediately fell in love. But all things come to an end, and now you have as well.

This parting has been a long time coming, as over the years you have been slowly decaying. First, months after we met, one of the buttons on your hood popped off. I always meant to give you a new one, but never got around to it and just lived with having to hold your hood up in strong winds.

Then it was your snaps, were one by one giving way and disappearing under the duress of the repeated fastening and unfastening of daily wear.

Your first drastic injury was the split up your back which I kept putting off sewing shut until finally on New Year’s Eve Eve I felt an odd sensation getting into the car after work and realized you had torn up to the middle of my back. I spent the night frantically sewing you as best I could because I knew I would have trouble replacing you, partly because I’m picky and partly because retail’s season ahead nature and my plus sized body meant my options would likely be limited. I didn’t want to replace you anyway, because I’m the kind of person who gets too attached to inanimate things.

We had spent four winters together. Your body sheltered me from the cold. Your sleeves accepted my tears without question. Your massive fluffy hood brought me a lot of joy in its oversized ridiculousness. Your long length allowed for deep pockets that let me go on winter adventures without a purse, as everything I needed fit neatly inside. (I apparently wrote about one such adventure in the first year of this blog.)

The next day I ventured into a mall for the first time since the pandemic started only to come up empty handed. I was okay with it, though. I hoped that sewing up the back would help you last the rest of the winter and then I could lay you to rest and buy a new coat next fall. But that was not to be.

It started with a tiny hole next to the right side pocket that I really didn’t pay very much mind to. Such a little hole didn’t seem poised to become a huge problem. But then as I settled myself in the seat of my car one night after work in late February I heard a ripping sound and felt something tear by my right hip. When I got home, I inspected the damage. I considered sewing this tear as well, just to get me through the last month of winter, but had a feeling that it would just pop open again and again considering how the hole wanted to gape open when you were worn. I resigned myself to your immediate retirement.

I luckily have a peacoat that I wore instead of you, for the last few weeks of cold weather, but it isn’t as warm and it made me mourn you even more. When I seek a new coat next winter I will likely have to settle for something lesser and it somehow doesn’t feel fair. I have loved you immensely, as silly as it feels to admit it, and I am very sorry to see you go.

I suppose it is lucky that one of my most significant pandemic losses (besides, you know, a year of my life) was “just” a coat. But you were never just a coat to me.

The Cuddling Dream (or, Missing Touch)

The first week of February I had a dream where I was romantically cuddled up with a friend of mine that I have never considered dating. We were in a small bed and I kept accidentally getting pushed onto the floor, which I later joked on Twitter was my brain trying to forcibly eject me from a dream that, while lovely, was ultimately incorrect because while he’s a nice person, I just don’t feel that way about him.

Last year I wrote a blog post about finally feeling like I wanted to date again, a couple of years after my last relationship ended. This was mere weeks before the pandemic locked everything down and now I can’t imagine when I’ll be able to have a go at it because I just don’t trust anyone to be fully honest about how covid-safe they’re being. I mean, I have coworkers who claim they’re being careful and then post photos on Facebook of them doing things like indoor dining. Besides, where can we go on dates anyway considering outdoor spaces are crowded with people who are also trying to get a break from the confines of their homes?

I went from getting hugs from my friends on a regular basis pre-pandemic to more or less nada apart from rare hugs from my mom or my brother. I’m pretty sure I’ve heard of scientific studies done about how hugs and other forms of touch do positive things for the human body and mind, and not being able to give my friends hugs while we’ve all been struggling has been hard on me. I’m so touch starved it’s no wonder I dreamed about snuggling up with somebody that I consider friendly and trustworthy. Each time I was pushed off the bed in the dream I would pull myself back on, as if my deepest unconscious was begging for someone, anyone, to hold me despite my logical mind trying to shove me back into reality.

Honestly, I really do feel like cuddling is largely underrated in relationships that have a sexual component. Don’t get me wrong, I do enjoy the things that happen when clothes come off, but that isn’t what I miss the most about being in a relationship. It’s the soft warmth of laying my head on someone’s chest and hearing a steady heartbeat, the soothing sound of relaxed breathing as we lay with our legs entwined, the simple grace of arms draped around waists to hold each other close, fingers occasionally comfortingly caressing a back or a shoulder. Those cozy velvety moments are colored reddish gold in my mind, like late afternoon sunshine or the light thrown by a fireplace. Time is warped, simultaneously deliciously abundant in the moment and dreadfully lacking when it is over.

As I slowly gained consciousness after the dream I could still feel the ghost of a stubble covered face nuzzling my shoulder. I opened my eyes to the other side of my bed, empty except for the pillows I hug when I sleep. The dream had felt extremely real, and although it was about the wrong person waking up alone still felt very lonely. Disconcerted, I rolled over onto my other side in an attempt to shake it off, in an attempt to prevent myself from falling right back into the same impossible dream as I drifted off again.

Putting Pen to Page (or How I Write Best)

In September and October I missed posting blogs again and somehow that makes me feel like trash. It shouldn’t. I’m the only one who cares. One post a month was a self-imposed goal I set at the start of the year, a desperate attempt to introduce a little discipline into my meandering life of picked up and dropped hobbies. I like writing. I’m constantly creating stories and even portions of potential blog posts in my head. And yet somehow I have now for the third time this year missed posting. At least in July I had a good excuse. I was in a car accident in the last third of the month that wound up totaling my vehicle and I was too stressed dealing with the fallout from that to even consider trying to post anything. But for September and October I have no such excuse besides the fact that every time I set up at my laptop to try and put something together the words only reluctantly, awkwardly come out. It’s a fight every time.

The handwritten draft of this post.

Most nights I get home from work and wind up doing nothing more productive than, say, taking a shower or watering my pumpkins in Animal Crossing. For nearly two months this summer I played Red Dead Online every day, saving up imaginary gold to buy an imaginary horse, putting off doing anything in the real world that might improve me in some way like playing one of the instruments I own again, doing one of the crafts I keep meaning to do, or yes, writing down any of the things I have in my head, even if they’re not destined to be read by anyone who isn’t me.

Starting in middle school and continuing up through my college graduation at the end of 2012 I filled multiple notebooks with scrawled stories. Yes they are largely messes that no one should ever read (and my handwriting is such that they’d have trouble trying anyway), but I had fun writing it all down. Even now connecting a pen to paper is the most natural way for me to write and that is the only reason this post exists at all. I pulled myself out of the well of self loathing and guilt I fall into when I know I could be doing something productive instead of looping between the same three or four apps on my phone by hauling myself to my desk and grabbing a notebook and pen, breaking the nightly cycle that I somehow so often find unbreakable.

One of my high school notebooks from my collaging things phase, edited to hide personal information I’d written on the front.

I know I will clean up and potentially rearrange my thoughts before they’re available for you to read on my blog, but I’m realizing that my brain apparently does not like my inner words to exist outside of my head unless it is in some kind of ink. In about half an hour I wrote so much more than in an equivalent time on the computer and what I wrote sounds better overall. Somehow a pen in my hand opens more creative phrasing pathways in my brain than computer keys under my fingers.

So maybe this is how I’ll have to blog from now on, drafting all of my posts by hand first and then typing them up after. And if that’s what it’s going to take, then fine. Because I set myself a goal, made myself a promise, and if I accomplish nothing else in 2020, at least I’ll be able to look back and see that I wrote, see that I didn’t totally waste all of my time due to my persistent lack of discipline because I made 12 little things. I don’t give a shit if anyone reads any of it. I give a shit about fulfilling a commitment that isn’t strictly required and, for once in what feels like a very long time, following through.

Creating Joy in Crisis

At the start of the year I promised myself I would write a blog post every month, and this month I have procrastinated that pretty badly. As I sit down to write this it is 10 p.m. on the last day of March 2020. To be fair, there’s been a lot going on this month that has made it hard to find the focus to sit down and write. If you’re reading this from the far off future, this was the month that COVID-19 finally hit the United States and my day to day life still feels very unreal. The other day I wrote a very long post about how exactly things have progressed and changed for me, but thinking about posting that right now feels wrong because if I’m being honest, on the whole, compared to many others, so far this virus crisis has been little more than an inconvenience to me on a personal level. 

So what if I have to work from home on shitty, frustrating remote work software? At least I’ve still got a job. So what if I’m stuck at home? At least I live with my family and don’t have to worry about getting lonely. So what if the news is increasing the anxiety of me and everyone around me? At least everyone I know personally is still well. I have come to the conclusion that no one wants to hear my mediocre problems when people are literally dying. 

So instead let me tell you a couple of ways that I’m keeping anxiety at bay and distracting myself from thinking too much by creating a little bit of joy in my life. Because, yes, this is a highly serious situation, but I’m scared of becoming overwhelmed by my fears and not being able to continue getting necessary tasks done.

My friend Brenda taught me the concept of “laughing so you don’t cry” and that is a concept I’ve clung to for the past few years, especially now. My current favorite way to have a laugh lately is by watching a British show called Taskmaster. I first found out about this show in the fall by spending too much time in British comedian YouTube and it’s rare for an episode not to make me laugh extremely hard. The concept of the show is that a set of comedians are all given ridiculous challenges to do, usually completing them in creative or unusual ways.

The best part is that they upload full episodes to their YouTube channel. I’m not one for binge watching and yet I watched almost all of a series in one day last weekend. I’d like to point your attention to series 4 in particular, which is the series I first watched because I’m a Joe Lycett fan. It’s got a good mix of personalities and it’s still my favorite series that I’ve watched so far. (I’ve now seen S1 and S2 as well.)

The other thing bringing me joy right now should come as no surprise to you if you follow me on Twitter, and that is Animal Crossing New Horizons. The previous game in the series, New Leaf, was my crutch through the biggest depression of my life back in 2013, so it feels weirdly correct that the new game has appeared during a dark time as well. It’s just one of the cutest freaking games out there! I managed to start off with one of my all time favorite animals on my island (after resetting 4 times because I kept starting off with really hideous animals).

IMG_20200331_225511.jpg

The routine of all the little daily tasks to do to take care of and grow the community on the island is very comforting to me now, just as the last game was in 2013. And it’s also been a nice way for me to spend time with friends in a way while we’re all separated!

IMG_20200331_225522.jpg

IMG_20200331_225627.jpg

I understand not everyone has access to a Nintendo Switch, so please allow me to recommend a couple of other games. Stardew Valley is available on computers and other consoles and I found it to be a pretty relaxing time sink last year and lost large chunks of time to tending my farm and making friends. I’ve also downloaded Neko Atsume to my phone. It’s a cat collecting game that was first big around maybe 2013? 2014? It doesn’t have much in the way of gameplay per se, but it is very cute! I also 100% recommend Untitled Goose Game, available on all consoles and computers, to everyone who loves being a hilarious agent of small stakes chaos.

And that’s all I’ve got to say for now. I hope you all are doing as well as possible! These are rough times, but nothing lasts forever and we will get through one way or another.

Flowers (Meditations on Dating)

IMG_2357.JPG

It’s just after the new year when I finally make it to the salon for my quarterly haircut. It’s the coldest day of the winter so far. My hairdresser’s coworkers are gently teasing her about the massive flower arrangement she received at work that afternoon. She’s embarrassed, but excited, pink with the flush of new romance. Her joy could turn the winter to spring. I’m happy for her, and her mood is adorable and infectious, but my heart twists slightly with jealousy as I admit to her that no one has ever given me flowers. (Well, my grandma did once when I was in a play in middle school, but that doesn’t really count, does it?)

What I don’t mention is that the lack of flowers is entirely my own fault. When I was younger most of my partners were the kinds of immature guys that would never think to buy flowers, but when I sensed someone might try to buy them for me I said “don’t.” This wasn’t because I didn’t appreciate the thought or how pretty they were, but because it seemed pointless and wasteful to spend the money on something with such a short shelf life, to spend so much on something that would inevitably die. 

And yet, when I think about it I see how I have repeatedly spent so much of myself on situations with short shelf lives. If I had paid attention, I perhaps could have protected myself from being left to wilt. The past shouldn’t be changed because we are who we are because of our experiences, but who I am is so tired, especially by the thought of dating. 

My mom keeps a big ornamental grass in our backyard. Every winter she cuts it low when it dries up and every summer it grows back, full and lush. My last date was about two and a half years ago. Part of me was cut back then too, but I have not yet found the energy for regrowth.

How pointless to give time to someone, to become comfortable and open up, when they can suddenly decide you no longer fit the scheme of their garden, yank you up at the root, and chuck you out.

How wasteful to spend time grieving something you could not preserve, clinging to the memories like you’re pressing flower petals for framing only to have the blooms dry up too much and crumble to dust.

But when romance is freshly blooming, when they send you flowers at work, when they smile at you in a way that makes your heart feel so full it could blossom out of your chest, that is the point, that is the opposite of waste.

So when I see Sara, flush faced, caught up in something new, the flowers not yet wilted, I think that maybe this will be the year I try dating again. Maybe this time I’ll wind up with a field of bright blooms.

Goals for 2020

20200101_002907.jpg

My first selfie of the year!

I typically don’t like to set annual goals/resolutions for myself because I have a tendency to not complete them and then a tendency to really beat myself up about that. It’s not like I was in the habit of setting crazy goals — for the most part I picked things that I thought were attainable. And…then…still managed to not make them happen either through the universe conspiring against me (hello, years of saying “I’m gonna get a new job this year” and sending out resumes that no one responded to) or via my own lack of discipline (see: any time I said “I’m gonna do creative thing X more!”). 

So generally, I’ve found that it’s better for my relationship with myself to not even bother, even though I know that setting goals and making efforts to reach them is a way of growth, even if I do not ultimately succeed. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before, but I’ve never been able to set my mind on any big concrete lifetime goals. I have multiple friends that want to be published authors and others that want to improve at art while maybe getting to make money from it. I have two friends that aimed to be teachers, and now they’re doing it, which is awesome! 

I have two goals in life, neither of which are particularly concrete:

  • to be able to fully support myself financially; and
  • to be at least mostly content in my day to day life (because I know it is horrifically unrealistic to expect 100% happiness).

The second one I tend to do reasonably well at usually, which I am thankful for. The first one? Well, I’m currently typing this from my bedroom in my mother’s house, so, uh, there’s that. I can say, however, that even though I can’t afford to put a roof over my head, I don’t have to ask my family for money with help with my personal bills. And I will get closer to having the finances to move out when I finish off my college loans later this year!!!

But lately I’ve been thinking that having such vague goals is probably to my detriment. I’ve been having a bit of an existential crisis where it occasionally hits me that I do the same set of things every day and will probably be doing them over and over with slight variations until I die. My life feels really really pointless to me. The closest analogy I can think of is when you reach the endgame in an MMO, you’ve maxed out your level, and you’re stuck doing the same few dungeons over and over, just because you’ve put so much time in that you can’t give up on playing.

I am a person who loves having a routine and finds comfort in it. But I feel I am getting to a point where the repetition is starting to drive me a little mad. The path I’m on leads nowhere and in some ways I wish I didn’t have to continue on it. (But don’t worry, I will continue because there are good things in my life!)

So I’ve set myself two goals for this year, which I feel are highly, highly doable.:

  • Write at least one blog post a month. (I enjoy writing, but my lack of discipline the real challenge.)
  • Finally clear up some of my gaming backlog, starting with World of Final Fantasy, which I’ve been chipping away at for two years or more. (Too many games that I want to play have been coming out in the past few years and I tend to dip in and out of them, and not get around to finishing any of them, which is what keeps happening with WoFF. It’s cute and I’ll play it in long spurts and then abandon it for equally long spurts. I thiiink I’m reasonably close to the end, but I don’t want spoilers so I haven’t looked at a guide.)

There is a third goal I have in mind for the second half of the year, which is to get a new job (for real this time, I swear, guys). I’m holding off because I have some travel coming up in the spring and don’t want to start off a new job with “sorry, but I need to take these 7 days off scattered across the next few months” especially when many jobs do not start you off with any paid leave. My sixth anniversary at my current job is in May and I have once and for all finally fully come to terms with the fact that they will never pay me a living wage for our area there, despite telling me repeatedly what an asset I am to the office. That coupled with a ton of bullshit that happened in 2019 (not to me personally for the most part, but just things I witnessed) has me feeling very “fuck you guys, I’m done.” 

Besides all of that I think I really do need to get some kind of hobby that I need to work at and set time for me to do it on a regular basis. Because I enjoy video games, but at the end of the day they don’t go anywhere once the story is done. I’m not putting huge pressure on this for myself, but maybe I would feel better about myself if I could say “okay, maybe no one is willing to hire me, but look how much better I’ve gotten at watercolors.” Or maybe I could take up the guitar again. Or even if I just would read more books, and not only just cram in reading on my Kindle during lunch, I would feel like I was making progress at something. Doing more reading would also give a bit of a break to my hands, which have been feeling increasingly terrible since I was promoted to a position where I type a lot of dicatations a year and a half ago. 

Is this stupid? I don’t know. All I know is that this is the last year of my 20s (my 29th birthday is 1/31) and ever since the tenth anniversary of my high school graduation in June a part of my mind has been fixated on the notion of “ten years have gone by and I have nothing to show for it.” Which logically I know is very wrong, and I also know I’m not alone in this feeling, but I find it difficult to quiet the part of my brain that feels like I hasn’t lived up to my potential so here we are.