////// ACTING THE OPTIMIST //////

The plan was to record a new album in just two days. Ten songs over one weekend. Preparations began in May 2019. By the time the recording dates arrived, late in October of that year, everything was set—the songs, musicians, producer, studio, even finances, mostly contributed by loyal listeners. Just one problem: I was no longer the person I had been when I devised the plan. He was gone. The person who replaced him couldn’t be left alone for more than a few moments without crawling into a ball.

It was because of the medication. I’ve always been wary of medication. I’ve seen what the wrong meds can do to people. Also, there was a fear I might lose the magical creativity I often experience from periods of semi-mania. But, with the goal of becoming a steadier partner and parent, I decided to give medication a try.

The trial began in late 2018. Fast forward to August 2019. After months of ups and downs and no real progress, I decide to come off medication completely. The depression that followed was like nothing I’d ever experienced. I saw no light at the end of the tunnel. I was scared.

This is the way I entered the recording studio the weekend of October 19-20, 2019 to record my new album. I recall almost nothing of the experience. The photo above says it all. The vacant look. I was a zombie. I thought about canceling the session but I had a hope that doing what I love—playing music—would lift me out of despair as it had before. This time, though, I was just too far down.

After the session, I listened back and hated what I heard. The tracks sounded terrible. Lifeless and lackluster. I felt like a failure. That was the last time I listened for months. My bandmates had a sense that I wasn’t right but they weren’t aware of the whole truth. They’d email me occasionally, asking how the album was coming along and I’d tell them I was busy working on it. It was sounding great. I’d be finished soon. All lies. After how hard they had worked, I was too ashamed to tell them the truth—that I hadn’t worked on the tracks at all and had no intention of doing so. In fact, I had already returned all the donations I’d received from listeners. I didn’t want to promise something I knew I couldn’t deliver.

That’s the way it was until March of this year. Now I’m on new medication and it’s working. I’ve risen out of that hopeless hole I was stuck in. As I’m finally seeing the light again, the whole world is quickly descending into darkness. Stuck at home, I decide to revisit the album. The tracks have magically transformed. The same recordings sound totally different to me. The songs feel alive and inspired. The performances are tenacious. The lyrics seem timely and vital. Even the title of the album—Acting the Optimist—suddenly takes on new life; originally born of skepticism, the “acting” intended to be synonymous with “pretending,” it now feels sincere and empowered.

The finished album might have been recorded in two days but it was a long time in the making. It wasn’t just the personal stuff. Some of these song ideas have been around for ages, a few dating back almost fifteen years. It’s been a long journey to embracing hope. When I listen now, I don’t hear overwhelming doom. I hear plenty of optimism. I feel it. I hope you feel it too. With everything going on, we need as much optimism as we can get, right?