the accidental dealth of an anarchist (and birth of a troll)

on finding your voice in only fifteen hundred short days

I went to see my Nanny today.

She says hi!

No she didn’t.

She doesn’t know about this foolsletter business.

I did get a hug which is always a treat.

It was a short visit, then I was on my way.

After that?

I had a painful experience.

I did math.

Whether faced with taxes or simple bill payments, I’ve not been one for numbers or statistics.

But according to my calculations,

I’ve written over 1500 posts, well over 1500 days.

Sure my streak hasn’t been absolutely perfect, but if you’re looking for perfection from something called The Remarkable Foolsletter, you are very stupid indeed.

Perhaps I could offer you a lesson in nasal respiration?

In total there have been fifteen hundred and thirty three posts so far.

Wow.

That seems like a lot.

I began ambitiously.

I had goals.

I even wrote about the power of goals.

At first I wanted four books in two years.

HA!

That was pretty moronic.

Then for a while, I had pretenses of doing something, anything with my writing.

I’ve written about mens issues, creativity, ADHD, my nanny, work, riding bikes, surfing, animals, parenting and the abusurdity of existance.

The whole time I’ve been doing this I desperately wanted something to come of all of this - a book, speaking consulting.

Somehow I thought that through this process I’d gain some sort of ‘authority’. I wanted so bad to find a way to make money. I needed to escape being a therapist.

In order to do this, I should have just went out and found a job.

But instead?

I took the Jim Dalling short cut - where the long way is the short way and the short way takes too long.

I wrote my way through career transition. I wrote my way out of depression.

And you dear reader?

You’ve followed me?

Thank you.

The last few months this whole thing has felt pointless. I didn’t have a goal. I gave up on making a book. I gave up on ever performing again. I’ve given up every single dream.

I was almost ready to give up on this foolsletter.

And yet..

I didn’t.

I’ve really enjoyed the process of writing to y’all lately.

Having a chip on my shoulder about the orange ape has fired me up. I remembered my lessons from theatre school in California:

Being Canadian is fucking weird.

And I remembered my lessons from clown school in Paris:

When Canadians try to get it right and do things the way they should they are fucking boring and not to be listened to let alone let on stage.

I gave up on trying to imagine what you needed to hear. I gave up on trying to use structures. I gave up on trying to do it right.

The problem?

I couldn’t define what the it was that I was trying to do.

Confusing eh?

The confused mind says no.

The moment I stopped trying to write the 'right' thing and started writing the absurd, offensive, and genuinely funny things that rattled around in my brain, the shackles came off.

I started having fun.

I leaned into my weirdness and embraced the anarchist who gives zero fucks about anything: Not about books nor mental health, nor any dumb bullshit beyond my family.

I’ve found my inner-Carlin. I’m an equally opportunity arsehole. I wish to offend all people as equally as possible.

I’ve embraced my inner troll.

And in doing so?

I think I finally found an authentic voice that I’m really happy to share.

And if my brand of indiscriminate offense occasionally lands on your toes? Well, that's the price of admission to the Foolsletter, isn't it?

Have I insulted or offended you lately?

Good.

And if I haven’t?

Please keep reading. I promise that I will try. I have no intention of leaving you out. That’s my DEI pledge. I’ll find a way to make fun of your jesus, mohammad, star of david or landypenis sometime soon.

Don’t punch down, punch up?

Naw?

I plan to just keep swingin’

The key for me was to give up. In order to find my voice I’ve had to look. Fail. Set goals. Fall short. Keep trying.

But most importantly?

I needed to start writing shit that made me laugh first.

And if you share my sense of humour?

Yay!

That’s great!

And if not?

I’m oh so sarcastically sorry about that.

The point of this post is simple: There is no correct way to go through a creative process.

Things likely won’t work out the way you intended.

But unless you create and put stuff out for the world to engage with, you’ll never know. And that special voice of yours? That unique way that you connect with others? You’ll never have the joy and confidence that comes from facing the fire every day.

So whether you want to write, quilt or change careers, TAKE A STEP. Move.

Make something happen.

Find your ground and make sure you’ve got enough dough in the bank to keep going.

And if you do?

Keep going.

You might end up writing over fifteen hundred posts about almost nothing.

And something great might happen.

But the process of exploration and of shipping creative work?

That’s transformational.

Seth Godin inspired me to do this writing.

I think at times I find his stance on ‘marketing’ and ‘people like us do things like this’ a shame based manipulation.

I’m not as super stoked on his stuff as I was years ago.

If he read what I write about the benefits of trolls and trolling he’d likely roll his eyes.

But fuck that guy. He hates jet skis.

So stay strange you feinds.

And if you want to be a troll like me and don’t have the eyebrows?

Try drawing them on with a sharpie.

I suggest you use red.

Hair today, drawn tomorrow.