the machine can dream

Because of my headphones, I can’t hear the sound my feet make when they hit the pavement, but my brain imagines a thumping sound that I can feel as it travels up my legs with each step.

I ran for five minutes, and though I felt like I could keep going, I stopped to catch my breath for a minute, before going again for another ten minutes. It was important to pace myself, because I had a long way to go, and if I wanted to get out and back without hurting myself, I had to stick to the plan.

It turns out that it’s as hard to stick to the plan when things are going better than expected as it is when things are falling apart around me.

I sipped my water, shook out my legs, and began to run again. A gentle downward slope made it so easy to go, I had to resist the urge to go faster than I should have.

Running, for me, is not just a series of steps and a log of miles. Running, for me, is and endless series of metaphors, wrapped up in one giant metaphors.

It’s metaphors all the way down.

A few weeks ago, I could barely run for one minute without stopping, and the first time I had to run five minutes, I felt like my lungs had been filled with liquid fire. Today, I ran for 16 minutes without stopping. I didn’t run fast, but I did it without stopping, and as recently as one month ago, the idea of running even half of that — hell, one quarter of that — made me want to collapse in an exhausted heap. But as my feet thumped on the street and in my head, I felt empowered, I felt accomplished, and I felt good about doing something that was hard.

Say it with me: everything worth doing is hard.

It was about 1030 when I walked out of my door and began my eighth week of 5K training this morning. I’d been awake for almost five hours at that point, because my brain and body are on Atlantic time (and I’d like to keep it that way, as much as I can, because even though I’m going to sleep before 10pm, I feel like I’m getting more done in the mornings before my neighbors have even left for work). In the five hours that I’d been awake, I’d been trying to write about the JoCo Cruise. I wanted to write about how inspired I was by the performances, how inspired I was by the sense of community and family that has grown over six years, how proud of myself I am for not having a single slice of midnight pizza.

But all I could think about was how, even though I was inspired by everyone I saw on the various stages, all I can feel today is a sense of massive failure at the center of a delicious burrito of Imposter Syndrome. Instead of being able to get excited about the things I’m making (and the things I want to make), there’s this giant, menacing meerkat who is, like, fifteen times the size of a regular meerkat, who is just doing that cute little sitting thing they do, but it’s on top of me and is quietly saying, “you suck, dude. You had a good run, but you’re irrelevant now so don’t even try.”

Fucking giant meerkats of depression are the worst, man.

So I was sitting there (well, here, since I am in the chair I was in when all this was happening) and my adorable kitten, Eliot, who is a fluffy ball of cute murder, jumped onto my shoulders, crawled over them and onto my chest, and snuggled in, purring loudly.

This is where a normal person would make some great insight about kittens and how cute and fluffy they are and how great they make everything. But in this story, the giant meerkat of depression picked her up and ate her.

Do meerkats even eat meat? I’m pretty sure they eat bugs and sticks and stuff. This stupid giant meerkat of depression wasn’t just wrecking my morning, it was also going off its menu and eating my adorable kitten.

Metaphorically.

I let the meerkat in, of course. I let it in because I have an audition today for this thing that I know I can do, this job that I know I’ll do well if they hire me, this job that will be a lot of fun, and may even put me in front of one person in Hollywood who will turn to another person in Hollywood and say, “You know how we’re done with Wheaton, and we don’t want to hire him for anything? Well, I saw him on this other thing and maybe we should give him another look.”

I guess I should be optimistic and happy for the opportunity, but the last time I got a call like this (and I crushed the audition), it turned out that they were never serious about me. They were using me as leverage in a negotiation with the guy they really wanted. Oof. Boy, when I found out about that, I wanted to throw up.

But anyway, that’s not the case this time. I know it’s not the case because it’s a different network and a different producer, and when they called to ask about me, I said, something like, “I’m not going to be leverage in a negotiation for you. GOOD DAY.”

So I have at least one thing going for me when I drive to Bullshit, USA (which is what I call anything on the other side of the hill, especially if I have to drive through the canyons around rush hour) in a couple hours for this thing. Oh, shit, I have to leave in an hour, I just realized.

And I know I shouldn’t have said any of this in public, but you know.

So.

I was sitting there, underneath this meerkat, which is sexless for this metaphor because I think I feel bad enough without giant meerkat balls in my face, and I was just feeling bad. And useless. And helpless. And … like … frustrated and afraid.

Then I remembered that it was still early, and I wanted to get out for a training run today, so I wriggled out from underneath the giant meerkat of depression, put on my running gear, loaded up Zombies, Run 5K, and headed out.

It was hard at times, but it was, mostly, really awesome. I didn’t think about all the ways I feel terrible about myself right now, and I didn’t think about all the ways I feel irrationally afraid of everything today. Instead, I ran all the way up a small hill that you would laugh about if you could see it because it’s such a gentle slope, and I cheered for myself when I got to the crest, and let myself run a little faster than usual down the other side. I didn’t think about how I struggle every single fucking goddamn day with the feeling of complete failure as an actor who never books jobs he auditions for (three or sometimes even four times a year!), or wonder why that feeling decided to manifest itself as a giant meerkat today.

I thought about the thumping of my feet on the street. I thought about the breaths that I drew, one after another, as I kept going, even when the breaths threatened to turn the air into liquid fire. I thought about how I was deliberately doing something hard because it was hard because it makes me feel better when I’m done, instead of sitting at home feeling sorry for myself.

I felt empowered. I felt strong. I felt accomplished.

And before I knew what was happening, I’d run just under 4 miles in just over 40 minutes. So that’s, like, a really good pace for me, even though I wasn’t trying to run for time but endurance.

So now I’m back in my house. I still haven’t written all the stuff I want to write about last week, but this is nearly 1500 words about something else that I invented a giant meerkat for, and I feel better than I did an hour ago. I’m not quite there, yet, but I feel better … like maybe I’m about to finish the first mile.

And there isn’t a giant meerkat in here right now. There’s just my cute and fluffy kitten who is playing with a meerkat that’s just a little bit bigger than her.

And I’m watching them play.

Together.

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44 thoughts on “the machine can dream”

  1. You rock, Wheaton. I mean, giant meercat balls in your face? Just dreaming that up means you have a gift. Keep writing, you’re awesome!

  3. It was a highlight talking with you and Anne last week. I agree about the feeling of comradely and safety on the cruise. You and Anne showed it to me the first night when I was hiding in the upper corner of Studio B. I thank you for making me feel less self-conscious about my 30+ year fight. So know you got this group of like 1,100 in your corner so no reason to think you aren’t going to finish the first mile.

  5. Thank you Wil, I too have wrestled with a pompous over weight meerkat. I don’t do the running thing, but I have my release valve and it helps. Most days. Sometimes. Si thank you for reminding me, on what is serendipitously a good day for me, that I am not alone. That even my hero has bad days. I really hope that your career fulfils you as much as you want, but please remember that you are loved and cherished for the works you are doing. So again I say, thank you Wil.

  6. I love reading about your 5k running training. I brings me back to 4 years ago when I started it. I was dying after doing the 8 x 1 minute runs. Now, I’m 65 lbs lighter and can run a 10k in just under an hour. Keep up the running and thanks for sharing your thoughts

  7. You are my #1 Hero. I read every post, and I feel a little less frustrated with myself every time. Thank you.

  8. Thanks for putting my worries on the page, where I am reminded that I am not alone, or weird and that small joys are still joys.You are my hero.

  9. Keep writing/acting/running, Mr. Wil Wheaton. You seriously rock it each and every time. You are a joy to watch on TV and the interwebs. Your writing knocks it out of the park.

  10. I’m struggling with my own giant meerkat of depression today for some of the same sorts of reasons as you (there’s jobs going that I KNOW I would kick ass at and yet can’t even get auditions for them because no one wants a non-union nobody from Florida with more theater credits than any other kind), I’m not getting the writing I wanted to do done, not even the revising, which is just adding in and taking out sentences I’ve already scribbled onto the rough draft copy. Of course, my meerkat is pointing out that unlike you, I don’t have a family like I should by my age; I also don’t have anything that resembles stability, decent pay when I do get work, or even an apartment with a working stovetop. No pets for the meerkat to eat, so it’s chomping on the plush hedgehog my Momma sent me for Valentine’s Day. It smells like chocolate. The plush hedgehog, not the giant meerkat of depression.
    I can’t go for a run because the world is too bright, the sky is too worryingly hazy (is it smog? I don’t know because even after two years here, Los Angeles feels nothing like home and I know nothing about it), every sound is too loud, and I don’t think I could physically open my apartment door if I tried. (Also I can’t go for a run because I don’t have any safe, run-able sidewalks/streets near my part of town and also I just realized I forgot to have lunch today so I’d probably faint if I tried).
    So my meerkat is comfortably sat on me, probably measuring my shoulders for curtains because it’s pretty sure it’s gonna stay. I can’t make stuff, other than this comment, and I can’t do anything physical (dancing is my exercise of choice and even my favorite songs don’t sound quite as uplifting as they normally do). What I can do is prepare the meal for the slow cooker that I’ve been wanting to try for a couple weeks now. In fact, give me a moment the microwave timer just went off and I have to retrieve the pasta (again, no stovetop so I improvise).
    Back. Anyway, I’m assembling what will be a nice meal that I can cook with my limited resources. I like cooking and I can’t do it often enough because ingredients are expensive in California. But today I’m cooking. So that’s nice. And tomorrow I’m going to an @midnight taping with my friend Lynnette. You’ll be there and Chris Hardwick will be hilarious so that’ll be nice as well. After that, I’m going to a concert for a new band that some of my favorite musicians/humans have put together, where I will see friends and acquaintances. So that’ll be nice. I have no earthly idea how I’m going to get home after said concert (public transit is worrying in Los Angeles at night) and that is spiking my anxiety levels and giving the giant meerkat of depression a new companion: the heavy, disgusting warthog of anxiety. (I’m a person of a certain age who was raised on Disney, I make no apologies for that pairing).
    Well, I guess I did manage to make a thing, after all. I made an imaginary warthog to pal around the imaginary meerkat. It’s a visual and visuals are easier to deal with than abstracts with capital letters and my own self-diagnosis instead of a doctor’s, which feels less than mental illness and more like me being too weak to deal with the world. So now my anxiety is a warthog. That’s not an impressive or even good thing, but it’s a thing and I have made it.
    That’s nice. I have to go finish assembling dinner.

  11. I remember when I started running and was where you are now. I had lots of ankle pain because I had the wrong shoes when I started. I finally got the right shoes, and my running improved a lot. The first 10k race I was in I came in first in my age group, though I wasn’t very fast then. I was just faster than anyone else my age that day. It’s a great feeling to get out and run and beat your last best time. In that moment you just won and are better than you have ever been, until you do it again. Keep doing it again.

  12. When I’m depressed I tend to do something I’m good at, like play a game I already mastered just to prove to myself (and any cat out there) that I’m good enough.

  13. The thing with imposter syndrome, is no one else can be your voice. And a lot of us really like the things you say and how you say em. Keep writing!

    PS – I just started on the Runner 5, good stuff.

  15. I cannot express, and I am not sure you would believe me anyway, the relief I feel inside reading your posts. They speak to me, of me. Everyone is different, are in different situations mentally and physically, you seem to write my truths and I must thank you for it. So, ya know, Thank You.

    (My meerkats are ferrets. Now rhyme or reason. They’re not large, but they ride in a gang and take over everything when they arrive. Leave me battered and bruised when they leave. Who knew ferrets were so mean?)

    1. Real ferrets are the rodents that you send down the rat hole to kill the rats.
      Mean? Not really.
      Vicious, violent, and lethal? You bet!

      Teenage boys kept ferrets in the 50’s.
      Now they can’t, “because Political Correctness”.
      And because most teenage boys live in cities, not on farms.

      Sometimes people installing cable in a long pipe would tie a string to a ferret and sent it down the pipe, then pulled a bigger string with the first string, and a stronger string and then a small rope and finally the phone cable they wanted to pull through.

      And now teenage boys have toy robots, but no one asks to borrow the toy robot to pull a string through a pipe.
      Too bad.

  17. Wheaton I just wanted to thank you for pretty much everything that has gone well for me in the past year and a half ago (that was when I, the kid under a rock, discover geek and sundry and subsequently tabletop). You started my obsession about board games and then RPG games. I’m writing this now and not a year ago because I just successfully ran my 6th DnD session this past weekend and I had the most fun I’ve had ever. I attribute all of this to you. The hours of laughs and fun the hours of competative family game time, all of that is you. So really all I wanted to say is thank you for everything. So please remeber that no matter how mean some of the Internet or Hollywood can get and no matter hard it may feel to keep running if you keep it up and keep pushing you aren’t only helping yourself but others who are in desperate need of it. Sorry for how unorganized this comment was I just really think you are amazing and need to keep up the stellarly excellent everything. 🙂
    With regards
    Rogerthomas

  18. You’re one of the good guys, Wil. “Don’t let the ba’stads get ya down.”

    My big brother used to say that to me when I was starting my first business and things were sketchy. Haha… living in San Pedro then, not rainy-but-beautiful Portland.

    Seriously though, tell the meerkat to take a hike. The fact of the matter is that you’re more relevant now that you were when you were basking in the rosy glow of Stand By Me. You took the worst punches the punters had – and stayed on your feet. Then you found a great woman (and family) and dug in and made that work. Then you re-invented yourself and re-built your career.

    You’re not young and naive anymore. You’ve been on both sides of the production schedule & both sides of the camera. You know what directors want from talent, and from all accounts, you’re easy to work with.

    I.e., you are a casting director’s dream.

    Rock on, good man.

  19. Thank you for writing openly and honestly about your experience with depression. When I read your posts, I don’t feel so alone in what I’m going through. I’ve probably had depression for 30 or my 44 years of life. Officially diagnosed in 1997 when I could not take it anymore. Only my family and a few close friends know. It’s a constant battle I find exhausting, but I get up everyday with the hope that can win the battle, at least for a day and then try it all over again the next day. Running has been my refuge. My form of meditation. When I run I feel confident and like I can take on the world. The plans I normally put off due to doubt and self-loathing go away when I run. Running is a reprieve from the constant overthinking in my head. The constant negative thoughts. I feel accomplished after a run. I began running long-distance in 2000. I’ve run 12 marathons. Even qualified form the Boston Marathon and ran it three times. Training and moving towards a goal was almost intoxicating. It was up to me to do the training. It was up to me to run the race. For some reason, the doubt and negative thoughts could not penetrate my mind when I ran. I have not been able to translate those positive thoughts and confidence into other aspects of my life. I work in progress. I have thoughts of going back to school to get my PhD. When I’m running I think about what it would be like, but then those thoughts slowly fade and the doubt sets in. I won’t get in. I won’t do well on the GRE’s. If I get in I won’t be able to handle it. I’m not smart enough. Why would I even think about trying. To make matters worse, I’ve been injured and not able to run like I used to. I am having surgery next week which will hopefully get me back to running. I’ve missed running so much. It’s like an old friend. Comfortable and accepting. I miss those miles when my mind was silent. So dealing with the “meerkat” has been much more difficult. Thank you again for helping me feel like I’m not the only one struggling. I will not let the meerkat keep me down.

  20. Fantastic that you could run like that! Wow – really, well done.
    And, way to kick those meerkats in the privates.

  21. You may totally already be aware of DBT (since you blog about using a ton of the core tenets already) but if for some reason you’re not aware, I just wanted to put it on your radar because I feel like you’d be awesome at it, and it would be useful to you. I’m in a class, and a lot of the time, it reminds me of you, and/or you remind me of it.

    Thank you, for sharing so much of yourself in this way.

    1. Umm, err, DBT?
      T = Therapy.
      DB = database, except I am sure you mean something else.

      Because, you know, Database Therapy isn’t a thing.
      As a software developer, I think you might need therapy after working with DB’s, but you would never use databases AS therapy.

  22. I am so envious of how well you can run for endurance. Even though you know that depression lies, it is still hard not to listen to it. I am here to tell you how awesome you are! You took the time to chat with me during the cruise and even stopped me again at the airport to say you enjoyed our conversations. You made me so happy I wanted to cry! Just know that whenever that bastard depression gets on your case, there are plenty of people like me who love you and think you are the BEST!!! <3 <3 <3

  23. Mine are brain weasels. Or possibly minks… they feel comforting in a way because they’re familiar, but they also have sharp teeth and claws and they hurt.

    Thank you for writing so honestly about your struggles. It makes me feel less alone with my own struggles. They’re not the same, but similar enough to help.

  24. Thank-you. I had more to say, but I couldn’t figure out exactly how I wanted to say it, so I’ll just stick with thank-you (and I thought this was well-written and/or enjoyable, although it feels weird to call articles about depression enjoyable but hey).

  25. Wil; why don’t you just quit acting for good? Take your key back and close the door forever on that toxic relationship. You mentioned to Chris on his podcast that these auditions have plagued you with the feeling of always being second best, the second choice. Maybe you are, so why not go back to doing what you were the best at; being a writer and also an ambassador for geek culture. Remember how invincible and happy you were when you published Dancing Barefoot? Remember the feeling of ‘grit’ you shared with readers when you talked about getting your family through the leans times with your writing and how authentic and ennobling that was for you? Why continue to let your self-esteem be bullied by an industry that doesn’t want you? You’re so much better than the big business Hollywood machine. You’re a really smart guy and a talented writer, don’t let Hollywood steal your voice and your happiness anymore. Take care 🙂

  27. “I guess I should be optimistic and happy for the opportunity, but the last time I got a call like this (and I crushed the audition), it turned out that they were never serious about me. They were using me as leverage in a negotiation with the guy they really wanted.” That makes ME want to puke. That’s some amazing fuckery right there. I literally cannot even.

    I can’t stress enough how inspiring it is that you say this stuff publicly. I’ve been really lucky in that my depression has been leaving me alone for a while now. But my anxiety? That’s one persistent fight-or-flight-oh-fuck-it-let’s-do-flight meerkat right there. Knowing that you’re keeping on keeping on while dealing with this shit helps me keep on keeping on. Thank you.

  30. “My name’s blurryface and i care what you think”
    21Pilots

    It’s ok Wil, we all get stressed out. Make friends with the meerkat. That’s how you take its power away. Maybe he’s just misunderstood but really cute and cuddly. Things look different depending on the mood. By the way, I love your work, I have always admired your work and nobody can ever take that away. Not even a misunderstood soon to be powerless meerkat.

  31. I love you. I’ve loved you since my dad took me to see “Stand By Me” for my eighth birthday. I’m a runner too and I’m a month away from running a 30 k race, my farthest distance yet. Keep up the running. Yes it’s hard but when it all comes together, it feels like flying. And it’s awesome.

  32. I started running (properly) two years ago, and I know exactly how you felt on that run, because I feel it every time I go out. It doesn’t matter how big the hills are or how fast your pace is or even how far you go. What matters is you go out (from under the meerkat, I guess) and did it, and you kept the wheels turning. And that IS an accomplishment, because it’s not easy to do. My body certainly doesn’t always want to do it and my brain gets to the point where all it can think of is, “Should I stop now?” but my will says, “Slow down if you must, but keep the wheels turning.”

    You kept the wheels turning when you could have stopped, and that kicks ass. Way to go. Green Lantern’s got nothing on you.

  34. When you drink enough Moscato, Meerkrats appear on the rooftops of Florida Condos without rhyme or reason.

  35. When will you realize that you are a failure? Chris Hardwick has Talking Dead, Jonathan Coulton has his own cruise, you are an afterthought, a hanger on. You are nothing.

    2. Wil is the opposite of nothing. In fact, he’s the kind of person you could only dream to be without some serious help, Barry. Do us all a favor and seek some.

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