Thirty, Thirsty & Thriving

It’s been a long time. A long, long time.

Candidly, I’m a little embarrassed. I took a break. Like a real break. I haven’t written a Trust Fun in almost two months.

I miss writing. I miss Trust Fun. This thing is really special to me. It’s also extremely main-character of me to think people care what I have to say every week, but writing helps me romanticize my life a little bit. When I’m writing, I kid you not, my inner monologue starts sounding like Carrie Bradshaw. I envision my face on the side of a bus while I walk around Manhattan listening to music on my way to get a Cava bowl.

And I love that.

A lot has happened since I last wrote a Trust Fun. But also… nothing has happened?

Same job. Same apartment. Same tax bracket, sadly. Still don’t own any real estate.

But somehow, time is absolutely flying. I turned 30 last week.

Yup. Thirty. And none of you wished me a happy birthday, which I have chosen to take personally.

Typing “I’m 30 years old” is insane. It simultaneously feels so old and so young. Like… only 30 years have gone by. But holy shit, 30 YEARS have gone by?

I feel like I’ve lived a lot of life already, while also feeling like everything is just getting started.

Is this finally the year I become an adult? Sure, I pay taxes. I’m on my own phone plan, which I know a shocking amount of you cannot say. I voluntarily go to the dermatologist for skin checks. These are all extremely adult activities.

But deep down, I still very much feel like a kid.

I still think I could win American Idol. I still think there’s technically a path where I become President of the United States. I still have this completely irrational belief that I could pretty much do anything if things broke the right way.

I’ve realized over the years that I’m a pretty extreme optimist. And I’m lucky for that. It makes life a lot less shitty.

That doesn’t mean I’m walking around smiling every second of every day. I’m still an incredibly anxious person. Flying gives me panic attacks. I’m a hypochondriac. I don’t like getting my heart rate taken because then I start thinking about my heart rate, which obviously makes my heart rate go up, which then proves to me that something is wrong with my heart rate.

Really awesome system I’ve developed there.

But over time, I’ve learned routines. Habits. Little tricks. Ways to battle all of it.

And I guess that’s sorta what it’s all about, right?

Finding a way to at least put up a fight. Giving yourself some little shred of evidence that you can overcome whatever weird demon your brain decided to invent that day.

This is becoming a tangent, but actually, I want to take you back to the beginning. Because it’s the reason this newsletter exists in the first place.

Almost three years ago, things got pretty bad for me.

I got laid off from my job. I moved out of my apartment. I decided I was going to be “nomadic” and travel around for a while.

On paper, it sounded epic.

I had severance. I had no lease. I had nowhere I technically needed to be. I was going to travel, see friends, golf, figure out what was next and have the time of my life.

Instead, it completely destabilized me.

For months, I felt restless. Like the world was tipping slightly off its axis. Like the sky was caving in on me. I couldn’t find my feet.

I remember preferring cloudy days to sunny ones because somehow the world felt smaller when I couldn’t see as far. Everything around me felt blurry. Not metaphorically. It actually felt blurry. Like one of those scenes in a movie where the camera loses focus and the sound gets muffled.

For the first time in my life, I felt like I could see the gateway into what I assumed was pretty serious depression.

And it scared the absolute shit out of me. It felt hopeless.

But luckily, I fought.

I got on some medication. I rebuilt a routine. I exercised. I made plans. I talked to people. I did basically anything I could possibly do to keep my brain occupied and remind myself that I was still me.

And eventually, I started writing.

But why?

Well, candidly, I just needed something to do. Anything to do. Something that forced my brain to focus on anything other than how weird, anxious and shitty I felt.

That is why Trust Fun exists. It started as a way for me to put off a panic attack for an hour or so.

Which, looking back now, is pretty fucking crazy.

And I guess taking two months off from writing is actually evidence of some real personal growth. I don’t need to write Trust Fun in the same way I needed it back then.

I’m calmer now. Less manic. More settled. Some of the tools and distractions I desperately needed to get myself through the day aren’t necessities anymore.

Including, apparently, this newsletter.

But here’s the thing. I still love it - just for different reasons.

I love what Trust Fun has done for my career. I love the people I’ve met because of it. I love having this weird little corner of the internet that is mine. And I’m genuinely proud that there are people out there who actually read this thing.

So maybe I just need a new “why.”

Because Trust Fun is awesome.

And the name rules.

I mean, c’mon. Trust Fun.

I’m a genius.

But seriously, if you’re currently going through some shit, I know this is going to sound incredibly cliché, but it really can be temporary.

Sadly, that doesn’t mean you can just sit there and wait for it to disappear. Sometimes it takes a lot of work. Sometimes it’s scary. Sometimes progress is so slow that you’re convinced you’re not making any at all.

I’m not a guru. I’m not a therapist. I’m certainly not an expert. I’m just a guy who has now been alive for 30 years.

And somehow, over those 30 years, I’ve managed to have some really cool jobs, live in New York City, fall in love, start businesses, meet some famous people, build things I’m proud of and accumulate enough evidence that, despite how I feel internally, I guess I am technically an adult.

Even if for breakfast today I’m probably going to eat Pop-Tarts.

Brown Sugar Cinnamon, obviously.

It’s good to be back.