The Race

CW: Depression, burnout, anxiety, talk of career

I’m in a race. I’ve been in the race for over a decade now; most of my adult life. But lately, I’ve been struggling. I feel tired. Tired in my body, my mind, my spirit. I look behind me and I see people starting to catch up. They’re young, they’re in shape, and they’re sprinting forward with an enthusiastic speed that I once had. I try to look forward again, focus, keep going, but my legs are wobbly. There are people on the sidelines cheering me on, but not as many as there used to be. The racetrack has changed over the years. I don’t always know how to run on it anymore, but I’ve tried to keep up with the new obstacles over time, or at least avoid them as best I can. But I’m still tired, and the people behind me have started passing me. I watch as the road ahead stretches. It feels like the goal was just there a minute ago, but now it’s pushed further back.

I’m so tired. I’m so, so tired.

I remember back around 2010, I was encouraged to start applying for internships. I was a junior in college and I was itching to get my career as a professional going. I’d already started doing some freelance work around my small town, and I was also the cartoonist for my college paper. But I wanted more. It was and always has been a privilege that my parents were supportive of my decision to be a professional artist, whatever that looked like. When I was trying to figure out what direction to go toward (I knew it needed to include Illustration of some kind), my mom told me “Think about the places you wanna work the most and reach out to them first. Then keep going down the line until you start reaching out locally.”

I started out by applying for internships at Nickelodeon and Cartoon Network, then moved down the line to Marvel Comics, DC Comics, and Mad Magazine, and eventually started poking around at local places. I almost ended up at Mad Magazine, but declined the offer to work at their New York office when they explained it was an unpaid position that didn’t offer housing either. Thankfully though, Cartoon Network ended up interviewing me for the position of Design Intern and I was fortunate enough to get the position. “You’re kind of a big deal!” my mom said. “Yeah…” I thought, “I guess I am kind of a big deal!” While I worked as an intern in Atlanta, I started doing talks and events. People noticed me, people liked me. It felt good.

Eventually, my internship turned into freelance work. I went back home to Kentucky and kept pushing forward. I got a job as a designer in town, I started making comics and going to conventions, people knew my name. People sought me out. I liked the feeling of being noticed, of people regarding me and my work with high esteem. I even got a free table at Dragon Con two years in a row. I was living the dream that I knew so many other artists didn’t get to experience. I was doing freelance work for one of the biggest studios in the country, I was making games at my day job, and making comics at night.

In 2013, I went viral online for making a silly post on Imgur where I photoshopped the beards off of Disney characters. My social media pages jumped from 200 followers to over 5000 in the course of a day or two. This eventually led to CollegeHumor hiring me on as a freelance cartoonist. I enjoyed the gigs and the people I met there were really nice. People noticed me, people liked me. It felt good.

I started networking. I had some clout to my name now and I wanted to keep the ball rolling. I had to keep going, to keep pushing for that goal. What even was my goal anymore? I don’t even remember. Social media made it so much easier to start interacting with people in a way that I’d never been able to do before. It was so easy to start adding people as facebook friends left and right. Artists, directors, creators, CEOs, etc. I just wanted to feel seen, to feel like maybe if these people could just see me and my work that I could get a job somewhere and keep building up my career. It worked too. Someone who worked at Cartoon Network (a different department) saw my work and had me do some freelance illustrations for some Steven Universe promotional art.

In 2016, I was fired from my day job. I was terrified. The job had become toxic, so losing it wasn’t the scary part. It was losing the stability of the consistent income that frightened me. I reached out to my biggest freelance client, Cartoon Network, and let them know what had happened. They told me not to worry, that they’d take care of me. And they did. My full time freelance career was born. It’s what I’ve been doing ever since. I was able to work with a variety of clients, helped a company rebrand its look entirely, learned how to talk about my design decisions like I had deeper meanings behind them aside from “I just think this color is pretty”, breathe life into old cartoons and movie posters by recreating them, and of course do a ton of commissions. It was really nice. People noticed me, people liked me. It felt good.

It’s 2023 now. I’m moving back to Kentucky in two weeks. I woke up this morning and looked at myself in the mirror. I’ve got gray hairs now. There is a raccoon mask around my eyes, and wrinkles on my face. My muscles turned to jelly during covid and I’ve got daily chronic pain now. My family and KY friends haven't seen me in person since 2019, some of them haven’t seen me since even longer than that. I’m nervous about what they’ll all think of me.

I took the past two days off of client work for mental health. It didn’t matter that much; the work is slow right now because I’m in the process of moving. I spent the slow, rainy day packing up the kitchen. I threw out old spices that expired in 2016 and sadly tossed all our hot sauces into the garbage because Jay and I can’t handle spicy food anymore. Jay took a nap and I sat down on the couch with my laptop, trying to figure out what I wanted to do.

There’s this version of me that lives in my brain that constantly tells me I’m not doing enough. They’re the younger version of me. They’re a “big deal”. Let’s call them Annie, because that’s honestly who they are. Not Pants. Annie. Whenever I take days off from work, neglect to update my social medias, draw something that doesn’t make me money, stuff like that, Annie shows up. They chide me for being lazy. They remind me that taxes are coming up, that I haven’t finished my comic I’ve been working on for nearly a decade, that I need to update my online portfolio, or try to be more active with my networking.

It’s been easier to ignore Annie these days. I used to feel more guilty about it, but now days I’m just too tired to care. I still hear them judging me, telling me that Big Deals don’t take mental health days. That I’m never gonna get back to being a name known by a bunch of random strangers if I don’t get my ass in gear.

But I’m tired. I’m in my mid-30s now. Rent keeps going up, but pay rates stay the same. The smallest jar of peanut butter was $5 at the grocery store. My dog’s vet bill this month has been nearly $1000. I know Annie is partially correct. I need to work so I can make money so I can afford the $5 peanut butter and Bilbo’s blood test and the move back to Kentucky. It helps to be a Big Deal because then more people will hire me, I’ll get more money, and I can buy damn peanut butter without worrying.

But I am so, so tired.

I’m in a race. I’ve been in the race for over a decade now. I slow down to a stop, trying to catch my breath for a moment as I watch the kids sprinting past me. I smile at them. I love the kids and I’m proud of them. I want them to be happy, I want them to reach their goals. I toss water bottles to some of them as they pass me by and wonder if they’ll remember me when they reach the finish line. I look around me and notice that I’m not alone. There are others here with me, tired, some continuing forward at a slower pace, some taking a breather nearby. My hands rest on my knees as I try to catch my breath. My legs are shaking, I’m wheezing, and I’m starting to cry. I don’t feel sad, I just feel tired. The race track expands again. New obstacles appear.

I sigh and stand up straight. It’s too much now and I can’t even see my goal anymore. Was there ever one to begin with? Annie screams at me to keep going. But… I don’t want to. I don’t want to be a Big Deal. I don’t care if I win a medal or if people know my name. I turn and walk toward the sidelines, climb over the tape, and go home.

I’m tired, and I don’t want to run this race anymore. And I don’t have to, so I won’t.

I would like to chill.