Reflection

2024 to Now • Moving to NY • Losing Passion & Finding It • Friendship • AI & Creativity • Art in the "Eschaton"

In 2024, everything fell apart. Actually, everything. Not in some larger geopolitical way, but in my personal life. I knew the relationship I was in needed to come to an end. I knew that it would mean losing everything. I knew I had to get out of it, regardless of what I stood to lose. Turns out, I lost it all. Most of that loss was voluntary. It comes with the territory of moving forward and not bringing a section of your former life with you.

I started rebuilding. I moved to NY. I couldn’t afford to bring all of my stuff with me, and my roommate kindly offered to pay our security deposit when I told him I wouldn’t have the money and that he should find someone else to live with. I’m grateful he did that. I’m one payment away from paying him back (lol). Things take time, I suppose. Moving to NY has been so very difficult for me. I’m a Texas boy through and through. I grew up in a country town (though it has since become unrecognizable). I had these unchallenged notions of myself: that I was driven, motivated, strong-willed, unique, smart, creative, etc. Basically, I saw myself as someone just smart enough and talented enough to escape that place one day. It was all I ever wanted as a high schooler.

I did escape that place. I lived in Dallas for a long time and made beautiful friendships there. I don’t know who I’d be without Garrett, Olive, Noah, Caroline, Lexi, Nico, Kel, Kayla, Colby, Trey, Jackie, Chase, Tanner, and like a thousand more. NY has challenged everything I thought I knew about myself. How introverted am I really? Turns out, more than I thought. Do I actually even want to be a musician? Turns out, more than I thought. Do I actually care about technology? Turns out, not really at all — I’m just really damn good at it. Being good at things doesn’t mean you should do them.

But you see, I grew up in a “do whatever you can” family. And as the oldest of three, that philosophy was instilled in me maybe harder than in my two younger brothers. “Make it.” “Don’t fail.” “Make money.” “Climb up.” “Exceed expectations.” All of this. And while it sounds funny, these are things I never really challenged. Now, I make a good amount of money. I “made it” (though one particular loan actually rendered me quite poor — thankfully it’s a thing of the past). And when you’ve “made it,” you’re able to ask questions with higher levels of fidelity. Questions such as: “Why the fuck do I even do this?” and “Have I tricked myself into believing I care about this just because I’m good at it?”

Anyway, a long-winded way of saying that New York has challenged these notions. I’m now around more talent than ever, and it looks both like a mirror and like a kaleidoscope. A mirror because I see myself in both the talented musicians’ group and in the talented tech-bro group. A kaleidoscope because I didn’t know which one I wanted more. Now I do. It just took some paradigm shifts.

A month ago, I stayed at the office till 6:45 p.m. every single day just because. I wanted to feel like I was working hard. I wanted to feel like I was climbing. I wanted to feel like the PMCs around me. They work hard and long, they make more money than they maybe even need, and they protect those things at all costs. While I’m very critical of this line of thinking, it’s also the one that appeals to me most, if I’m honest. I think this month of long work to no gain really showed me who I want to be.

I couldn’t stop thinking, “I’m really a mid musician, but I could be really exceptional if I used this time to practice and rehearse and write.” Instead of immediately abandoning ship and going home, I let that feeling fester. I needed to see if it was real. Because, friends, when you get out of a half-a-decade relationship, almost nothing feels real and almost nothing feels like it’s authentically yours. It feels like every emotion that crops up comes from some external source, all oozing with ramifications you would otherwise never self-impose.

It’s scary. It’s scary to feel so untethered to the self and consequently untethered to self-worth. I find myself now reflecting on why I was so close to letting a career in technology pull me away from my creative locus, and it’s become fairly clear.

I work in AI, though loosely. Loosely because I don’t work on frontier models — and so, from my definition, if you aren’t doing frontier model work, you’re just professionals who memorize specs, have an exceptionally high understanding of business rules, and are probably incredible in Scala, Python, Java, or whatever. I’m good at all of these. Even though what I do can hardly be considered research, it feels important. It feels like I have a say in how the largest car company in the world implements a technology I am personally very mistrusting of. Maybe I could steer it in the right way? Could I create jobs for people instead of encouraging this org to replace them? These things really got to me.

It’s not that I wanted to feel important (though I totally did and still do). It genuinely felt more consequential than art. It felt bigger, more important. It felt like I could really move this thing in a positive direction. 95% of my friends are people who write songs — a lot of those songs are cries for people in authority to listen. I felt I didn’t need to write; I was in a position to act.

Well, it’s been two years, and my acting has achieved nothing. What’s more, I began to realize that my conception of art had been destroyed, at least in part. I forgot what art does and why it’s important. And even more, I forgot why it’s been the only thing that has followed me throughout my life — everything else has left. I’m actually really disappointed in myself. You always think you’re immune to these things until it’s too late. I think I caught it before it was too late. Or maybe it’s never too late. I’m still unsure.

The point here is that I stepped away from these feelings. I’ve become vastly disenchanted with the promise of doing ethical work in AI. I am too small a fish in a pond I don’t even want to fucking be in. This, while painful, centered me.

I had a falling out. I can’t help but feel like they saw these things in me and didn’t know how to address them, but was ultimately disappointed. Not necessarily in me, but in the path I was choosing. It felt contrary to the things I stood for and the artistic work I pursued. I was mad at them. It felt so bad. It felt like collapse. It felt de-centering. It felt like everything I’d built — any sort of foundation — was destroyed. It’s not their fault; it’s just that this falling out acted as a sort of catalyst or perhaps a course correction.

It hurts, man. It hurts to realize things that would be easier to ignore. I’m not saying they acted perfectly or anything, I’m just saying the entire thing was devastating — and I’m sure it was for them too, in one way or another. I don’t want to be that person. Someone incapable of reflection. Someone who, when they’re seen clearly with no facade to protect them, panics. I can’t help but feel like that’s what they saw. They saw it, and they were hurt by it. That sucks.

I’ve been writing the best songs I’ve ever written. It’s because I’m finally taking my own advice. I think I liked the producer role so much because I got to give advice and never receive it. In the past month, I pretty much broke myself all the way down, and it feels really damn good to be building back up.

I’ve been feeling like the world is ending, and I keep asking myself if I want to build AI or write songs when this shit goes up in flames. Here’s what I want: my songs, to be in love, friends. I’m working on the last one. I don’t know that many people in New York, but everyone I’ve met has been infinitely sweet to me. I want to keep this thought in the back of my mind — the sort of “what do I want to be doing when the bomb goes off” thing. Oddly enough, it centers me and emboldens me more than it scares me.

I get back to New York tomorrow from a few weeks in Florida. When I get back, I start my album. I’ll be assembling a team of really wonderful musicians, and I’ll be working with a few different producers. I’m going to give myself the artist treatment this time around and allow the production process to be something I only aesthetically manage, rather than something I technically manage.

Idk, it’s time to be an artist for real. I’ve wanted to play shows since I was a kid, and I have played zero solo sets in my life. Not even a house show. It’s something I’m embarrassed for people to know.

If you subscribe for tech stuff, sorry. This is now a diary that doubles as Lexapro.