Improvisation
2025-10-31
It's Halloween, but today is not about corporate-laden holiday mumbo-jumbo. No, today is a day just like any other, except it isn't. I am currently writing this entry at 4 AM, freshly pulling through an all-nighter because I have to leave in about an hour to catch a flight so that I can attend a friend's wedding. I'm caffeinated right now, still dosing up as I write this entry. All-nighters are a gamble with a brain disorder like mine: they have a tendency to trigger mania and psychosis.
But still, straddling this line is something I've done before. It's easy to let it consume me and take me through an effervescent journey through meatspace, but I'm hoping that after dealing with this beast for a number years that I can tame it better than when I was a slightly younger man. In the past, I've let it take me on insane journeys where interesting things happen. But despite these interesting happenings, I was ultimately rattled by paranoia and deeply disturbing delusions and ideas. It's something I hope to never endure again. It was also a major reason why I found my faith in Christ again. I've stared hell in the face and I don't want to look back.
For me, life has been a constant battle of control. When I wake up in the morning, it's always a gamble on how I feel. The day could be normal. The day could lead to something that triggers an episode. I have to keep my environment controlled, otherwise I risk letting it induce an episode. Unpredictability is poison for someone like me, but in a contradictory sort of way, I find solace in the unknown. I straddle between craving structure and getting taken away by the lulls of improvisation.
In jazz, they define improvisation as spontaneous composition. There's a beauty to that phrasing, something that can be applied not just towards music, but life in general. There's a certain je ne sais quoi to it, the idea that I can live life like it's a jazz solo. I think it's something that's allured many for quite some time, but I've had to learn the hard way that those moments where it feels like a jazz solo have to be self-contained—they have to exist just in that moment and let go. In a bittersweet way, the show must end.
But I don't let that make me sad or want for anything more. There's a certain perfection in a dull moment, something that doesn't ask or want for more. It just is, and that's what's perfect about it. In the same way that it's easy for me to dwell on chasing thrills, it's just as easy to forget the power of a quiet moment.
I used to hate quiet moments. They scared me because I was afraid of confronting the deepest parts of myself. I drowned them out with noise. I tried to anesthetize myself, dull my senses, whatever it would take to keep myself from stepping outside of the proverbial cave. But this thing, this essence, this...
It's like a fire. It mesmerizes just as much as it can burn. It feels like something 99% of sentient life has yet to experience. It's a smothering sort of thing, but in a way that slowly puts me in a deep and eternal sleep.
Death comes and sneaks closer to us every day. We have yet to see the insides of the flames.