Mental Health

Sometimes You Really Have To Just Stop

When You’re Running On Empty

Nominated for a Grammy award for Best Male Pop Vocal Performance, Jackson Browne’s Running On Empty holds special meaning for me. It has for the last forty-three years of my life.

There are two lines in the first stanza of the song that, even today, ring out with a lot of truth.

“In sixty-five I was seventeen and running up one-on-one I don’t know where I’m running now, I’m just running on”

Well, in sixty-five, I was only twelve, but hey, I was twenty-four when the song came out, so there’s that. Despite the age disparity, the point of that message now is just as virile as it was when I first heard it. To me, it has always meant wasted time and the threat of real burnout.

Running, always running because we think we have to run, and many times as Jackson Browne sang, we find ourselves running on empty. We discover we just don’t have enough juice left in the tank to continue.

But we try anyway, right?

It’s because we’re told we have to produce something every day or people will forget about us. We read article after article telling us the only way to improve is to keep at it, continue running through the gauntlet despite how we’re feeling.

Work through the pain, forget about how we’re feeling, and just keep going, keep running on empty.

I should know. I’ve been running on empty for the first six months of this year. Many of you who read my work (and the hundreds of thousands that don’t) have probably witnessed a voice and tone of general malaise, disappointment, and bitterness.

That’s not me. It’s not who I am, or who I want to be. But unfortunately, it’s who I’ve become.

Tired, exhausted, and depressed to the point all I want to do is just lay in bed and sleep, or spend mindless hours watching television. That’s not me. It’s not who I am or who I want to be. But unfortunately, it’s who I’ve become.

All because I’m too mentally exhausted and depressed to think. My tank went dry several months ago, but I kept running, never knowing exactly where I would end up, but telling myself, I’d know it when I got there.

Then yesterday, I stopped.

I had written the twelfth piece of a Henry James series and had just finished Saturday’s piece (number thirteen) and the conclusion. Then yesterday, I stopped. I simply backed away from my computer at two o’clock in the afternoon. Then I threw myself in a lazy boy in front of the tube and became a mindless drooling idiot for the next four or five hours.

Did I fill up the tank? You’re kidding, right? Of course, I didn’t.

Once you get to the point you’re running on empty, and you refuse to stop, you can end up doing more mental and possibly physical damage than can be resolved by four or five hours away from work watching the Transformers for the hundredth time.

Most of us creatives need much more.

We all know creatives need various types of solitary stimulation away from the actual act of writing to help them create. Meditation and long walks in solace alone with our thoughts. Time spent rejuvenating the soul, reconnecting with Gaia and nature.

For me, sitting in front of the boob tube for five hours ain’t gonna get me there. Hey, I’m just sayin’ it won’t cut it for me. If that’s your thing, if that’s how you roll to fill up your tank, then more power to ya.

The reality is when you finally reach the stage of totally crashing and burning, that moment where you discover your tank has drained completely dry, you have to stop.

And by stop, I mean, pull up and stop whatever you’re doing that drained your tank in the first place. Stop listening to the so-called experts who tell you that you have to keep hustling every single day of your life to get where you really want to go.

How in the hell do these experts even know where you want to go? They don’t, but they certainly don’t mind telling you what you have to do to get there don’t they?

Stop believing all those articles that tell you, you have to learn how to push through the pain and keep going at all costs. They don’t know you. They don’t know your pain, and they sure as hell don’t know your breaking point.

Only you know that.

For the last six months, I haven’t listened to a damned thing my brain has been telling me. My entire body and mind have been screaming at me to stop because I was running on empty. And all I did was keep running.

Just keep running. Doesn’t matter where I go; just run.

Not again. Not this time. This time I’m going to listen when my brain and real physical exhaustion tell me I’m running on empty. I’m going to listen, and I’m going to stop. It might be for a day, possibly even longer, but I’m going to stop until I know my tank is full again.

Then I’m going to rock and roll.

The best teachers in life aren’t always a powerful song like Jackson Browne’s, but it certainly helps pave the way. Not only have I taken heed to the message of the song, but I’ve started listening to several of my writing sisters and brothers.

They’re writers just like me, who have suffered melt-downs themselves and chose to step away for a bit.

I’ve missed them, and do still miss most of them and their delightful words. But when they do come back (if they do), I know they’ll bring with them some of the most powerful and wonderfully creative work a writer can offer.

They, just like me at this stage of my career, understand you can only run on empty so long before you must stop.

Thank You So Much For Reading

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© P.G. Barnett, 2020. All Rights Reserved.