vegan athlete – The Conscious Pilgrim

permission to feel

I’m someone who spends a lot of time in their own head. I struggle to shut my brain off at the absolute best of times and quite often, there’s nothing more comforting to me than to field a question about something that I am particularly well-versed in.

Beyond that, I take medication that acts as a stimulant, that – if I were to intellectualize it – allows the energy level of my body to catch up to the energy level of my brain where there can be some sense of equilibrium. It may even divert some energy, but that remains to be seen. These are ADHD meds, and since I am AuDHD (combining forces of Autism and ADHD), my Autism is a little more ‘free to roam,’ as it were.

The assertion that Autistic people don’t feel emotion is incorrect. They just process it differently. I would argue that they feel emotions to a higher degree and that regulating those emotions are more of a challenge… so don’t confuse that monotone voice and that deadpan look for anything other than what it is – honesty. If you’re seeing that face and hearing that voice, then you are looking and talking with someone who is not ‘masking’ their disability, and if it feels awkward, it’s not the Autistic person who doesn’t know how to react, it’s you.

Anyway…

… with ADHD meds working in full force, I’ve ultimately never felt more autistic than I do now.

Sorta makes it sound like I live even MORE in my head than before, right? Well, kinda. Except I can put thought to action way more easily without my ADHD symptoms clouding judgement and distracting me, metaphorically tying my shoelaces together.

There are not a lot of Autistic people who will tell you this, but I actually love my autism. Being able to see how I function differently from the people around me is not a new thing… I’ve always been different – but to know WHY and HOW is a comfort I’ve never felt before.

It’s allowed me to walk in the truth that I am very smart, and very resourceful, and good at a lot of things.

It’s got it’s challenges… especially for a “tough guy, rock & roll guy, a hot rod guy, a dad… of a daughter…” and all of the other tropes that beset men. Don’t get me wrong – I know this whole society was set up for me to succeed, but it comes on the condition that we must all be as stoic, stiff-lipped, and unrelenting as Rooster Cogburn in True Grit.

… now who’s not regulating their emotions?

Right.

The truth is that you can have a good life and still be sad. you can be smart and also make a poor decision. You can be a professional and still perform poorly.

And… you’re allowed to feel shitty.

Shitty is a feeling that is just as valid as happiness and just as important to acknowledge, live in, and move through. It’s repressing that feeling that hurts you, because you hang onto it, and add to it, until it’s bigger than you.

I try to remember these things when I’m consoling someone who’s sad, because I have to ask myself if I’m trying to make them feel “better” because it makes the dynamic in the room less awkward for ME… when really, the person being consoled should be made to felt SAFE to feel those feelings.

a thousand papercuts

I never in a million years would have described myself as someone with anxiety.

And I still don’t.

The end.

Well, not not exactly.

Do I have clinical anxiety? no.
Do I get anxious about things? Yes, I suppose we all do, but I honestly thought I might be the exception to the rule, because I generally felt the same about most things in my life. I never really got too worked up about ‘the small stuff’ as a general rule because in the grand scheme of things, I could anticipate a desired outcome if a few things were given special attention. So, generally speaking, I would operate at a baseline that I would really only deviate from in special circumstances.

I realize I’m speaking in broad terms, but that’s because I have always done this.

Then I started looking into natural supplementation to assist in recovery from athletic fatigue – i.e. I was running a lot and wanted to run more, and more frequently – and I happened upon an article about ‘cannabidiol’ – a cannabinoid that is fairly cheap and plentiful for those of the age of majority up here in the land of legal weed, better known to most as CBD.

There are several weed stores within dog walking distance, and they’re all pretty friendly to my giant Dane/Hound, so I did a little observational research of my own and found that it worked decently enough as described, but it also offered me an education in what my baseline for operation really was.

On a scale of 1-10, I’d have told you that I operate in the 1-2 range on a daily basis for stress and anxiety, but it was more like a 3 or 4. Again, not staggering, but I’d been hovering around the 3-4 mark for so long that it felt like nothing. As it happens, I’ve been living and coping with “1000 micro-anxieties” of which I was in unaware.

A better name for that is “overwhelmed.”
And being constantly overwhelmed is symptomatic of other things.

It’s truly amazing what we can decide about ourselves, and subscribe to… until we suddenly can’t anymore.

Popping a CBD caplet put me down to an actual 1-2.
And then I knew something that I could never un-know.

Now, again… not an anxious person by definition, and I won’t start to say that I am at any point but it was fairly eye opening to go from ‘not worrying about the little stuff’ to ‘actually not worrying about the little stuff.’

So, I found a little thread… and I tugged on it… and through some of my own research and podcast-listening and conversations with other neurodivergent folks – whom I seem to be surrounded by, for the most part – I decided to go for a formal diagnosis for AuDHD (the one-two-punch of ADHD and ASD, together at last).

I was put on ADHD medication, and as I’ve mentioned in previous posts, with the ADHD dog now on it’s leash… I’ve never felt more autistic.

So, there’s an origin story for you, lol.
44 years of believing things were a certain way, and that everyone has a similar experience.

But, no.
They don’t.

scheduling creative output

Sounds counter-intuitive, doesn’t it?
Well, maybe it doesn’t to you, but it always did to me.
Don’t knock it ’til you try it, though.

I’m not sure when, or how I started doing it, but it’s been a few years of attempting to do this and I have to say, It’s been working pretty well. However, there are some common beliefs that most people seem to hold around creativity that you’re going to have to drop if you want to get a handle on this.

There’s no such thing as writer’s’ block…

… or any other kind of creativity block for that matter. Writer’s (or creator’s) block; as a concept, is not the inability to write (or creator). It’s the fear that you’re going to write something bad.

So, write something bad and toss it. You’ve written bad things before and tossed them.
Night time is not the only time you can make art.

You don’t have to dig very hard to find documentation that supports the notion that proper diet, exercise, and a good night’s sleep does wonders for your brain. It stands to reason that; since your brain is pretty heavily involved in the artisan process, that you could sleep during that sacred late hour and be more refreshed and more creative any other time of day.

You might just prefer to create at night. That’s fine. But it’s worth noting that there are reasons for it, such as being interrupted by distraction less, since most people are asleep, and we have social contracts in place that prevent people from calling late at night. Maybe you have a fear of missing out during the regular waking hours. Maybe you lack discipline. It doesn’t matter, really… work all night for all I care – but acknowledge that it’s ultimately a choice.
Drugs and alcohol don’t make your art better.

If anything, they make bad art more tolerable. You’re free to believe whatever you want but I’ve seen more than a few decent artists become shitty artists, seemingly on purpose. I don’t have a problem with drug fuelled art – I actually enjoy quite a bit of it, but I do believe that art was in you to begin with.

In an alternate reality, I’d have been able to hear Hendrix play straight & sober. I think we tend to (and yes, I have certainly done this) have a propensity for nerves, and want to ‘take the edge off’ in order to give what we think will be a better performance.

But to “take the edge off” is to admit that (a) you have an ‘edge’ and (b) understand why. I’d rather “live on the edge”, if you’ll pardon the antiquated term.

Clearly I’m not talking about prescribed medication here.

Circumstances. I get up early and I go to the gym. I often work up a sweat, as is typical with long intervals of steady-state cardio followed by heavy weightlifting. Since I have an elevated heart rate, my blood pumps faster, speeding the whole body system up, including the brain. As a result I get wild ideas about art and writing while I’m running on a treadmill, or on the trails, or lifting weights – often frustratingly with nothing to write on or with.

I keep my weightlifting progress noted, but my pen actually DIED this morning, which may have been what prompted this whole post.

I’ve taken to writing emails to myself so I can log the idea or develop it further next time I’m sitting at a computer. Hours later, computer bound, I’ve written numerous songs, blog posts, and developed a few different ideas for my most recent art project. Obviously, during the work day, I’m fairly focused on the tasks at hand, but once the evening rolls around and I’ve got a few hours to burn, I’ll dig in hard.

Dig in on what? I may have to consult my calendar reminders…

If there’s an upcoming show I’m playing, I may find myself running songs, which will likely turn into me trying to perfect some technique by the end of the alotted time.

If it’s an idea for an art project, or a further pursuit of an idea I’ve been working on for some time then I’ll leave it a little bit open. I may need to solder or weld something – but; if my hands and eyes don’t want to work together, then I might do some sanding or prep some things for paint. OR, maybe I’ll just plug a guitar in and push creativity that way.

The point isn’t specifically what I’m doing, so long as I am moving forward. All steps forward are progressions toward the ultimate goal, so just because I didn’t accomplish exactly what I’d set out to doesn’t mean I didn’t accomplish anything… small wins are still wins… even if it ends up being on a completely different project altogether.

That’s some AuDHD shit right there. The time dedicated to art is planned… of the 2 (groan…) “Wolves” inside me (ASD and ADHD) – the plan is integral to my success as an autistic artist. I have set aside this time for this and if I don’t use the time and space to be creative then I’ll be upset. The ADHD in me is totally fine with “my painting sucks today… let’s hash out some guitar riffs” and can seamlessly move to another creative outlet. This is how I’ve learned how to utilize both sides of this AuDHD diagnosis and it’s been very helpful to be able to acknowledge both, and how important each of them are.

Then when it’s time to wind down (again, a predetermined time), it’s important to develop and practice a routine that gets your head out of the art and into the pillow. That can be really hard to do… but fortunately you’re allowed to make notes, or send yourself another email, all in an effort to spend what’s left of the mental energy and move into a place of quiet and rest.

Then you can get that ever important sleep, get some good food in you, and maybe your hands won’t be so shaky tomorrow evening and you (or I, in this instance) can get that soldering or welding project tackled after all.

The goal; for me, at least… is to be artistic in all aspects of life. It’s perfectly natural to have a few projects on the go at a time… but if distraction is a challenge for you then you may need to limit the amount of projects you take on, or at least change your expectations of progress.

There’s no wrong way to make art, but there are definitely ways of being more effective and being more efficient… and there are ways of being an artist and taking care of yourself, too…

transitional period

whenever I think of the term transitional period, I think of that scene in Pulp Fiction when the couple is holding up the diner and Julian (as played by Samuel L Jackson) mentions “I’m in a transitional period right now and I don’t want to hurt you, I want to help you...”

I’ve said those exact words so many times that I’m surprised nobody ever mentioned the reference, though it is rather obscure. I’m just as surprised that nobody’s ever retorted (‘retort’ being another word that reminds me of Julian from Pulp Fiction) and said “Davey, you’re always in a transitional period.”

And I guess I am.

I suppose I am in that long transition from birth to earthly death, but I am also constantly changing. I often think of the old Greek philosophical proverb ‘A man never stands in the same river twice‘ – something that is constantly in mind, and I jokingly said to someone who was describing how the pizza from this one family-owned pizzeria is always a little different than the time before, but it’s always good. My joke flew past… but I’m autistic so whatever.

I will often wonder if I am the only person who feels this way. From the outside, it seems like so many people are just hitting that day-to-day as consistently and (possibly) as aimlessly as ever, just surviving… never thriving or flailing, steady as she goes until something life-altering happens, at which point they are so jarred by circumstance that they can’t get their footing, and their eyes are opened for the very first time.

That’s not a description of anyone in particular. It’s a broad generalization about the seemingly ‘non-player characters’ (NPC’s, for the less hip readers) we come across in places like the pet food store or the food court at the mall.

Perhaps I’m the same, but I was jarred into consciousness by circumstance at an early age. Perhaps at birth. Because even within my own family there are NPC’s, just circumnavigating their own container… never trying to do better… but never doing bad enough to warrant a swift and brutal change.

It almost sounds blissful, even in it’s mundanity… to never know struggle because you’ve never known challenge. I’ve seen people who are really smart somehow end up in these scenarios and they ultimately destroy themselves one way or another… possibly intentionally but likely by accident. As if nothing bad ever happens, so they do bad things with impunity… until; of course, something punitive happens. Are they then brought into the consciousness that I’ve known my whole life? Where they must actually make choices and defend their actions, and learn something integral? Will they see God, perhaps? Or will God see THEM? Will they THEN become a player in the game, giving up their NPC status?

Wild shit, folks.

Part of me knows the flaws in this line of thinking.
But another part of me can’t help but think that maybe it really is that simple.

It doesn’t matter.
I mean, sure, those people matter. Their vote counts and they have rights and they exist… own real estate… what have you.
But I don’t know them, and I have no say over what they say or do.
THUS… I cannot be concerned with their lifestyles or decision-making processes, as these are things I cannot really affect.
All I can do is hope.
Hope they’re good people who treat their children and spouses well, and shovel their goddamn sidewalks.

All I can do is what I can do.

And… I’m doing some really cool stuff that I’m really excited about, but I must remain cagey in an effort to put forward “a big reveal” in the future.

What I can tell you is that – on an unrelated note – my band just approved the artwork for the album we’re releasing this year. You should get a copy for your turntable.
You should buy a turntable.

At any rate, what I can EMPHATICALLY tell you is this:

I’m in a transitional period.

emotionally i’m a celebrity

“Emotionally I’m a celebrity” That’s a line from an Iggy Pop song, but I sorta love it and I think it’s a fair descriptor of how I feel sometimes – although, yes, I DO understand that ol’ Iggy is takin’ the piss over a generation of punk rockers who don’t understand punk rock.

Maybe it speaks to you, too.
Maybe it doesn’t, and I’m emotionally dysregulated… but are we not all the main characters in our own stories?

Once upon a time, they used to call artists, (and by extension, popular artists) (and also by extension, rich weirdos who were often popular artists beck before being ‘famous for being famous’ was a vocation) ‘eccentric.’ That’s a term I haven’t heard used in a long time; likely since medical science has come up with actual diagnoses for these disabilities.

Yes, disabilities – and that’s an important distinction.

These people who operated in these ways fell under the umbrella – or; nore accurately, were swept under the rug – of ‘eccentric‘ which was a catch-all term for ‘a little different but ultimately harmless‘ primarily because they saw beauty in things that their contemporaries didn’t. These folks were odd. They’d simultaneously procrastinate and fixate. They’d be uncredited authorities on obscure topics. They acted out sometimes… or became reclusive. They showed up late and left early. They wore sunglasses indoors and dressed differently. they were called ‘weird’ ‘gifted’ ‘wild’ and my personal favorite: ‘talented’. They flocked together. They had a hard time maintaining employment. They drove fast. They lived a high-risk lifestyle. And there were countless other symptoms… and unfortunately for those who lived their lives before these diagnoses were available – they self medicated their disabilities in lieu of actual help.

There’s that word again. Disabilities.

Anyway,
… all of those things are still true.
… and have been true for me along the way.

The importance of that distinction comes with some controversy within the community, I suppose, but I’m beginning to think that controversy is regional – as in, if you live in a place where there’s no government funded help available and you’ve received an adult diagnosis after developing your own coping methods over the course of your life – you probably don’t want to be labeled as a ‘disabled person.’

However; if you do live in a place where there’s government-funded help and tax breaks, that designation is probably a blessing.

But if you live in a place, as I do, where; although you were diagnosed as an adult, and have some (healthy) coping mechanisms (after dispelling your unhealthy ones on your own, the hard way), and the governing body in your region DOES provide help and support, but the current folks in power are actively trying to take money out of the pockets of disabled people, it’s a VERY important designation.

Me? Yeah, I’m ultimately fine. I made it this far, didn’t I?
I’m pretty high-functioning ADHD and ASD (AuDHD, technically).
But that doesn’t mean I have a spare $5,000.00 kicking around for testing (regardless of the outcome) as well as $150/month for medication and an untold fortune for ongoing therapy.

How about folks who are not quite so high-functioning?
Or folks who are dealing with a whole bunch more than I am?

These disability designations are crucial.

So my job… my role here… is to highlight the fact that these people are all around you. This is why I’ve decided to be open about this, and not to be embarrased about it.

Because April 2nd was World Autism Awareness Day… (and yes, the notion of posting this on a thursday was really problematic for me due to my Saturday morning ritual… and my… ASD… struggled with that) and there will be all kinds of cool information being posted and shared all month that I hope you will take in.

Thanks everyone.

The Iggy Pop quote is from the song Neo Punk, from his most recent album “Every Loser” which is a great record from front to back and the fact that he put out such a barn burner of an album at 75 years old should give you as much hope as it gives me.

Another line from that song is “my hair is blue, and my prescription, too” but both my prescription AND my hair are grey. Not joking.

coaxed out of my little world

It’s funny how a diagnosis for something you’ve had for your entire life without ever knowing it can change your perspective.

Before this blog took the shape of it’s current container, it was primarily based around my relationship with my environment, which is a pretty broad field that encompasses fitness, art, my dog, interactions with nature, food… but I started it when I started triathlon training – so a lot of fitness posting.

Anyway, I still do that. The difference is that when I am turning the volume of my headphones up, I realize that I’m not ONLY doing that because Rob Zombie makes some of the best treadmill-running music ever recorded (more on that below!), but also because I need to tune out the noise of everyone around me. The action has not changed, but the perspective has.

What has also most definitely NOT changed is how jarring it is when someone wants to talk to me.

So I’m in the locker room this past week, about to embark on some relentless sprinting drills when an old man comes out of absolutely NOWHERE and scares the shit out of me to eventually get around to saying “last time I was here I saw you ran for A WHOLE HOUR! I only do 20 minutes!” which was simultaneously mortifying knowing that people are watching me that closely, and flattering knowing that people are watching me that closely. I tried to say “well it’s time to go do it again” in a somewhat encouraging way – though it probably came out all monotone and dismissive.

At any rate, I came away more encouraged than embarrassed and I got to thinking about how when I started, I was fat. I couldn’t jog my slow ass to the end of the block without wheezing, let alone adhere to the first day of my “couch to 5k” plan I was following which involved 6 minutes of jogging followed by 1 minute of walking, 3 times over.

It made me glad that this little disarming man was able to coax me out of my little insular world and encourage me to keep pushing the limit.

The snow that’s falling on my house as I type this is upsetting. I got some brand new shoes delivered yesterday – Saucony Endorphin Pro 4’s that are being blown out as the 5’s are now available. I got a killer deal on them and it’s making me excited for spring… so the falling snow is really fuckin’ up my good vibe right now.

Also, I meant what I said when I said that Rob Zombie makes some of the best treadmill running music ever recorded. His new album “The Great Satan” harkens back to early Zombie days, and has some old collaborators on it as well.

As an aside, Rob Zombie reminds me of a lot of the self aggrandizing elements of rock & roll that are often disregarded. And by that I mean that in the tradition of Bon Scott and David Bowie, he takes on characters that demand that you refer to him as various things… including but not exclusively “The Devilman” “Sir Lord Acid Wolfman” “The Black Scorpion” “Tarantula” and “Rock ‘n’ Roller” (which has it’s own nod to Bowie, or rather Ziggy & The Spiders from Mars) and I find it all very endearing, personally. It’s all reminiscent of such rock & roll proclamations as AC/DC’s “I’m TNT” “I’m a rocker” and the cancel-culture-worthy “I’m the Night Prowler” or Iggy Pop’s “I am a passenger” or even Thin Lizzy’s “I am just a cowboy.”

I don’t plan to do a “best of 2026” album list at the end of the year but you can rest assured that this album would be on it if I did.

If you heard this album and hated it, consider giving it another spin while on a treadmill.

thanks / embarrassment

Sometimes I write this thing, and I have absolutely no real concept of who’s readying it, or when. The hosting platform shows me a little number, but I don’t delve into that because I don’t really want to write for a specific audience. I’m not trying to grow a brand… well, not here, anyway.

There are people who read it every week. They let me know. I am deeply appreciative of it, and it makes me feel really good that after a few years of public journaling, that what I’m saying has some resonance…

But 2 weeks ago when I posted about my neurodivergent diagnoses, people really came out of the woodwork to let me know they had my back, or… brain… or… whatever they had, they were supporting me.

So, thank you very much. All of you.

Now for the ’embarrassment’ part.
No… I’m not embarrassed. Quite the opposite.

When I was younger, I used to think I wasn’t embarrassed easily. Actually, no… I thought you couldn’t embarrass me if you tried. While that’s probably still true, it’s conditional, because one of the tiny little things I’ve realized about myself is that I can be embarrassed very easily – just not through conventional means.

I fear no ridiculous karaoke song, no questionable stage attire, no public speaking event, no dirty joke, and I don’t subscribe to any ideologies or political views that will come back to bite me in any meaningful way… but I gotta say, being cool; or at least perceived as cool, is vitally mportant to me.

That probably sounds pretty dipshitty… but why would I lie about it now?

When I was a kid, I never felt cool. As a matter of fact, I was certain that I wasn’t. I was kind of a weird kid – I was very quiet, and I had a real hard time keeping up with other kids because I really felt like I didn’t belong anywhere… especially with kids my own age.

I went to a private christian school in Grade 1 & 2, and I was homeschooled in grade 3… and then when I was new to the Edmonton Public School system in grade 4, I got picked on. Maybe we all did, but it sure felt like I was the only one back then. So I did what I was supposed to do – I told a teacher. Allow me to tell you – and I would say it to any kid I meet who is dealing with the same thing – that was the worst fucking idea anyone ever had.

The school talked to the bully.
And they let me leave 5 minutes early to get a head start so I could get home… but within a couple days the bully came and found me and pushed me around.

I told the teacher again, and they called my dad.

In my eyes, my dad was all that is man.
He was a big strong guy who didn’t take any shit from anyone, and honestly he terrified me, because I was ULTRA timid and he worked shift work, which meant he was grumpy, and probably worried about money, though I wouldn’t know what that meant just yet.

I was so embarrassed.
I was so sure that my dad already thought I was a wimp, and if I had my way, I wouldn’t even be a blip on his radar most of the time… but he picked me up from school that day and he took me out for lunch to McDonald’s, which was a rare treat back then.

He instilled upon me that day that “REAL tough guys don’t start fights, but they ain’t afraid to end ’em” and that if you’re backed up against the wall, sometimes the only way out is to punch your way out.

Since then I’ve really only had to throw fists a couple times… but I remember consciously deciding at that point that I didn’t want to be the kind of person who gets pushed around ever again. I wanted to be the kind of person who – if someone saw you pushing me around, they’d think YOU were the asshole, and not worry about whether or not I was okay… because guys like ME are ALWAYS okay.

That’s a long way around the bend…but all that was to say that there’s a level of vulnerability around mental health diagnoses that’s required, and although I intuitively want to share and help destigmatize and demystify these things – it DOES kinda go against my laurels to open up that way.

So for me, I had to decide not to be embarrassed by it. I had to decide that it’s totally cool to be transparent about my neurodivergence and my challenges so that maybe some twerpy kid who’s as unsure of himself as I once was can look at me and my neurodivergent cohort and say “if he’s cool with it then I can be cool with it, too.”

Anyway… if you read all that, thanks again.