I'm F*cking Starving - YAN YEZ's 'State of the Me' Address

This is a bit of an aside; a venting of sorts. If it's not your sort of thing, I understand - permission to make like the family member of an opening band and bail early. But I also get the feeling a lot of people will relate to what I’m going to word-vomit here.

Why? Well, for one... (gestures broadly at everything).

Have you existed in 2025? We're two months in and it feels like two years. The constant barrage of political chaos is not only exhausting - it's overwhelming and confusing. I'm unsure how to walk the proper tightrope between retreating from the news altogether for personal well-being and staying informed enough to be a useful member of society. That's not really what this is about. But, it's also not not what it's about, ya know?

The second reason I'm confident that some people might relate is because I'm quite confident that I'm not the only person who ever took great risk to pursue something I loved (even if it feels like I am sometimes).

And that's really what this is. It's my State of the Me address, coincidentally on the night of the State of the Union (which I'm opting to skip right now). I don't have a fancy outline or written speech prepared. I literally thought to do this about 45-seconds before I logged into the blog. This is just the ramblings of a man addressing the hardships of artistic pursuit. I haven't put pen to paper (so to speak) in a while on here. But something has been.. I don't know, nagging at me.

"No one cared who I was 'til I put on the mask." -Bane (and Nico)

This idea of futility. As very few of you know, in 2019 I died. (Metaphorically. Apologies to those who actually did). I was reborn and as baby-new-Nico and my first full year of life was COVID. That's neither here nor there, as everyone has a before and after COVID story (except for those who tragically didn't make it through).

The point is, my life started entirely over at 29-years old. The cliff notes version is this: formerly religious married guy finally comes to terms with his sexuality and reality in general, spends years trying his best to be who he thought he needed to be for his family, fails, gets divorced, loses his band of 10-years, adjusts suddenyly to splitting time with his lovely daughter, moves into a terrible basement apartment, has to leave his 7-year gig at a Christian org because they don't let gay people work there, and has to start from scratch at almost 30.

Blah, blah, blah, wha, wha, wha. Life happens.

And then you move on. But that doesn't mean it wasn't hard. Very hard. And I had to start the rebuild with the most essential things; as one should. I made sure I built a home that my daughter could be comfortable in. What started as an empty studio basement with a couch, a floor-sofa, and a box as a table, eventually evolved into a warm and beautiful home for her. We now have a wonderful 2-bedroom apartment in downtown Denver. I'm an excellent interior designer, so the living arrangement slaps now.

I also had to find a reliable new source of income and steady work. I had to rebuild a community and friend group around me that would embrace me fully. So on, so on. I rebuilt the most essential aspects of my life.

But I left one essential thing for last: my artistic pursuits.

They're arguably as essential as any of the other things. They're a pillar of who I am. They're the second biggest reason I want to exist in this world, behind the kiddo. But it was hard to pick back up that mantle when it hurt so bad to lose the 15+ years of work I'd invested in beforehand. I had nothing to show anymore for those 15+ years. Ouch. But kuddos on the sick burn, universe.

Starting to make music and film and write again meant I had to process the reality that...

Maybe I can't do it.

Maybe I was never that good and never will be.

Maybe, not only will my dreams not come true - but I'll never even get close.

And that last part is still really eating at me. Have you ever given most of your life to something and seen virtually ZERO results? I have.

A pic of us playing our first sold out show ever less than a week ago, proving what I just wrote in this blog about seeing "ZERO results" is a dramatic over-exaggeration

Look, I can sit here and rail against the industries, the local gatekeepers, the corporate takeover of local music venues and talent buying, or the pretentiousness and culture of disrespect in the film industry at large. It's all supremely valid. And it makes me sick.

But yet, it's not an excuse as to why I've been so much less successful than I ever imagined I would be. Because plenty of people doing better than me are playing on the same field. They're overcoming those obstacles I could rail against - and I'm not. That's the bottom line (and not just because Stone Cold said so).

There's this novel fairytale idea that art in-and-of-itself should be fulfilling enough for the artist. But it is what I just called it - a fairytale. Is art somewhat self-fulfilling? Sure. But not entirely. And 95% of people who say otherwise are being dishonest.

There's this giant sized hole right down the middle of me that only validation can fill. And I've spent the last 3-years trying to come to terms with the fact that it may never get filled up. I may walk around my entire adult life starving for the affection of strangers; desperate for 50,000+ people to tell me that my life's work fucking mattered.

That day has not come. And yet I still give to this thing. Piece by piece I rip apart my soul-flesh and throw it into the universe that is my - to this point - useless art. I don't think I'll run out of soul-flesh. I think it's a mostly renewable resource. But there are parts of me I've given that I'll never get back. That's okay. It's part of the game. It’s part of what I signed up for. And I think I knew it to a degree.

But I don't know if I'll ever get that validation and fulfillment. And that part I signed up for in pure ignorance. I don't know if I'll ever mature and not need it, either. I only know that I'll never quit. Like so many great fables and tales, this core never-give-up quality in me is both a great gift and a terrible curse.

And that's pretty much all I've got. This has been the rambling of a burnt out, disappointed artist. Bitter and hopeful. Distressed and inspired. Tired and ready to explode into a wave of creative energy. I'm not sure there was a point to writing any of this. But if there was, maybe it was this...

If you feel like, in this life, you've given more to something you love than you'll ever get back - I'm sorry that happened to you.

But you're not alone in it. And maybe, someday, you'll get back the exact amount you need. Even if it's less than what you wanted. And that is an encouraging thought. Hopefully enough of one to keep going.