I have a problem.

It keeps me from socializing and building friendships. It prevents me from living a normal life or pursuing something for “the fun of it”. It makes it incredibly hard to be around me.

I couldn’t always place a finger on it but I see it now. I see how damaging it can be. I see the toll it takes on my relationships and my personal life.

Problem is, the problem I have is unfixable. It’s the only way I know how to be.

My problem is I can’t turn it off.

By “it” I mean my desire to be creative and artistic. My need to express myself creatively is an overwhelming urge that can’t be put to rest.

Everything I see becomes an art project. Everything I come across has the potential to inspire a new project for me to work on. It doesn’t matter how random it is, I’ll find a way to turn it into a script idea, a new idea for my show, a topic for “Thursday Thoughts”, a photo for Instagram, or something else entirely. The list goes on and on.

My ideas are never-ending. The more I create the more I find myself being constantly inspired. I write essays everyday, most of which I never publish. But I have to write them, just so I can get the thoughts out of my head.

I don’t say this in a boastful, “I have amazing ideas! I’m more creative than you are!” kind of way. I’m just being honest. I’m constantly working on new creative ideas and I can’t turn it off.

My wife helps me with this. She steers the dinner conversation in a better direction and tries to get me to talk about something else. But by the time the appetizers are being taken away my mind has wandered back to page 37 of the new script I’m working on. I can’t tell you what I think of the weather or your weekend plans because I’m too busy wondering which version of the new joke I’m writing will work best for my theater show.

Heaven forbid you ask me for feedback after a performance. Deep down, I realize that you probably didn’t want feedback. What you wanted was a quick compliment and seal of approval. Instead, I’ll probably take you at your word and want to discuss technique - usually writing, acting, mentalism, magic, and more. My wife squeezes my hand and says “What Mark means is that he really enjoyed it.”

I did enjoy it. But I guess my definition of feedback is different from yours.

What I’m trying to say is I don’t have time for smalltalk or useless situations because my mind won’t let me. I only have time for art because that’s all I know how to do.

I don’t like parties. Or beer. If I have to go I always bring my notebook and usually hide somewhere so I can work on something new. Fun, I know.

I hate going to loud venues. “Wouldn’t it be better to sit and talk somewhere?” I usually ask, hoping my friends are down to talk art. Instead, they are usually just up for a good time. So I scribble thoughts on a napkin and think about tomorrow night’s show.

I hate being bored so I never am. When everything’s an art project, everything worth doing is worthwhile. And if it’s not worthwhile, it probably wasn’t worth doing.

Even in the process of writing this essay I’ve gotten distracted four times. I searched YouTube for an old video on acting technique that I was thinking about last weekend. And I opened three other documents to start other essay ideas for future blog posts.

I. Can’t. Turn. It. Off.

I know it makes me sound crazy. It makes me sound annoying and frustrating to be around. I get that, I really do.

I have a loving, caring wife who patiently listens to every idea and encourages me every step of the way. She understands how I function and stays out of my way. But it drives her crazy. It must. I’m a constant-barrage-of-new-information-and-inspiration-delivered-in-her-general-direction-at-breakneck-speed-24-7-365. How she puts up with it, I’ll never know.

I have a problem. A personal trait that drives me and compels me to get better everyday. It’s helped me win awards and allowed me to follow my dreams. It’s the first thing I think about in the morning and the last thing I think about before I go to sleep.

It’s also a nuisance and a pain in the ass. It makes it difficult to talk to me and generally not very much fun to be around in a social setting. It makes it hard for me to want to do anything else.

But it’s who I am. It’s the most honest version of myself and the reason I keep doing what I do. It's the part of me that makes life worth living. I'm fully aware of it but I still can't turn it off.

Or maybe, I just don't want to.