Commando-for-hire John Geddes

What draws you to this? The adventure? The money?
Both. It’s the camaraderie you miss from that military background. It’s mainly the adrenaline and the high adventure.

What’s the transition to civilian life like?
Civilians don’t understand what I’ve seen and done.

What is it that people don’t understand?
Why you risk your life in the military in the first place, and once you get away with it, at least physically, why go do it again and possibly become even more psychologically damaged than you already are.

Psychologically damaged?
Friends of mine have committed suicide from post-traumatic stress. I used to dream—between dreams and nightmares. Teeth grinding. Strangely, what balances you is more trauma and more adrenaline; working in a dangerous place again has more of a calming effect then anything else. It’s a bit of a fix. It’s like Apocalypse Now. When you’re in the jungle all you can think of is home, and when you’re home all you can think of is getting back in the jungle.

Have you dealt with depression too?
I’ve suffered more from survivor’s guilt. I’ve been to over 50 funerals.

What’s it like for your wife?
My wife is a stroke specialist. She sees a lot of death on a daily basis herself. Soldiers, nurses, firefighters, policemen, they share a bond of being on the front lines, that camaraderie. She gets my gallows humor.

Are you afraid of dying?
When I was in Iraq my nightmare was not getting killed but getting captured. I worry about my reputation. How’s it going to look if I lose my client? If I’m captured and wind up on national TV in an orange boiler suit, how embarrassing would that be? So you have to fight to the death. There’s no way I would have been captured alive.

Ever been in a situation you didn’t know how to get out of?
Getting divorced after my first marriage. I’ve never felt so lost in all my life. I was fortunate to find another woman who took the brunt of the rehabilitation.

Can you sense when danger is imminent?
You develop a sixth sense. You pick up on combat indicators—changes of atmosphere. On the road from Jordan to Baghdad, I saw this vehicle in the rearview mirror and immediately knew something was going to happen. They fired a volley of AK rounds in an attempt to pull us over. So I fired from the inside the car, straight through my own door to preserve the element of surprise. From three feet, a burst of automatic fire, armor-piercing rounds, someone’s going to get hurt.

What did you feel at that moment?
A slight pressure on my trigger finger. Sorry, gallows humor.

How did it feel to kill someone?
It’s adrenaline, a little bit of shame. It’s not a natural thing to kill somebody. You never get used to it. But mostly it’s being thankful it wasn’t you and exhilaration that you got away with it again.

A longer version of this interview is available here.

Nastia Liukin

Winning the All-Around Gold at the Olympic Games this past summer.

What were you feeling after you won?

A big sigh of relief, because I did have some difficult times. I had an injury and so many people started doubting me and questioning whether I would even be on the Olympic Team. Those tough times made me even stronger. They got me to where I was last summer. Without my injury I wouldn’t have been as strong, just because I tried so hard to get back into it.

When did you feel most hopeless or discouraged?

In 2006, I did have that injury. I had to get surgery on my ankle. The recovery just took so long. I’d never had a serious injury like that. I wasn’t aware of what was going to come. It took longer than we planned for. That was frustrating, trying to get ready for the Olympics when I was still hurting really bad, and doing minimal training and just trying to avoid pain. Competitively, the year before the Olympics, 2007, was my worst year. Not too good to have that the year before the Olympics. But like I said, it made me stronger.

Why was that year your worst competitively? Was it because you were still not fully recovered? Or because you hadn’t had time to practice after you were recovered?

I wasn’t able to put in the necessary training because I was still hurt. I was in so much pain I wasn’t able to train. So when I went to competitions, I wasn’t physically prepared.

Was there ever a time when you had a setback and you felt like it was your own fault or you blamed yourself?

Of course the injury. The only person you can blame the injury on is yourself. That was frustrating. It was a mistake.

Did you feel like it was just chance-everyone gets injured sooner or later? Or do you feel like there was something you could have done differently and you were kicking yourself?

When I got injured, it was because of a fluke mistake. I rolled my ankle. And I guess that can be changed if you pay more attention to every single detail, but it was just one of those fluke things and it happened. At the time there was nothing I could do to prevent it.

What was going through your mind? Were you thinking, “I’ll never compete again”?

No. I never had those thoughts in my head. It was the week before we left for the 2006 World Championships and I wanted to do the All-Around but I wasn’t able to do it because I was injured. I wasn’t able to walk for a few weeks. I was on crutches and in a boot and I was only training bars, but I was still put on the World Championship team and I competed for my country at the World Championship only on bars and helped win a silver medal. I would have loved to compete All-Around there.

What allowed you to get through those tough times and get your mental state-your confidence and assurance-back to the point where they needed to be so you could compete and win?

Surrounding myself with really great people. My dad is my coach. My mom is the support side of the team. And teammates that helped me all the time. You can’t listen to the negative talk. There’s always going to be some positive and some negative when you’re a well-known athlete or just a person. When I first started hearing these things-that I’d never make the Olympic team because I was injured, that I wouldn’t get to where I was before the injury-it really upset me. Then I thought, “Why am I even letting this get to me?” If I know I can do it and my friends and family and coaches believe in me, it doesn’t matter what people on the outside are saying. They don’t know my personality. They don’t know I’m going to work even harder to get back to where I was.

Who was saying those things?

The media. I learned to not let the media affect you. That’s their job-to criticize and talk and have opinions. At first it got to me. Then I thought, “They’re not the ones doing gymnastics.” I’m the one that’s in it.

What is it about your personality that gives you that mindset?

That I never give up. I showed people that personality at the Olympics. I didn’t give up until it was completely over. A lot of people thought it wasn’t possible for me to win that All-Around Gold but I always believed in myself and I always believed it was possible. It takes a lot of different character traits. But most importantly, never to give up. That’s something I learned from a very early age.

What do you think it was that taught you that?

Definitely my parents. My dad was an Olympic champion and my mom was a world champion, both in gymnastics. Just from their experiences and teaching me to continue that path and to always believe in yourself and set big dreams and goals.

When you’re actually competing, are there moments when feel like you want to give up?

There are definitely some times when it does get hard, especially in competitions if you make a mistake. But that’s something I learned also. There were two times in competition when I had a mistake and I had a fall and I honestly wanted to give up because I thought it would be over. And my dad, who’s always on the floor with me, just kept telling me, “Don’t give this up. It’s still possible. Fight your way through it.” I won the competition both times.

Some people, when they make a mistake, dwell on it and get discouraged. But you’re able to put it behind you-you have a fall and you put it out of your mind. What’s the trick?

It takes practice. To master anything, whether it’s a sport or believing in yourself, doesn’t come overnight. That’s just the way you have to set your mind, focus, and believe that it is possible.

When you’re competing, what do you think you have in your mind? Are you thinking, “I’m going to win”? “I’m not going to give up”? Or is your mind blank?

I don’t think about winning going into a competition. I go in trying to do the best performance, the best routines I can. I never think about the outcome, if I’m going to win a medal or what color. That’s also something I was taught from a young age-to focus on only myself. Of course you are going to have competitors, and people could be better than you or stronger than you, but as long as you’re focused on yourself and you give your best performance that day, that’s really all you can control.

I imagine that when you’re competing it must be really important to stay present in the moment. Do you have a technique for doing that?

I use a lot of visualizations. Before I go and salute, I replay my routine over and over again in my head in the most perfect scenario, just trying to hit every skill and trying to make it right. That always helps me.

How were you able to train through pain? Was it thinking ahead to the future, like, “If I can get through this moment now, even if its painful, I can win later”?

I’ve always had those big goals and dreams in my head and the 2008 Olympics were always in the back of my mind. Going through difficult times, I told myself, “I’ve been in gymnastics 15 years, and there’s only a year left until the Olympics. I might be going through a struggle now, or an injury, but I can’t give this up now. I came a long way, and put so much effort and time and commitment to it already, and I’ve had those goals for so long.” With it so close, I didn’t ever really feel a need to give up. But going through the injury, you always have to take it one day at time. You can’t think too far ahead of yourself.

When you talk about those goals and dreams, did those come from your parents originally or were they something you wanted for yourself?

It was definitely something for myself. Well, I guess both. My dad competed in the ‘88 Olympics and he won the silver medal in the All-Around by less than 1/10th of a point, so when I won the gold medal in the All Around, it definitely made him proud. It was a redemption that exactly 20 years prior, he had missed it by less than 1/10th, so to be able to coach your athlete-especially because I’m his daughter-definitely made a big difference.

Did you have your father on your mind when you were competing?

You have to be a little selfish when you compete because especially in gymnastics, it requires so much focus and concentration. So you can’t be thinking about too many other things. After the competition was when I felt it most.

What did he say when you won?

He said he was really proud of me. We couldn’t believe it. There’s still times now when I think about it and I’m like, “Did that actually come true?” I wouldn’t say we were shock, because we knew it was within reach and we knew we were able to do it. But when you dream about something for so long, and it finally comes true, it takes you a while to process it.

One-tenth of a point and his teammate won. Was it because of a mistake he made?

It was not really a mistake. If you make a mistake, it’s going to cost you 5/10 to 8/10. 1/10 of a point in gymnastics is pretty much nothing.

How does it feel to be the best in the world at something?

To know that I am the best in the world at my favorite thing in life is such an incredible feeling. Knowing that 16 years of hard work has paid off means so much to me.

You not only recovered from your injury, but you actually came back stronger than before. What was it that enabled you to do that?

I did so much physical strengthening while I was injured. I did a lot of strength exercises for my legs, upper body and cardio. This all helped me tremendously when it was time to go back to routines and the events.

But did you also come back stronger mentally? Do you think you were sharper, more confident, more focused, more driven? If so, how was it that your injury facilitated this?

I did come back stronger mentally because being away from the gym and not being able to compete at top shape made my desire so much greater. The media wrote me off and said I would never be an All-Around gymnast again because of my injury. At first it really got to me and upset me. But my friends and family encouraged me and told me that if you believe in yourself, your dreams, and your goals, “Impossible is nothing.” This is the quote I lived by for the last year. No matter what people say, if I believe, that’s all that matters.

To accompany the cover story on failure in the current issue of Psychology Today, “Weathering the Storm,” I asked celebrities about their perspectives on getting through the tough times in their own lives. This is the first interview in the series. —Jay Dixit

Greg Giraldo

It’s hard to distinguish when I was actually struggling from when I only felt like I was struggling—which was pretty much always.

You went to Harvard Law School then dropped out. Tell me about the decision to quit.

It was scary. I had a lot of student debt and I didn’t know where the career was going. I started doing comedy for the hell of it and I thought, “I’ll pursue that somehow until I figure out what I’m actually going to do for a living to pay my loans.” I didn’t think comedy was a viable career option.

But before I quit, I was dying. I mean, I couldn’t do it. It wasn’t like I was a functioning professional and I just made the choice to throw it all away to pursue this crazy dream. I was incapable of being a lawyer. It wasn’t an option. I was going to stop being a lawyer whether I wanted to or not.

How did you feel?

My family was disappointed. But I always wanted to do something creative. I’ve always had real trouble knowing what my actual desires and goals are. I’ve just been dragged along by fate. I can’t even tell you why I thought to go to law school.

What do you think it is about your personality that gives you your sense of purpose?

I’m a total fuckup, honestly. The reality is I’m not this person with this driving “get it done” attitude. I’m a complete fuckup and I’ve fucked up a lot of things in my life. I’m constantly tortured by a sense of failure. I feel like quitting all the time. I feel like hiding in drugs or alcohol. I feel like I’ve failed in terms of what my potential is. I don’t think I’ve achieved my potential because I haven’t worked that hard and I haven’t found the right angles. The reality is, I’m not a “get knocked down and just pull myself back up by my bootstraps and come back harder” kind of guy.

What’s that like, that feeling of being tortured by failure?

It’s a lot of self-hatred. That I should have gone to L.A. for pilot season. That I should have drank a lot less.

There’s all these things I’ve fucked up. If I had only stayed focused, I would have been further along. It’s this constant feeling of not having achieved enough.

What do you do about it? Is it always there? Does it go away if you work harder?

If I’m working on something and I feel like I did a good job, it goes away for a little while. If I write a new chunk of material I love, it goes away for a little bit. If I feel like I have a lot of shows with new material, it goes away for a bit. Then there’s all the other unrelated-to-comedy shit—the therapy, trying to feel like I’m OK where I am.

What effect does it have on you? Does it give you some fire in a way that helps you?

It definitely drives me. That at least is good. The desire to feel like you’re not a loser drives me. I don’t know if that’s the healthiest thing—to be motivated by a fear of hating yourself. But it definitely helps. In a perfect world I would overcome the sense that I suck constantly.

If you did overcome that feeling could you still do comedy?

I used to think maybe not. But I think I have to. For a while I thought dwelling in that darkness and that self-hatred worked, but eventually it becomes more crippling than good. I could definitely still be funny. Some people do better when they’re in a bitter, angry place. I don’t. I think I’m funniest when I’m feeling more optimistic, hopeful about everything.

What about mistakes?

Emotionally I dwell on things forever. I’m an obsessive thinker. I obsess on things I’ve done wrong. Even worse than mistakes, I’ll dwell on what I’m not doing at the moment and what my limitations are.

Give me an example.

What I’m not doing is writing more. Each day that goes by, I think, “I meant to write, but I didn’t.” And the days go by.

Rather than sitting at the computer and writing, actually finishing things and fleshing out thoughts, I just rely on going on stage and dicking around until the funny parts occur to me. I’m constantly tormented by the fact that if I could get organized enough to just sit down and write, I would be 50 times further than I am today, creatively.

Professionally, there are a million things I could do. I’m always asked if I have any ideas for sitcoms or dramas or anything I’d like to pitch. I have a lot of opportunities to come in and have meetings with people who can make decisions on these things… and I don’t.

I’ve had people over the years approach me and say, “Come in any time with movie ideas!” These are people who could make these things happen. I get excited about it, I think about it, I come up with a few ideas, and then I get all fucking ADD and the opportunity slips away. Maybe I should have eaten some protein before we had this conversation. I could have been more upbeat.

What advice would you give to yourself from the outside—or to someone in a similar situation?

On days when I’m feeling positive, I say, “Look. Wait a second. I started doing standup just 17 years ago, just for the hell of it really, and I thought ‘I’ll do this until I figure out what I can really earn a living doing.’ And now all of a sudden I’m really proud of what I can do with standup comedy, I’m a much better standup comic than I ever imagined I would be, and I’ve made a decent living doing it. And it seems like I’m poised to do better.” I’m living the life I’ve always wanted, in a lot of ways. I try to be as appreciative of what I’ve been given as possible. When I’m feeling upbeat that helps.

Staying grateful and even sometimes being so fucking corny as making a mental list of what I have to be grateful for. That definitely helps, when I’m feeling positive. I don’t know if it’s the chicken or egg. When I’m feeling in a darker place, my perception is that everything sucks and even though I’ve done this, it seems I should have done more. Trying to stay grateful helps.

And a lot of times, I’ll think, “I’m not really that talented, and I have maximized what I’ve gotten.” And that I should stop kicking the shit out of myself.

It’s a paradoxical way to look at it—positive and negative at the same time. Who the fuck am I to think I was entitled to this great career? That I should have done more? That I deserved more? I’ve done more than I deserved. Things are going fine.

It’s easy to dwell on how I fucked things up with myself and others, but really, given where I thought this was going to end up when I started, I’m pretty happy with how it’s played out.

But you are successful. So is it that you just think you should be more successful? Or that somehow you’re a fraud because you don’t work that hard and you’ve achieved this success?

You’re coming up with angles that are true that I haven’t thought of!

I’m just wondering what it’s like for you.

A lot of it is fear of the future. Do I want to be a 55-year-old man, working the clubs, traveling around the country, not doing theaters, not being enough of a name? If I didn’t have this family to support, if I wasn’t living in the city, if we weren’t in the greatest fucking economic downturn ever, I would probably feel I was fine.

Yes, I feel, not like a fraud, but frustrated with myself and my limitations. They don’t feel like they’re creative limitations. I just get too distracted by life and don’t focus on what matters to me.

What question should I have asked you that I didn’t ask?

How I feel about Jesus? Gay porn, yea or nay?

As I talk to you, some things are crystallizing in my head. It’s actually very helpful. I hadn’t thought about it this way. Trying to focus on what really it is that matters to me.

When I start to feel like a failure, I realize, it’s really that I haven’t worked harder on my standup. And I can do that. Focusing on things that are manageable, that can be done, things I have control over. Right now I’m feeling like shit. I have two shows tonight. Now’s the time, I’ll definitely crank out some new shit before then. And that gives me a sense of optimism and hope I’m not being crushed by this broader system.

What is it that distracts you?

It’s a lot of things. I have three kids, and I love them more than anything. It’s easy to obsess, not even in a healthy way, distracted by worries about them and their future and how they’re doing. How they feel and how they’re coping. Thoughts that are not productive.

When I’m actually with them, doing things with them, I feel great, fueled by that. But it’s so easy to wallow in self-hatred, like, “Shit, I fucked up. I let my relationship fall apart. Now they’re living with their mom and I don’t see them.” Instead of letting that fuel me creatively, it becomes a sinkhole.

Other things are just general bullshit. I’m easily distracted—I start watching television. I start searching the Web.
For years I’d go on the road and I’d finish the shows and instead of going back to the hotel room and reading, I’d stay out all night and get in all sorts of trouble—trying to escape that sense of fear by ripping it up out there. Getting done with the shows and riding that high, thinking, “I am good, and what better way to keep that going than partying?” That’s been an enormous distraction from my work.

You mentioned letting worry about your kids fuel you creatively versus getting caught in a sinkhole. What’s the trick to letting it fuel you creatively? How do you direct that negative energy to something positive?

I’ve tried to on occasion just write about it and feel being fueled by it creatively is very difficult. Standup in particular is a very specific thing. There’s things you want to talk about, to express—but you have to be funny. And you have to funny to a mass audience. It’s a constant frustrating thing. I might write something I think resonates with me and would with other people in my situation, but it just doesn’t get the laughs you need because you’re performing it for 20-year-olds in the Comedy Cellar.

There’s enormous frustration there. The way it has fueled me recently is this sense that I want my kids to be proud of me, and if I’m not good at what I do, and if I’m not trying my hardest at what I do, then all this shit I’m putting them through because of my demons has been a waste. The very least I can do for them is to be the best I can. That does help me feel like, “OK, take your shit more seriously. Don’t just throw away stage time. Don’t let the days go by without having done any work.” That’s been working. Then sometimes I feel what they need from me is to be relatively content and to be there for them, so I can’t torture myself over this stuff. But I do anyway.

Do you think part of it is that you blame yourself for things that are out of your control?

It could be. I tend to blame myself for everything. There’s an expression I’ve heard used for people in my shoes, people who see themselves like I see myself. I feel like I’m “the piece of shit at the center of the universe.” It’s a paradox. You feel like you’re so shitty you ruin everything, but you’re so important and powerful that you caused it, that you actually are to blame for everything. I’m doing the best I can, and maybe that’s enough. It depends on how much sugar I’ve had that day.