The other night I had an uplifting experience, and it only cost me $37.50.

I paid to go along to Matt Groening’s talk at Graphic 2016. I had the option to buy a $37.50 seat or a $137.50 seat, and was happy to take a gamble on the restricted view. Oh boy did it pay off. I was in the front row of the box at the side of the stage, and while I had a side view of his face I was so close I could have thrown a ball of paper at said face (which is saying something, because I have a terrible throw).

It was pretty exciting sitting just a few metres away from the man who is responsible for an estimated 37 per cent of my communication (a further 20 per cent comes from Gilmore Girls, 2 per cent from Olsen Twins movies, 13 per cent from Cougar Town and 4 per cent from Drop Dead Gorgeous and 2 per cent from Don’t Tell Mom the Babysitter’s Dead – the rest is somewhat organic material, but I would say at least half of this final percentile comes from movies or shows that fall into the “other” category). This was a huge deal.

His talk was phenomenal. It was funny, it was insightful and it featured my favourite Instagram account @thesimpsonstattoo, which is a collation of all the great and so-not-great-that-it’s-great permanent odes to America’s favourite yellow family.

I walked out of the theatre feeling entirely inflated, despite the fact that I didn’t have in my hands a signed original drawing like a few lucky others did.

This feeling of elation was quite remarkable, as I’m feeling a little uninspired at the moment (even buying shoes or reading Oh, The Places You’ll Go can’t really get me out of my funk, which is frustrating because years of television exposure has led me to believe that these activities are somewhat cathartic). I’m tired, irritable and can’t really see where my life is heading as I tunnel blindly into the darkness and decay – I’m like a grumpy earthworm. 

So I’m going to do what I always tend to do in a crisis instead of seeking professional help like a sensible person – I’m going to attach meaning to a recent encounter and delude myself that cosmic timing made me hear what I needed to hear, and saw what I needed to see. I have a troubling way of thinking that Fate is heavily involved in my life to the point of obsessive stalking, while also questioning whether Fate can really give a fuck about a middle-class white girl’s minor affairs when there’s shit like Syria’s civil unrest going down. I can never be sure, but maybe Fate just has one of those universal remotes and is flicking between whatever’s happening with me, and the actual great injustices of the world.

Existential crises aside, it is also fun from a writing point of view to apply the great lessons of lives lived before us to our own inconsequential existences. 

After showing us his father’s home movies, clips from the show and revealing how he came up with his characters (Milhouse, incidentally, was only created so Bart would have someone to talk to in a Butterfingers commercial. I’ve alluded to this fact before and will so again, but thank the heavens for commercialism and advertising) Groening ended his talk with a couple of words of advice for us audience members.They were offered kindly and in good faith, so I’m going to do what I do with any gift – pick them apart and pass judgement on them.

Box up your favourite childhood items and don’t let your parents throw it away

He said things like comic books and figurines and such, but I didn’t really have comic books, and I ensure that my Harry Potter figurines are with me at all times.

So this is a lesson I don’t really need.

There are a few things I had stowed away before flying the coop and, thankfully, my parents haven’t thrown too much out. That’s because one time Mum got rid of my toothbrush and frayed trackpants that were part of the “old uniform” during our high school’s wardrobe update (and at that time, the old uniform was waaay cooler. Our school was an odd place where dressing shabbily and purely for comfort was trendy. Only the losers dressed up to look nice on a free dress day, but if you wore trackies you were a legend) and I never let her forget how much the thoughtless toss wounded me. So now my mother is terrified of throwing anything away without my permission. It helps that I come from a line of hoarders: my 20-canvas artwork from Year 10 is still in our storeroom for this reason. Unfortunately, this hoarding doesn’t come by the way of posters, something I learnt the hard way when I came back from uni to find the picture of Hugh Grant fondling a woman’s bottom with a speech bubble in a foreign langue has been ripped from my old bedroom’s wall. And I’m not sure that this was really what Groening had in mind when he distilled this advice.

Finish your projects

He mentioned cartoons and scripts and even an unfinished novel in his drawers just sitting there.

This is one I could do with reminding myself of. It’s illustrated by the stacks of half-read books in the corner of my room and the dozens of Microsoft Word documents I have saved to my desktop of things I’ve started to write, then abandoned.

But I reckon this applies to anything. If you’ve started something and then run out of steam do what you have to do to get back on track. Take a break, go for a nap, do some star jumps and then get straight back into it. Because completing something feels great. Ticking off the to do list is like doing crack off a businessman’s chiselled abs (something I don’t have any experience with as I actually don’t really know what crack is or how it finds its way into the bloodstream, as you might be able to tell, but go with it) or putting that last piece into an increasingly difficult puzzle (something I DO know about, thank you very much). It’s magical, satisfying and makes you strut, just a little bit. So if you’ve already started that squat track, you may as well get to the end. You should always finish what you start in life, whether that’s a book or a beer. Get it done.

Don’t save your ideas for another day – more will come to you. Go with those ideas now!

I’m sure this was purely in relation to the creative process, but I think the premise can be applied to other things in life, much like the previous rule.

Act on your ideas! Do it now! Seize the day!

This is all very positive, but let’s not blindly ignore the undertone here. I take this ultimately as warning you one of two things: you will either forget your fantastic idea because you are living with early-onset dementia and your idea will be lost forever; or do it now before you die, because your demise is coming for you and coming for you fast. Life is fleeting and you will soon be in the dark, soupy swamp of the unknown. Everyone you know is going to die and soon your soul will flake away from this earth and everything you ever thought will disappear and become meaningless. 

Don’t let your critics stop you from creating

This is supposed to tell you to keep drawing/writing/creating even when people tell you it’s a waste of time. Even when they put you down. Even when they tell you you’re never going to make money with your pathetic craft.

And it does.

However, this rule only applies if you actually have talent. I mean, if you’re good at whatever creative thing you’re putting your mind to, tell those naggy bastards to shove it. Because they don’t know anything and you’re going to go on to create a multi-million dollar television series. These critics are not your friends, but are great, sloppy shits who seek only to bring you down to their shitty level by smothering you in excrement. Don’t let them smear you.

But if you’re actually quite shit, maybe your critics are trying to help. In which case, maybe you should listen to them. If what you’re creating is cringeworthy or looks like a drunk two-year-old drew it using their toes, then it’s best that your utter shitness is brought to your attention.

You can either give up and spend your time on a more profitable pursuit – like running a nursing home, which will make you millions thanks to the rapidly aging population – or getting better at it.

So, this rule can be translated to two things: don’t be friends with shits and don’t be shit. I prefer a combination of both.

Look for the hell yeah moments in life – have as many of those as possible

This is one I can really learn from.

Because these days my idea of living large is having a second bowl of All Bran. I mean, I love the taste and texture of All Bran, and I love the idea of using fibre to speed up the digestive process and I bloody love a good, cold milk. But this isn’t even considered an exciting cereal. And going for a second helping of the stuff was the most exciting thing I did with my Sunday. I don’t want the highlight of my life to be a fibre-rich cereal. I want it to at least have a few nuts or even some dried apricots, you know?

Bu then, you also don’t want to be something sweet and colourful like Fruit Loops ether. Because while it may charm you with it’s sugary taste and rainbow of colours, it is devoid of any real nutritional substance. The colours are artificial. The sweeteners are artificial. Your happiness is artificial.

No, it’s best to be a nice, decadent muesli.

Good grief, I’m comparing life to cereal. I am boring. 19-year-old Dannielle must be furious.

So there you have it! Follow these rules and you might continue living a mediocre existence until the weight of your failed attempts at success crushes you into a pancake of disappointment. But you also may possibly become the greatest thing to happen to pop culture who doesn’t start with a K.