“Follow your bliss and the universe will open doors for you
where there were only walls.”
- Joseph Campbell
I hope I do not come across as one of those self-satisfied
jerks who thinks he has it all figured out, because nothing could be further
from the truth. I am just as scared and insecure as you are. I “self-medicate”
when necessary and routinely find myself wide-awake at four AM wondering: “what
the fuck am I doing with my life?” I question the decisions I have made and
worry that I have messed everything up by quitting my job and chasing my
dreams.
I didn’t really have a choice.
I saw myself at 72 (don’t ask me why) and didn’t like what I
saw. This older version of myself was not very happy. He had a lot of regrets. He
kept repeating the same question over and over: “why didn’t I try?”
Somewhere, deep inside, I always wanted to be a storyteller.
From an early age I was fascinated with legends and myths
and the idea that history and language could be passed down from generation to
generation thru the spoken word. My mother, who was not religious but very
spiritual, took me to hear a First Nations Elder speak when I was 10 and it was
mesmerizing. I sat listening, as if in a trance, as he related the history of
his people to the crowd and I was hooked.
It was shortly after this encounter that I began to write
everything down. Scribbles on scraps of paper squirrelled away for safekeeping
gave way to notebooks filled with nonsense and eventually journals recounting
my every move. I started writing silly stories for my Grandmother and Aunt who
were my first champions. The encouragement and praise I received from them felt
different, somehow real and important, like what I had to say mattered. I had
found my voice and something else new to me… bliss.
For many a reason this true notion of who I am – a
storyteller – was abandoned. The revelation that I was gay at an early age, the
demons of an abusive upbringing and that nasty thing called “real life” all
played important parts in my (self imposed?) exile. Suffice it to say I let go
of my voice.
And with my voice went my bliss.
This is not to say that in the vast amount of years between
10 and 42 that I was a miserable S.O.B. – far from it. I have had the same ups
and downs that everybody else has. I have had tremendous moments of joy and pure
happiness, but nothing that sat with me in quite the same way as when I first
discovered my path.
I have always been what I call a “closet writer,” someone
who lays bare their soul for the page but steadfastly refuses to share. Fear of
rejection, a serious lack of self-esteem and the inability to believe have been
the driving forces in my life for so many years that even the idea of sharing induced
waves of nausea.
Until I met the 72 year-old version of myself and he said
“why didn’t I try?” That was a little over a year ago.
My blog had its first birthday on March 30th and
I suppose this post is a celebration of that fact. An acknowledgement that I
did try, that I took a risk and put myself out there. This blog and the positive
feedback I’ve received have enabled me to rediscover my path.
I am a storyteller.
I will always advocate following your passions. You know what it is that you must do with your life. Walk unafraid.
Do the thing that scares you the most. Try.
I do not have it all figured out, not by a long shot, but I
do know this: when it is four in the morning and I am wide-awake drowning in
doubt, there is a lifeboat. There is something floating on the surface of it
all, a calming place that I can go for peace.
A memory? A treasure reclaimed?
Call it what you will, I call it bliss.
I think you made the "write" choice, Rob. I remember a grade school poem of yours (that won an award, if I recall correctly.) It's a bit of Haiku about your connection to nature. I also remember a story you wrote, titled The Mischievious Plumber, about a Plumber who was called to fix "Farah's Faucet", so you were always a writer.
ReplyDeleteI wrote a short story called "Farrah's Faucet" and nobody knew I was gay?!?!!?
DeleteHey, I'm not sure that YOU knew you were gay when you wrote the story. The title wasn't Farrah's Faucet, it was The Mischievious Plumber. You and Sebastian also drew up a legal contract involving sharing a Lego man and the privilege of sleeping with a kitten that belonged to one of you (sounds like a Grisham novel in the making). I think you were about 8 years old, perhaps even younger when you did that.
DeleteI have goosie bumps after reading this ... am so glad you discovered your life boat ... you have been an inspiration in more ways than you know and again ... here you are blazing your trail. Looking fwd to a scotch with 72yo Robbi.
ReplyDeleteThank you for following your dreams. You are fearless and inspiring.
ReplyDeleteXo
Dom
You are very eloquent and have a wonderful way of making me see the world differently. Also you are way ahead of me when I was 42!
ReplyDeleteKeep writing.
I am so lucky to know you. You are a brilliant man and I adore you! I look forward to your every word.
ReplyDeleteKeeks