My life changed on a cold and involuntarily night of solitude in
February a few years ago. I was home alone and listening to John Coltrane’s
“Sentimental Mood,” the vibrating silence wrapped around me with a fleeting comfort.
I was restless and distracted, I felt like an innocent man in an interrogation
room. I didn't belong there, maybe if I paced back and forth, I’ll figure out
how to get out of this. I decided to be proactive and have a girly, pampering
night. I might as well put the time to good use; my frizzy hair wouldn't tame
itself. As I stood in the mirror and fought with my kinky tendrils, I was
thinking obsessively about the fact that no one in my entire phone book was
available and I was stuck alone with myself. You would think I’d enjoy the
alone time, but back then- it was death to me.
I was transplanted, against my will, to a rural town just
outside of Sacramento when I was 15 years old. Kids drove tractors to school,
cowboy boots and rodeo belts were the normal fashion attire. Some days, I felt
like I moved one of the Southern States. What a strange change of pace for me,
considering I grew up in an intellectual hub within one of America’s famous
melting pot cultures. In this new place, I was an outcast in every circle I
approached. There were cliques, sects and every kind of isolating group you can
think of. Everything about me then (inside and out) was different and the same
things that were celebrated about me during my first 15 years were now viewed
as toxic and dangerous. I was confused
and in a state of constant bewilderment. Opportunities for friendship were
brushed aside, ridiculed and rejected without hesitation. I was trying to
connect to what was available to me. In a sense, I took a compromising approach
to these connections and forgot that was the plan. The compromise: being
inauthentic.As I looked in the mirror, the feeling of isolation and worthlessness was paralyzing. I studied my face judgmentally as if something about my looks would be offensive enough that I'd been sentenced to these last hours of solitude. I was 25 and in the midst of the superficial and inauthentic party and bullshit phenomena of the early twenty something culture- I was empty and unhappy; navigating in a stupor of deprecation masked as self-acceptance. It was physical torture and emotionally stunting.
Suddenly, my Grandmother’s voice rang in my head with her retort after I’d lament about how I had no friends, “Stop trying to make friends and be your friend.”Then it hit me like a ton of bricks- I didn’t know myself. Up until then, I thought that I had a sense of who I was, but I was nothing. I had spent the last ten years mimicking qualities of the people that I felt I should have admired in the hopes of being accepted. My own champion like qualities and fortuitous traits were buried. And just like that, something erupted within me, a force of power I had never recognized before rushed through me. My shield of resiliency had immodestly made itself available to me. It was almost as if my essence was awakened, my body purged of all the toxins and negativity put onto me by constant isolation and rejection. I was covered in a burning feeling of desire and focus.
My powerful ability to become anything I wanted in life had been there the entire time, waiting for me to harness it. Maintaining my integrity and love of self, I will always provide with a customized best friend. I took a step back and surveyed all the trials and tribulations that I had made it through over the short 24 years of my life and saw that I had remarkable super powers within me. They’d instinctively act on my behalf in times of despair without me realizing. I was too focused on lost opportunities and completed actions in time that I was unaware of my super human- like qualities in the actual moment.
I’ve been worrying about myself and it’s been easier. I’ve made changes and been changed. Loose ends have tied themselves and reveries of nostalgia have packed their bags and left my present state of being. I’ve been open to new opportunities regarding my career, my education, my hobbies and relationships. I guess you could say I’ve been on a journey of self-realization. Ahem, a heroes journey if you will. Each moment in time, like the thin layer of tobacco smoke in the hair of a second hand-smoker, had stayed with me longer than I had needed or realized. Growing up, I thought my ability to recall situations with the most miniscule details was a positive gift and was secretly proud of myself for being able to hold the past so vividly in my present mind. What a way to live your life- your back constantly toward oncoming traffic. These days, my values and dreams were far more important for me than the approval of others.
I’ve pushed myself to use my intuition and courage to go after the things in life I want. My path of self-discovery had just begun with the continuing pursuit of my college degree, taking up writing again, forging ahead in a challenging career along side of my experience with Corporate America, pursuing love from a place of love- rather than desperation and addiction, nurturing meaningful relationships, complete self-acceptance and exploring my spirituality. Everything that was frightening to me has come into my life since I decided to give myself my best. Those shadows of doubt, long gone like the evaporated fog, have no more control over my destiny. There have been times filled with shock, wonder, gratitude and awe; others brimming with fear, anger, injustice and disgust. However much I’ve grown, I know I have more to do.
