Celebrating the New You; Grieving the Old You — Simultaneously

November 2023 was just…

Wow.

I’ve just lived through and experienced the most fulfilling 30 days I’ve ever had the pleasure of living on this earth since say… 1998.

Even looking at that last sentence is making me choke up a bit.

The cylinders once caked in dirt have been wiped clean – with some remarkably easy elbow grease — and now they’re all firing, effortlessly. Inspiration seems to be around every corner and I can’t get the ideas down fast enough. It’s been glorious.

This, oh this is what all those self-help books were talking about.

But 25 years is a long, long time to be parched in the desert, just surviving, not thriving. Looking for this supposed oasis everybody’s talking at me about.

The conundrum is, you didn’t truly believe it could get better, maybe. After so many years of blah, you can’t be fully motivated to change or take the facing-a-fear actions if you have no idea how truly wonderful it can be — if you have no point of reference.

Like the frog in the slowly-heating pot — having no idea danger lurks in this continued stasis, yet never taking the lifesaving leap.

Wait, this is supposed to be a positive story!

And it is.

Something truly shifted and clicked, just 30 days ago.

After 18 months of analysis-paralysis (and receiving too many Stories You May Like emails showcasing writers being actual writers), I finally stepped onto Medium around November 3rd.

And a month and a half later I sit here with published stories, a bountiful cornucopia of amazing writers’ work in my ever-bulging Reading List, a real sense of community, zero time or interest to scroll Facebook or Instagram at all and a reason to joyfully face the day.

I’m betting plenty of you have found equal joy and community here.

Forty days ago I would’ve told you I was dabbling in writing, trying to be a writer, trying to grow into being a writer.

By November 10th? I’d planted that writer flag and staked my claim, baby.

Yet…

I can’t wave away that tiny flicker of melancholy. That niggling sense of mourning over decades possibly wasted.

After 30 solid days of writing — living for me alone — I made a mistake and stepped back into doing one of my pay-the-bills jobs, just for a few hours, just to make a few bucks, just to keep that promise, just to keep my hat in.

Just.

And the difference walloped me in the heart.

It was so tedious, such a waste of my precious hours.

The newly enlightened me thought, This is how I’ve been getting through the days… for two decades?

During my most precious-youth years!? Always saying yes and being a good employee, making someone else rich, making someone else’s business run smoothly?

Just searing pain for the loss.

Sounds a bit dramatic. But it’s a loss. I cater-waitered all those parties, I typed all those transcripts, I said yes again and again, on the treadmill of just-one-last-time-I-need-the-money, always the responsible one.

And when I finally had that little bit of extra money, I was too exhausted or didn’t truly believe in what I was supposedly pursuing to invest in that expensive acting class, to fund that voiceover home studio, to take my skills to the next level.

I was an okay actor. I’ve been an okay voiceover artist.

But never in 25 years did I gift myself a month like this last one, where I went 30 days without doing the pay-the-bills jobs and instead invested that time on Medium building something for me, my goals and my future. Feeling that fire inside. That belief.

…

It’s easy to look back from atop the mountain, to see your folly.

Perhaps it’s just the wisdom of maturity.

I can’t be too hard on myself. I was a guy with a writer’s brain and temperament but never knew it, who as a youth had been censored by my folks, my church, my society. “Don’t ever write about us. Don’t ever air that dirty laundry. Don’t write about that topic. Don’t ever embarass us.”

Now, I’m reveling in this glorious new place.

I wish I’d found it sooner.

So fear not, all is fine. Who knew it was possible to be gloriously thriving and mourning something simultaneously?

I give my younger self a gigantic hug.

As I enjoy December on Medium — month two! — as I continue my perfect-for-my-soul writer mindset, I am steeped in gratitude.

Aahhh, this is what it feels like to know your purpose.

I’m glad I stuck around long enough to at least find it. And live it.

—

This post was previously published on medium.com.

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From The Good Men Project on Medium

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