Singer and Songwriter George Michael passed away on December 25, 2016. George was 53 years old, a year younger than me. Throughout much of his life, George had suffered with his sexuality, depression, and drug addiction. Elton John once acknowledged his dear friend George Michael as “the greatest songwriter of his generation.” Academy Award Winner, Songwriter, and Producer Mark Ronson said that George’s Freedom 90 was “the Mona Lisa” of pop songs. In 2023, George Michael was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Nothing, but mad love and respect to George.
In his interview in George Michael: Freedom (2017), George talked about his possible legacy:
I hope that people think of me as someone who had some kind of integrity. I hope I’m remembered for that. Very unlikely [otherwise] . . . [t]hings would have been a waste of time. Wasted effort.
Rest in peace, George. Your life was not a waste of time. Your music gave me joy, filled my soul, and gave me hope. Nothing, but mad love and respect to you, my brother. “And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.”
***
Like George, I know that I will not define my legacy. Others I’ve touched and made a difference for in some way or another will define my legacy for me. Also like George, I hope that maybe people will think that I had integrity, that I was as authentic as I could be, and that I was more about them than myself, at least for the most part. Perhaps my life on Planet Earth would not have been a waste of time. Maybe I made the world a little better place than when I came into it. That’s my sincere hope, but there is a distinctly different possibility given where I started, from my zero.
When I was a little boy, Dad scared me to my very soul. Whatever I did or didn’t do only made him so angry at me. I was Dad’s greatest disappointment in life. Even as a young boy, I profoundly got that. I would never be good enough for Dad. I would never be good enough for anyone, never be good enough for me, too.
When I was 14 years old I stopped growing. I was the short fat, ugly geek, not good at any sports. There was no chance in hell that a pretty girl would ever like me, much less look at me. I forfeited any kind of social life. I didn’t need any more disappointment. I studied hard and got good grades. I got my bachelor’s and master’s degrees in electrical engineering. Yet, in my mind, I wasn’t good enough to get what I really wanted.
Consequently, I spent much of my adult life proving that I was strong enough, that I was smart enough, and that I was just plain good enough to be loved. Still, being more of anything would never be enough. That’s the human design.
When Dad terrified me to my soul, my Mom said, “Jonny, slow down.” She reminded me that things had a way of working out and that there was nothing wrong with me. Yet, being eight years old, young and stupid, I didn’t always get that. I was very angry, very angry at myself. Really, I was just so very sad. As I grew older and a little wiser, I got that Mom only had unconditional love for me. She always had my back. I had unconditional love for Mom, too. She was my North Star, my Peter Pan, who guided me to the “Second star to the right and straight on till morning.” Mom taught me that kindness and gentleness define a good man.
According to the First Noble Truth of Buddhism, there will always be suffering in life. I lived that. The Second Noble Truth is the source of suffering. My source of suffering was my abusive childhood trauma. The Fourth Noble Truth of Buddhism is the path to end suffering. On my path to ending suffering, I trained in Aikido with the late Mizukami Sensei and Ishibashi Sensei and worked with my therapist, Lance Miller.
The late Mizukami Sensei taught me Aikido for 25 years until he passed away. Sensei became a father to me, teaching me what it is to be a good man: to be of service to others and to make a difference. Sensei got that I had to prove myself. He said, “Just train. It’s not like you have to get somewhere.” With Sensei, I wasn’t scared to be me. I had the freedom, the space to invent the greater-than versions of myself whatever that might be.
Mizukami Sensei taught both Ishibashi Sensei and me. I’m Godan (5th degree black belt), because of Mizukami Sensei and Ishibashi Sensei. Now, Ishibashi Sensei is my Sensei, my big brother. He said, “The purpose of Aikido is to release your fear.” In Aikido, when the 250-pound man punches toward my face, I wait it out. I enter the attack, enter what I fear, and die with honor. Sensei said, “The safest place to be is under the attack, in the danger.”
I enter the attack. I take a glancing blow if I have to. I’m not always going to get away scot-free. It’s one time. I don’t oppose the attack. If I defend, I can be defeated. In the center of the attack, in the danger, I apply the Aikido technique to myself. I apply nikkyo (wristlock) to myself and match the attack with yoko-iriminage (strike to the side of the head to the attacker). I choose to let the attacker pass or end the attack. The attacker chooses to get struck in the face or stand down from his attack. We both choose.
Every time I enter the attack, enter what I fear, I let go of my fear inside that I’m not good enough. Although my fear inside never completely disappears, every time I enter what I fear, I let go more of my fear inside me. I free me. I heal me. That’s a meaningful life, not a waste of time. Not a wasted life.
I look at my fear of Dad, my fear of never being good enough with Lance. I enter what I fear. That’s the safest place to be. I don’t forgive Dad for his cruelty and unkindness to Mom, my sister Carol, and me. I forgave Dad for being afraid, for not knowing how to be a father or husband, for being imperfectly human. I forgive myself for not being strong enough to stand up to Dad and protect Mom. I forgive myself for being imperfectly human, too. I love myself for who I am and forgive myself for who I’m not. I practice that over, and over, and over again. That is also a meaningful life, not a waste of time. Not a wasted life.
What will I be remembered for when I’m gone? I will never know by definition. That’s the human design. The gift of our mortality. Like George Michael, I hope that people will say that I had integrity and that I loved and forgave myself. That I was imperfectly human. That I cared about others more than myself, that at least I tried. In the bigger picture, I hope that my life in some way brightened the world just a little. Just a little. That would make me happy inside.
***
