The Right Treasure Map Can Change Your Life

I’d been hiking for an hour in the arid landscape of Patagonia when I came upon an old cabin. It appeared to be a little guest house.

A well-worn dirt path traced from the cabin to a large home in the distance. Just then, a grizzled looking man spoke to me from the cabin window.

“Can I help ya?”

“Uh, yeah. Sorry. Kind of got lost. I’m visiting friends in town.” With that, I set my backpack down. The old man opened the weathered cabin door and ambled out.

“Visitors sometimes get turned around out here. Or maybe it’s the spirits. The woods and rocks. They have their ways,” he said, drawing on a Camel cigarette. Then he coughed. A smoker’s cough. Harsh and rattling with phlegm.

“Is this your place?” I asked.

“Nope. The whole spread belongs to Bob and Carole. They let me stay here. To write. Artists need their patrons, by God.” His voice was gravel and silt. His face and hands were tan, wrinkled, and as worn as an old leather bag.

“Come inside, son. Have something cold to drink. I’ll draw you a little map to find your way back to town.” He exhaled, the smoke trailing as he turned towards the cabin.

“Much obliged,” I said. Walking inside the cabin, I noticed shelves of books and a small writing desk with notepads and journals strewn about.

If you want different results, become a different person

He told me his name was Jim and that he divided his time between Montana and Arizona. I was unfamiliar with his work, but apparently, he was a writer of some acclaim. I told him I was a landscape painter. I slid a few canvas panels out of my backpack to show him.

“Nice work. You’ve captured a bit of the dryness and solitude here,” he said.

“Well, thanks. I’m in a few galleries but sales are slow. Honestly, I came to Arizona to explore some new landscape themes. Maybe figure out why my art’s not selling better. My friends were kind enough to put me up.”

“Tell you what,” Jim said, “You give me one of them landscapes of yours and I’ll give you some advice. What do you say?” He smiled and took another drag on his cigarette.

“What the heck, why not,” I said. With that, he surveyed a few of my studies and selected one. “I like this one, it captures the arid feel around here,” Jim said. And then he pulled his chair close, squinted, and began.

“Son, if you want different results, you need to become a different person.”

“Come again,” I said.

“People always talk about finding themselves but what they should be doing is creating themselves. Experimenting, changing things up.”

He looked around the cabin. “When I quit my job years ago as an accountant, I began writing with a computer. The early stuff was okay but I realized I relied too much on the Internet. And on copying other writers I liked. I wasn’t capturing enough truth. My truth.”

Jim pointed at his writing desk. “I don’t use a laptop to write. I do it longhand. My editor hates it but the work is more organic. More honest. The long walks with the dogs help, too. Honestly, the problem with all those internet gurus dispensing advice is that one size doesn’t fit all. What works for you may not for me.”

Jim held up a ballpoint pen. “This is all I need and some paper. You can read, troll the Internet and travel. But then you got to shut all that out. Tap the truth inside you. Become the person you need to be to create the work that’s inside you.”

You have to pay your debts

I looked around the spare cabin. Lots of books, a writing desk. “Why do you come here to work? I mean, I hear what you’re saying about the solitude. But it sounds like you’re successful enough to afford your own place.”

Photo by Romanas on Unsplash

“Because you have to pay your debts,” Jim said. “Bob and Carole helped me when I was starting out. They’re literary agents and they took a gamble on an unknown writer from Montana. So I come and stay for a few months. Do readings in town at the bookshop they own.”

Jim flicked his cigarette in an ashtray, looked down, and said, “You got to pay your debts. It’s not always easy or pretty. But it’s how you can get up each day and look in the mirror. You can’t become the best version of yourself until you pay your debts. Maybe even learn to forgive yourself for past mistakes.”

Improve your art by letting go

The sun was starting to hang low and I knew I had to get back. But somehow this old writer in a cabin touched me. So much wisdom. So I asked him, “Jim, you’ve had a look at my art. What can I do to sell more?”

“You’ll find your way to that answer,” Jim said, “but one thing that might help is learning to let go.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Well, we all start by learning the basics. Then we try to emulate our idols. It’s natural. We look at what works for others and chase that. Except it seldom works. We have to find the courage to let go of all that. When we do, we start to listen to what’s inside of us. All the greats reached that place. Where they tapped into their own brilliant authenticity.”

I smiled at the truth of what Jim just said.

“You’re a tonalist painter,” Jim noted. “But I see a touch of Russell Chatham in your work. Maybe a bit of George Inness too.”

I dropped my head. He nailed it. Two of my favorite painters.

“Don’t feel bad. I used to think I disguised my affection for Hemingway. Until my editor called me on it. Which was good. Because it got me past that. Helped me dig deeper. When I did, my work started to take off.”

The treasure map

I thanked Jim for his hospitality and promised to check out his books. We shook hands and armed with his little map drawing, I made my way back to town.

A few years passed and I’d read some of Jim’s splendid novels and poetry. I adopted his advice and my paintings indeed began to improve and sell well.

Jim’s wisdom changed my life. And then one day my wife found me sobbing. I had just read that Jim passed away. She held me, without saying a word.

The next day, my wife took the little map Jim had drawn and had it framed. Beneath the frame, she added an inscription: “Jim’s treasure map.” I love her for that.

The map hangs to this day in the studio cabin I built in the woods. Where I go to commune with the spirits of nature, let go, and remember the old man who gave me the map to a better future.

Before you go

I’m John P. Weiss. I draw cartoons, paint, and write about life. Get on my free email list here for the latest artwork and essays.

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This post was previously published on Medium.

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