I was called a grifter. I sat at a funeral. A reader said I'm holding a flashlight, not giving instructions. All three moments pointed to the same truth.
I still have, sitting under a split keyboard so I can see it, the a small photo of one of the most beautiful souls I have ever known. It is on the card from his funeral, which I did some years ago. His family were stunned by how people spoke of him as we celebrated his life. They only saw him as an addict. We knew him as a poet, a musician and songwriter, a playwright and reader, a man who could listen and love, a man who, yes, kicked down my office door looking for money for his next hit, but who also, if you needed him, would show up no matter the time of day or night. Once, he turned his 18-wheeler around in downtown Toronto, driving it out of the city and through the next three towns to bring me a can of gasoline when I'd stupidly failed to fill my tank. And before he did it, was emphatic about instructing me how to get and stay safe while he came for me. He was a man who could get clean, lead, love and be loved, but he was also a man who, like so many others, was no match for the sorts of weaponry designed in the labs of pharmaceutical companies.
I love the flashlight image. It reminds me of an exhibit room in Freud’s house in London. You are given a flashlight to go into a completely dark room and then try to find the various objects. It’s a perfect explanation of psychotherapy. I’m not afraid of the dark. I have a flashlight and I will help you seek and find what you are looking for.
Thx! You just gave me a terrific idea! I am preparing to release sweatshirt with my logo " we don't retire, we re-wire" and maybe I'll just have it imprinted on Flashlights! fun! thx for the idea!
….Honestly, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you are either following me around, or channeling Doolydia, my “pirate” macaw. But you have it SO right. There is no need to be asking ANYONE for permission to live your own life, the way YOU want to live it. None a-tall. It’s just incredibly baffling to feel the need (when I actually glom onto the fact that oy, THAT is what’s stopping me). Permission! “Permission granted, lovely old goat, you!” And even then it’s baby steps because I’m afraid (yep I said it) that something awful will happen and it will be my fault..see that spiral there? Digging out one step at a time, putting the dirt keeping me down, under my feet to help lift me up…using it to learn and gain courage. Ridiculous on one hand…but yeah, not only was I groomed but I was “groomed”. Thank you. Keep focusing on those tiny moments…they do lead to the big picture, don’t they?
Oh my god, between you and Doolydia the pirate macaw, I may have competition. And I’m honored.
You just named the whole thing so cleanly. That moment when it finally clicks that permission is the invisible gate. Not money. Not age. Not circumstance. Permission. And once you see it, you cannot unsee it.
Also, thank you for saying the quiet part out loud. The fear that if you choose yourself, something awful will happen and it will be your fault. That spiral lives in so many women and nobody names it without shame. You just did. Bravely. Honestly.
Those baby steps you’re taking are not ridiculous. They are how courage is built in a nervous system that learned survival early. One scoop of dirt at a time, under your feet instead of on your back. That’s not poetry. That’s practice.
And yes, the tiny moments absolutely lead to the big picture. Always. That’s how real change happens. Quietly. Incrementally. With humor, truth, and the occasional pirate macaw cheering from the sidelines.
I still have, sitting under a split keyboard so I can see it, the a small photo of one of the most beautiful souls I have ever known. It is on the card from his funeral, which I did some years ago. His family were stunned by how people spoke of him as we celebrated his life. They only saw him as an addict. We knew him as a poet, a musician and songwriter, a playwright and reader, a man who could listen and love, a man who, yes, kicked down my office door looking for money for his next hit, but who also, if you needed him, would show up no matter the time of day or night. Once, he turned his 18-wheeler around in downtown Toronto, driving it out of the city and through the next three towns to bring me a can of gasoline when I'd stupidly failed to fill my tank. And before he did it, was emphatic about instructing me how to get and stay safe while he came for me. He was a man who could get clean, lead, love and be loved, but he was also a man who, like so many others, was no match for the sorts of weaponry designed in the labs of pharmaceutical companies.
I love the flashlight image. It reminds me of an exhibit room in Freud’s house in London. You are given a flashlight to go into a completely dark room and then try to find the various objects. It’s a perfect explanation of psychotherapy. I’m not afraid of the dark. I have a flashlight and I will help you seek and find what you are looking for.
Thx! You just gave me a terrific idea! I am preparing to release sweatshirt with my logo " we don't retire, we re-wire" and maybe I'll just have it imprinted on Flashlights! fun! thx for the idea!
….Honestly, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you are either following me around, or channeling Doolydia, my “pirate” macaw. But you have it SO right. There is no need to be asking ANYONE for permission to live your own life, the way YOU want to live it. None a-tall. It’s just incredibly baffling to feel the need (when I actually glom onto the fact that oy, THAT is what’s stopping me). Permission! “Permission granted, lovely old goat, you!” And even then it’s baby steps because I’m afraid (yep I said it) that something awful will happen and it will be my fault..see that spiral there? Digging out one step at a time, putting the dirt keeping me down, under my feet to help lift me up…using it to learn and gain courage. Ridiculous on one hand…but yeah, not only was I groomed but I was “groomed”. Thank you. Keep focusing on those tiny moments…they do lead to the big picture, don’t they?
Oh my god, between you and Doolydia the pirate macaw, I may have competition. And I’m honored.
You just named the whole thing so cleanly. That moment when it finally clicks that permission is the invisible gate. Not money. Not age. Not circumstance. Permission. And once you see it, you cannot unsee it.
Also, thank you for saying the quiet part out loud. The fear that if you choose yourself, something awful will happen and it will be your fault. That spiral lives in so many women and nobody names it without shame. You just did. Bravely. Honestly.
Those baby steps you’re taking are not ridiculous. They are how courage is built in a nervous system that learned survival early. One scoop of dirt at a time, under your feet instead of on your back. That’s not poetry. That’s practice.
And yes, the tiny moments absolutely lead to the big picture. Always. That’s how real change happens. Quietly. Incrementally. With humor, truth, and the occasional pirate macaw cheering from the sidelines.
I’m really glad you’re here.
I and the pirate macaw hug you.