A Blog on Purpose

Detours aren't mistakes. I don't believe massive misjudgments and awful situations are either. And I can't tell you how much gratitude I have for the ability to feel this way. Life can throw some curveballs that make you lose heart. Luckily, that often seems to create an even stronger faith down the line.

When I was younger, I was blindly and stubbornly positive. I've mentioned this plenty of times, and my old blog posts more than evidence that. I adamently looked for the meaning and higher purpose in everything. And I honestly think that I wasn't too far off base in doing so. The thing is, I don't believe I'd adopted those practices for all the right reasons. In short, I'm pretty certain I was trying to cope with life's uncertainties, changes and crises by fiercely insisting that, not only was everything always fine and good and going to be okay, but rather, that I was fine. I was good. I was GREAT no matter what. Grief couldn't wreck me. Loss couldn't either. I couldn't be taken down. And I think that last part is where I missed the mark.

Even though I'd had a tough upbringing, even though I was in a lot of transition by age thirty, I still hadn't experienced enough of the particular brands of loss and pain that would completely break my resolve, burn me to the ground and cull beauty from ashes. I wasn't ready to let go of the protections I'd learned to surround myself with in order to face a scary world. But life keeps happening, and if you take chances, it'll happen hard and scary enough that the pain will get you eventually. Agony will find you. You can and will be broken. But the amazing thing is that the real miracles happen in the dark. The incubations and transformations come with unease, with wounds. You earn your badges there. And then life rebirths you in a screaming, bloody, powerful way, one that insists upon its desire to see you back on your journey.

I've talked about my decision to pursue screenwriting. This is largely because of a renewed sense of purpose, or destiny. I wrote that I'd always wanted to be involved in the creative arts and entertainment industry since I was tiny. And that's a fact. But as I prayed, consulted wise teachers and went deeper within, I understood somewhat better that it was not a desire to perform that compelled me. In fact, I've had the opposite issue most of my life. I was given gifts, but was deeply uncomfortable with both the concept of a spotlight and the idea of "performing". I wanted to express, to share emotions and love through music and words, but I didn't want to be inauthentic. I didn't want to pretend. I didn't want to "perform" and had a fear of truly being "seen". What I've actually craved for all these years is the manifestation of the visions in my heart and my head come to life, whether it's through books, screenplays, singing, acting, public speaking or any other means available. I've felt the benefit and utter transformative miracle of these offerings from other talented souls who have helped bring mine back to life when it was time. And this fact really compels me. I crave and appreciate being on the spectator's side of inspiration. I believe inspiration is a beautiful offering to give another human being, a lifesaving one, and when someone tells just the right tale, sings the right lyrics, hits the right notes or speaks the right mantra to move my spirit into courageous action, there is no better gift. I thank God for people who pour the overflowing heart and soul of themselves into these things to share with the world. Such acts of utter, brave vulnerability feed our spirits.

In my gut, right deep down where my instincts kick and yell for attention, my body has felt it---the call to do such things, to use a depth of emotion and expressiveness in helping to heal people and bring them hope again. If I am doing this with my life, no matter what form it takes, I am in league with my purpose. I have known it since birth. I've felt it with such insistence and passion that nothing I've ever tried to settle for in its stead has ever been right.

I was more on the direct course for a while. When I wrote The Light Series my heart felt full. I was expressing a world and ideas. It was a start, but it was only a start. And then all the proverbial shit happened. Lots and lots of life. It gave me layers. It gave me grit. It gave me anger and grief and shock. All of these were treasures in disguise, because if you wish to express human experiences properly, you need to be acquainted with them fully, and I guess I had no choice but to experience some more.

I've regained a renewed positivity. In spite of anything dark that may have temporarily crept into my life to test my spirit and perhaps try and break it, the opposite has happened. I've found in myself a more realistic optimist, one based in clarity and renewed, strengthened faith. I'm in possession of an arsenal now that I'd never touched before. I am not so naive. I love myself fiercely and refuse to accept others' darkness into my soul. I better recognize and trust my instincts. I trust God, as well.

Several years ago, just after my brother died, I wrote a song called "Sun Still Shines". I really enjoyed writing the song, but it felt odd at the time. I almost had trouble completely relating to the message, like it was written for someone else---or written for a me that I hadn't become yet. When I listened to the song again recently, it all felt relatable. The words made sense for my life now, and I half wonder if I was writing that song for future me and didn't know it. There's a part that says, "I guess the trick is to stay tender, even as the callous grows, from battle cries, and last goodbyes, I realize I still believe in times of gladness... died a hundred times escaping from the madness."

There's a part of most of us that has always known, at the very least, what our lives were not supposed to feel like. If we're lucky, that helps lead us in the direction of what they are. And if we're even luckier, we feel that surge of need, the need to follow our instinctive calling. Stay on that road if you're inspired, or find your way back to it. Start today, if you can.

So many observations of the dying conducted by psychologists and hospice nurses seem to reveal the same end-of-life regrets: What would my life have been if only. "If only", as author Brene Brown says, "I'd shown up for my own life." If only's are tragically preventable regrets. Fear of failure or fear of success, fear of vulnerability, really, is the only thing standing in our way of destiny. I believe that when we are born with such strong-held feelings, these are divine. These are planted into our souls, and life has our back in seeing them fulfilled. Every failure, every epic downturn, only adds to the depth of our character and the credible relatability of our stories.  So don't let your dreams die with you. Fight for them with excitement--success or failure. They are your entire reason for being here, after all, and your greatest source of joy.

I'll leave you with this magnificent piece of writing from Brene Brown's Manifesto:

"We are the authors of our lives. We write our own daring endings.
We craft love from heartbreak, Compassion from shame, Grace from disappointment, Courage from failure.

Showing up is our power.

Story is our way home. Truth is our song. We are the brave and brokenhearted. We are rising strong."