I think my greatest struggle in this life is with the way we, our efforts and contributions, are valued… or not. If I am going to be completely honest, the real reason why I did not pursue a career in the arts from the beginning is because I was made well aware the things I do that, I believe, are of real value are not remunerated in a profit driven meritocracy. They cannot be monetized. And, in truth, they should not. So, to live as the (apparently inspiring) storyteller that I am, is to assume a posture of poverty.
I was also conditioned to see myself as a burden not a blessing as the deeper, emotional nature of what I offer has been increasingly devalued in the western world over the course of my lifetime. By dedicating myself to sharing my true value with my society, I become a financial burden. Ultimately devalued.
Having spent my life believing my purpose was to earn my keep, I pursued material stability. I have a deep, truly moral, aversion to the accumulation of wealth. Which is what makes my inability to dispose of things quite a perplexing problem. In my attempts to assimilate to a way of life imposed, not chosen or nurtured, I sought sources of comfort and developed strategies to to cope that were, ultimately, self-destructive. At 46 years old, after a lifetime of tying to make myself fit, my life is everything I never wanted it to be. The last three months of 2018 gave me hope that I could find a way to change that. However, reality crept in over the holidays. And I am, once again, faced with the choice: live my truth or survive.
Yet, I know now that isn’t the choice at all. What I need is to continue to shift my perspective. I am hanging on to a life I didn’t want. I need to let go. I need to believe that I can make a way to live my truth and survive. If I can’t do that, no one else can.
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