Finding My Euphoria – Speaking Out

Can I tell you about the best high I’ve ever felt?
In all fairness, you should already know about this because you were there, at least, in more ways than you can imagine.
Then again, you are me and I am you and we have always been one and the same. Or so I hope.
You have always been my other half and my reflection to which I can see me as I am. You are the grounding agent that helps me and more, you are the balance to an imbalanced life in an imbalanced world, and as the imbalanced child, or as the young adult who grew to become a man, you have always held this station in my heart—my heart, my life, my love, and my voice of reason.

You are the steam that pushes my engine, even when it seems as if my pistons jam or when my ignition refuses to turn over. Somehow, you are the primary force that pushes me to get out of bed, by any means, and no matter what.

Either way –
I never thought that anyone would listen to me.
Why would they? I never thought that anyone would care about what I have to say. Never in a million years.
Not at all.
I never thought I would speak in rooms filled with people. I never thought that I would speak in schools and, least of all, I never believed that I would be considered a keynote speaker.
As it stands now, I never thought that I would be someone who walked through a college campus and hear someone say, “That’s him,” and then have them come over to me with a tear in their eye. I never believed this was possible. I never thought that anyone would appreciate me, let alone, ask me to sign a book or say, “Thank you,” because of something that I said in a lecture.

Even more, I never thought that I would walk in a classroom where students would be sitting with a copy of my book on their desk.
I have never been cool in my life.
I don’t know what that means to anyone else, but I know what this means to me.
At the same time, it is surreal to walk in a room of young people looking at me in a way that humanizes me or makes me real.
I never assumed that anyone would look at me with a look of appreciation or with an expression that shares a sentiment of compassion.
I never thought that anything that I said or did would seem heroic to anyone else. Or as I think about this, I am not quite sure why people see this or me or anything as inspirational.
I never thought that any of this would be me.
Never. Not in a million years.

I am still uncertain how I am where I am. There are times when I wonder how I am alive. I am not sure why I am the one who made it through my past. I don’t know why I was able to stand on the grounds where others have fallen.
Why me?
Others passed away and I was the lucky one.
I don’t know why I was lucky to have the bullet miss me.
Nor am I sure if a bullet with my name on it is the one that hit somebody else.

I don’t know about these things.
I don’t know how or why I was spared. While I can relate to the symptoms of survivor’s guilt, I am unsure if I am worthy or if my life is worth more than anyone elses. To be honest, I do not believe that one life is more valuable than another. Not mine or yours. But I do say that we have to be grateful for what we have. We have to be mindful of what we have, otherwise, we can lose everything.
And sure, I’ve lost everything before.
More than once.
And somehow, I’m still here.

I have no opinions that say I am better or worse. I have no right to point fingers or accuse anyone. I am not fit to judge anyone.
I only know that I am alive, somehow, and sometimes, I realize that I managed to stay alive despite my best efforts.
In fact, I am crazy. But I’m not crazy,
I never was.

I was always me, and that’s the truth.
The truth is that I can only be me. I know this because I have tried to be different people. I have tried to be somebody else. However, while I have tried to dress the part and tried to act or pretend to be someone else, at best, the only person I could ever be is me.

I am like you. I am like “them,” and I use the word “them” as a vague but general association because out of everything I am or could be, I am no different from anyone else in the world.
I have my faults and flaws. At the same time, I have my own qualities, attributes, gifts and talents.
These are mine.
All of this.

I have been mentioning the idea of pulling off my trick for as long as you and I have been involved. Then again, I think that I have been mentioning this for even longer. I am you and you are me. So, I have been working on this trick since you were created.
And there is a reason for this. My trick, I mean.
There is a reason why I had to come up with this — so, I can teach myself how to live or breathe, and, of course, I had to teach myself how to survive.
There is a reason for all of this.
The reason is both simple and complex.
Just like me.
I am simple. I am complex. I am alive and well and sometimes I am doing fine. Other times, I am the definition of insane thinking, doing the same thing and hoping for a different result.

I am a traveler. I am a searcher and an explorer.
I am a person who lives and breathes, and as a person who claims to be a man, I am often and equally humbled by the world and by others around me.

I am no better or stronger. No, I am only subjective and relative to a point where I see what I see, and you see what you see.
At the same time, I will never know what you see when you look at me.  
Even if you were to come and tell me, the spoken word is always interpretive.

I have never been good with this – listening to people say what they see when they look at me. Unless they have something bad to report.
It seems we note these things down, far more often than when someone pays us a compliment.
It seems that somehow, our kind of species believes the negative over the positive, nine times out of ten; and even then, who knows?
Maybe we never listen or hear the good things.

But, I have to tell you . . .
If someone were to find me as a young teen, or if someone were to sit me down as a young man, and if they were to ask me, “What are your talents?”
My answers would have been unfortunate.
If someone were to find me “back then” and asked what I want to be known for, or how would I like to be remembered?
I assume my stock answer would sound something like, “I don’t know.”
But I do know.
I know the answer to this question now, same as I knew the answer to this question then.

Bur I was only a boy. I was a teen. Or I was a young adult with no one to help me find my voice. I had no one to show me the way to find my dreams. I was unaware and unsure. I was afraid.
I was too awkward, too uncomfortable in my own skin, and too insecure to assume or believe that I had something worthwhile.

Me, worthwhile?
Me, be enough?
I would have never believed this.

I am a person who believes in raw honesty when it comes to our mental health.
I do not believe anyone has the market cornered on life. The same as I find myself in uncharted waters, so do others.
The same as I hurt, others hurt too.
The same as my heart breaks, yours has too, or at least, so you tell me.

I am no better nor smarter.
I am me.
Last week a young man told me that he was not like me.
He commented on my frame and told me that he didn’t have muscles like me.
I was never this size. I’ve never been muscular before, nor have I ever been told that I look strong.
I told the young man, “Muscles don’t make you strong.”

I asked him, “Do you wake up and get out of bed every day?”
The young man said, “Yes.”
“Do you go to school when you have to?”
“Yes.”

“Do you go regardless of what the other kids will say or do to you?
“Yes”
Then I advised, “So you mean to tell me that no matter how anxious you are about the bullies at school and no matter how scared you are that they are going to come at you and pick on you, you still manage to get up and go to school every day?”
The young man said, “Yes,”

I told him, “Son, that means you are stronger than I’ll ever be.”
I told him, “I will never be as strong as you.”

In fairness to the young man and with full disclosure, I represent myself in two parts. There is the person I am today and then there is the old me.
However, I keep hold of the old version of my former self, just in case I have to call upon my old demon and call to hell and prepare myself for war.
When it comes to bullies, or in other recent cases where I had to allow myself to show the old side of me, it was like the case of the old me walking up to tap the new me on the shoulder.
The old me explained, “You’ve done well with yourself. But this is where I play. Not you.” and then there was a mutual nod of assurance between us.
The old me promised to go back to its perspective place and said, “Don’t worry, I can take it from here.”

Sometimes, you have to stand up for someone in a way that stands up for you, yourself, and others who never had someone come along to defend them.

I think about the story of St. Micheal, The Protector.
I think about the story of how St. Michael, The Archangel, cast Lucifer out of heaven.

St. Michael said, “Who is like God?”
This is how he stepped up to Satan.
Who is like God?
Who thinks that they are strong?
Who thinks that they are better?
Who thinks that their evil can defeat my greater good?

I think about the young man who I spoke with.
I think about the will of others who looked to break the young man down. They tried to shatter him, and still, somehow, this young man gets up every day, and he still goes where he is supposed to, despite what’s thrown his way.

St. Michael cast Satan out Heaven and said, “Who is like God?”
The answer is no one.
I offered this story to my new, young friend.
I asked him, “Who is like you?” and then I answered for him.
“No one!”

There is nothing about me that is so different from the young man and to be transparent, there is nothing different between me and the bullies who threatened him.
However, I am not the person I used to be. I have grown. I have offered my sentiments and my apologies. I have settled my debts and made amends where I could.

I still owe. I know this for sure.
And I’m still paying too, which is fine because I would rather pay up front than be hit on the back with interest and late payments.
I am aware and I understand that Karmic debt collects differently than our Mastercard or Visa.
I am certainly not like God nor am I as strong as the young man.
But I am stronger now than ever before—

My best high was not something that came from a bottle or a little package. This was not a high that came from something that can be administered, injected or smoked.
No, my best high was in a classroom as I wept and screamed and laughed and lectured about the stories of my life.

I never thought I would be received this way. I never thought that people would listen to me.
I never assumed that I could ever be anything more than my worst assumptions of myself.
At the same time, I never believed that I could pull off corporate events or create wellness programs for colleagues and executives around the world.

This is the most that I have. This is my secret, and this is my story.
These are accounts of my truth, and this is the detail of the greatest high I have ever felt.

There is this thing within us all. There is a drive to be better yet, there is an opposing force, which is the battle within. This is the battle of good and evil.
This is the true self, battling with the emotional self.
And the truth is we all have this.
We all have fears. We worry. We doubt. But for some reason, we are afraid to have these things come to light.
We don’t want anyone to know that we don’t have it all together.
We are afraid to be weak.

I have been told that one day, the last shall be first and the first shall be last. I know what this means.
I know the meek shall inherit the earth.

I don’t want to be first or last, at least not in this regard.
I don’t want to inherit the earth.
Besides, I already owe enough in back taxes.
Who knows what comes with an inheritance like this?
I don’t need to be first or last.
I don’t need to have a title.
I just want to be me.
And sometimes, this is the toughest thing for any of us to do—to just be yourself. This can be a bitch sometimes.

I have never felt a high like this.
I never thought anyone would consider me to be a speaker, let alone be called a motivational speaker.
A high like this is untouchable on all other accounts.
To be high like this or be looked at or seen or to be valued for just being who you are—I swear, there is nothing as amazing as this.
Except for love though. Like, as in real love.
True love.
That in itself is a different high altogether.