(8 minute read)

It is an interesting exercise this thing called writing. It is a never ending illuminating surprise to me. Being a decades long practitioner of the art of music and painting …writing … is an exciting way of tapping into another creative side of my personality that I find fulfilling while being tested.

Mostly the latter.

For example, I thought I “had” the headline to this article before I began writing. But typing it out and seeing it emerge on the screen left a lot to be desired. So a few words became a sentence, then two and then a paragraph. It needed changing. So the headline you see there now is not what I started with.

The idea for this article came to me as it does with so many others, in bits of fragmented thoughts. Much like a songwriter, sometimes pithy little sayings emerge. They describe personal inner meanings that are profound to me. Yet, they are very hard to put into writing. These fragments become the skeleton to the flesh of what I write.

The above headline is probably not going to be what you might expect upon first glance. I admit to purposefully writing in this manner. To take a common saying and turn it on its head. To get myself and those that take the time to engage an opportunity to reflect.

The Journey…

…implies that there is a path to a destination. Except in this case the destination is …never reached. Well, not here anyway. Ultimately, it comes later …but we will always be unaware of it.

In earlier articles I have described how I reached some of my conclusions about life. I detailed these at great length. People who know me will tell you, with some frustration, that I live my life accordingly.

When my journey of self-exploration began it did so for many reasons. My inner-self and the world in which I was born into seemed to be in utter chaos. Growing up in my formative years I seemed to have an innate sense of purpose.

It is clear to me now. That sense of purpose came from being born during a time of significant societal changes. They were political and social conflicts in the 60s and 70s. Society seemed to be in a state of flux.

There were many “wars” in our society …and in my family. I was born the first child of a 16 and 17 year-old mother and father respectively.

Siblings later came just two and four years apart. Our parents were 19 and 20 years old. By then, they were the parents of three kids under the age of five. Three kids. Under the age of five. To parents that were still very much kids themselves.

My father became an alcoholic for the next 27 years of his life. This happened subsequently, but not necessarily because of that. The first 20 years were spent in drinking bouts that led to horrifying violence. The police often visited the project apartment we lived in. They all knew my parents by their first name. It was also a time before the domestic abuse laws that are now in place.

I still have nightmares of those moments.

Let’s leave those memories there for a moment. We return to the early fall of 1960. That year, I became the first son born to teenage parents. I was also the paternal grandson of Catholic French-Irish grandparents. My maternal grandparents boasted a Methodist German-English background. You see where this is headed?

Notice the distinctions, Catholic and Methodist, comes first. That is intentional. The religious schism between the families was a problem from day one. As I grew older it becomes plainly clear to me. Blood heritage differences was never brought up. But the religious differences? Family members on both sides were always critical.

Later I was told that when I was born a great debate was started. Which religion would I be baptized? The argument was settled like a King Solomon decision …to be baptized into both. I wonder how many other Catholic/Methodist brothers and sisters are out there? Or does one baptize cancel the other?

But that settled very little between family members as the schism would last for the rest of their natural lives.

For years I silently felt the brunt of shame. As kids often do, I thought it was my fault that lead to the families’ strong dislike for one another. As if it were my fault for being born! The product and consequences of the sexual congress between two very young teenagers.

The shame was put into words for me. In 1973, one-named superstar Cher recorded the number one hit, Half-Breed. The power of the lyrics felt like a punch in the gut to a pimply faced 13 year-old.

Half-breed, that’s all I ever heard. Half-breed, how I loved but hate the word. …both sides were against me since the day I was born.

One God, Two Religions?

I offer this information for many reasons. First, this is the environment where I begin to search for meaning. My road if you will. The question always lingered. How could both families believe in the same deity but harbor so much dislike for one another? It seemed to my very young mind that the same admonishment of faith, “to love one another” was glaringly lacking. As represented in these two families, how could there be one God, but two religions?

For decades, the question was the cornerstone for my personal search. This pursuit led to a formal study for meaning, resulting in undergraduate and graduate degrees in theology. It also formed a philosophy on which I base the way I live my life today. Simply put, my search for meaning resulted in a more confident and centered individual. It also brought an inner peace that is central to my daily life. I could not be more content. Not that I have reached Nirvana. I do not think that is ever possible for anyone.

Some things occasionally still unnerve me. Like dreams …zombies and vampires. I dream of wandering my old high-school hallways after losing my class schedule. I dream of working as a radio DJ. The stress of not finding the next record or ad copy resulting in “dead air” on the airwaves. I still occasionally yell at the TV for something a politician said hours, days, and weeks before. I am pretty sure they cannot hear me, but I give it to them just the same.

I know that I am different today. I call this difference the embracing of my own inner peace.

…To Inner Peace

Peace is a byproduct for just about every major religion. The claim is that it can be achieved by simply overcoming the many obstacles to peace. One way peace is promised is through embracing physical and emotional pain. I have achieved inner peace that way. Given the personal information provided above, would you be surprised?

I do not know what it is to like to live a life of economic privilege or social bliss. But I do know one thing: all humans share the ability to recognize who we are now. We can find what and who we want to be. We also see the yawning chasm between them both.

Angst and pain come from recognizing the chasm that exists between who we are and who we want to be. We feel the immense distance we must travel to get there. And no matter what our lot in life might be, this is something that just about all of us experience. Embracing that fact provides us with a good start on the road to inner peace.

How we start and eventually get there is simply different for each of us. I can only decide to share my story. I challenge you to keep walking until you achieve that confidence of “knowing” inner peace.

With all due respect to Mrs. Gump, life is not only like a box of chocolates but is also a lot like writing. Sometimes the “meaning” of events and ideas are dropped into our lap all at once with profound clarity. Other times …most of the times, if we are honest, they come in fragments. Sometimes, they are seen “dimly, through a dark glass” …I have a feeling but cannot really describe it.

Initially, the idea that I may not see everything has a way of making some a little uncomfortable. Not understanding or having answers for everything can be unsettling for some people. Part of the human condition is pride in knowing that I have the ability to figure ALL things out. My understanding is that pride stems from the wish to manage situations. These are situations that I ultimately can’t control.

“I need to figure out how this bad thing happened to me. Then, I can make sure that it never happens to me again.”

This principle can apply to some of the things that I already “control” like my thoughts and feelings. But I can’t control everything by developing an answer or theory. So I do not kid myself anymore because the question to the final answer has already been personally established.

Real inner peace is knowing the end from the beginning …and deciding to live a daily life knowing that this moment is all we have got. And I am more than OK with that.