Confidence Of Purpose

I always wanted to say something. To do SOMETHING. Something that only I could express, only I could do, but thats all I knew. 

When I was growing up, adults used to tell me, "Bobby, you could be anything you want to be if you just put your mind to it". It was always said with a hint of disappointment. Like I was wasting something and what a shame it was. I always knew that I could do something special, something unique, and meaningful but I believed that without luck and the right timing, chances are, that I wouldn't. For much of my life it was just enough to have people know that I was special. As long as they knew that I could do something I never had to actually do it. In a time when I lacked purpose this is what passed for meaning. I was chasing notoriety as a goal. Not a means to an end but a culmination. All this time, I had it backwards.

I've lived my life believing that someday someone would come along and discover me. That they would recognize my special abilities. They'd see my potential for greatness, and present me to the world. And the world would rejoice. These talent scouts, they'd have all the right connections to all the right people. I'd be rich, famous, beloved, and appreciated. Finally, my potential would be fulfilled.

The years passed and no one came. I grew dejected. As my hope turned to fantasy I searched for reason. It wasn't me. It couldn't be. It was just that luck wasn't on my side. I saw people with no message, and lacking an original voice or exceptional talent, who'd 'made it' and it frustrated me. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I tried on many hats, searching for the right fit. I lived many different lives. I was a skateboarder, cook, carpenter, junkie, musician, tattoo artist, fighter, comedian, a family man, and now an inmate. I'd play with something just long enough to figure it out, and just as I would be on the verge of really doing something with it, I'd lose interest or self-destruct. I'd soon move on to the next thing. This cycle made me an expert on many things but a master of none. In my failure to find a worthy purpose in life a quiet despair slowly grew within. Blaming circumstance and timing I became content with doing little of note. Being special in a world blind to my abilities was just enough to keep me going, without doing much. The safest of all choices: doing nothing of substance. 

The entire time, I misunderstood the rules of the game. I wanted to say something just for the sake of saying it. I wanted fame just for the sake of being known. I wanted, no I needed, to be validated by others. To TAKE from them, meaning, value, and self worth. 

I want to be clear, it wasn't that I was deluded about my abilities. I wasn't inflating my need to make a difference. I didn't convince myself of a calling to express something unique. These things were real. I was just confused at the time. An internal drive misconstrued. A world misunderstood.

No matter my endeavor, I was lost. I was chasing a ghost. I thought that luck was the missing component of my success. It wasn't. I thought that success was merely recognition. It wasn't. I was lacking in direction, in purpose, in meaning. In something worthy of success. Something to be served by fame. Rather than serving it. Instead of taking, I needed to find something worth giving. My intention, not talent or ability, was the problem. I wasn't striving for the expression of an ability, unique to me, for the sake of a greater good. In which notoriety, would be nothing more than a necessary tool to reach a wider audience, to help more people.

Simply wanting something to say wasn't enough. It wasn't until I had something to say that it all made sense.

Maybe it was all part of my trajectory. Maybe I couldn't be where I am today without that initial aimless desire. Maybe it was just the byproduct of a drive without purpose. One side of a coin.

Something has changed over the past few years. Since coming to prison, the fog has slowly lifted. And now I am able to see the picture with a new found clarity. And in that clarity a surety was gained. My success was no longer a goal for self satisfaction and personal gain. It became about genuinely wanting, needing, to help people through the telling of my story. And when my drive for success was no longer tethered to selfish desire, but rather compassion and selflessness, I gained a confidence I'd never known before. A confidence of purity, knowing that I COULDN'T fail. I realized that success had become bigger than me because it was never about me. I no longer need good luck or perfect timing. I need no discovery based on chance. It isn't dependent on any single outside actor.

In finding my voice, my message, and my purpose I have no other obligation than to remain true to myself and to produce. My part of the bargain is to simply write. To write with unflinching honesty, humility, and passion. To serve others through the crafting of the knowledge I've gained at such dire costs. To narrate the experiences that I've had, in a voice that only I can. So that others can reap the rewards of such an expensive purchase without such devastating loss.

There is a freedom gained in finding that elusive purpose that has been weighing on me like gravity for all these years. But also a serious responsibility that comes with such a revelation. I'd spent enough time satisfying impulses and living for hollow pleasures. There is real work to be done. And now nearly everything else feels slightly frivolous. Partially hollow. My days are now driven by an obsessive need to do the more important work. To manifest and express the substance within. To be a conduit, worthy of such effort. To waste no more time or energy. To find meaning. To finally fulfill a purpose.