The Eternal Voodoo of Who You

 

I did musicals in high school even though I wasn't a very good singer (when there are less than 100 kids in the school, you get plenty of opportunities)

John Clark pondering the journey associated with self-identity. As a kid, I knew one thing for certain when I entered first grade...I wasn’t like other kids, but couldn’t explain why. It forced me to use my wit (yes even at age six, I had a lot of it), and a very sharp tongue to keep a people-free buffer around me.

I got a lot of my early identity from what I read and I was a voracious, even ferocious reader. Early on, I jumped from picture books right into fantasy and adventure. I am pretty sure I read everything Edgar Rice Burroughs wrote by the time I was twelve.

Living on an 187 acre farm overlooking Sennebec Lake allowed me lots of room for solitary pursuits. As an AA friend said when chairing a meeting years later, “I liked being alone, it was the only time I understood all the rules.”

Being by myself was safe and allowed my mind not only the freedom to wander, but be out from under other people’s expectations. I was a minor rogue in high school, a hard worker (taking care of thousands of laying hens on weekends as well as raking blueberries all of August each summer), extremely socially awkward, only allowing myself the elusive freedom to be someone else while acting in high school plays and when immersed in a book.

Early addiction to alcohol and later to psychedelics, gave me the psychic/emotional buffer to fit into society, until alcohol took over, sending me on a self-destructive trail. I can attest that there is nothing more humiliating than coming out of a blackout, not remembering a thing from the previous night and having to wait for others to fill in that sordid reality. Imagine doing that over and over for years.

When I look carefully at who I became after many years of rocky living, the result is, in fact, worth it. I wouldn’t have compassion, nor a desire to do kind things on a daily basis for others had I not gone through that spiritual wringer. I sure as hell wouldn’t have been a writer, nor a decent husband, father, and grandfather.

My hard earned ability to be comfortable in my own skin, as well as having a mind quiet enough so I can often understand how/what others are dealing with, was worth every moment of despair and discomfort that it took to get me here. If nothing else, it makes for great character creation.

As you can see, I loosened up considerably as I got older and more comfortable in my skin. This photo came about as a bet with another Maine librarian.