Around this same time, I bought a boat. That probably sounds completely random and purposeless, but it was a significant moment for me. I have always loved summers on the lake with my family, and I’ve dreamed of having my own boat all my life. Typical of my backward style, I had never driven a boat, nor did I have any way to haul it or store it. I just knew it was time to make this bucket list item happen. I bought the perfect 19-foot runabout boat from a sweet lady about 35 miles away. It was 17 years old and in almost perfect condition. It was everything I dreamed of from the dark royal blue accent color to the bow up front where I could picture my kids riding with the same blissful peace I did when I was younger.
I had my dad help me haul it home, and then I waited for a boat dock slip to become available at my favorite marina on the lake. I spent an hour that first day just sitting in it on dry land at my mom and dad’s house – letting it sink in that it was really mine. I can’t explain it, but it just felt like I had found a long-lost piece of me. The lady I bought it from told me she bought it brand new as a divorce present to herself. I felt that energy and freedom when I sat in it, and I knew it was now my boat for a reason. What I didn’t realize was the turning point that was about to unfold.
Once I had it on the water, it was time to learn to drive it. My dad went out with me twice and taught me everything he knew. If you know my dad (quite possibly the greatest man on earth), he has seemingly infinite knowledge and will share it with anyone eager to learn. The third time, I left the dock with just myself and my kids. I thought I’d be nervous or hesitant, but the complete opposite feeling came over me. I felt a deep connection to the boat, the water, my emotions… even my ancestry. I felt like I was born right there on that white vinyl driver’s seat. I was more comfortable behind that wheel than I was driving my car. I’ve always felt pulled toward bodies of water, but this was a different feeling. Everything in my life started to change that day. I felt like I knew everything about this boat… almost like I’d owned it before. I suddenly felt keenly aware of the landscape, every bluff that plotted my position, the sound of that Mercury motor slightly shifting with every wake that bumped underneath me – even docking the boat was no challenge. I felt like something buried deep in my DNA knew this lifestyle and I’d done this many times before.
It was then I realized that not only did I love lake times with my family… I hailed from a long line of water lovers. Of course, I remembered my grandparents running the campground here, but I never thought back much further than that until I was by myself on the water.
Both my mom’s father and my dad’s father were in the Navy. They navigated waters I could only dream of being on. I felt this deep connection that I couldn’t ignore. I became curious about my roots and wondered if driving this boat was somehow written into my genetic makeup. My emotions begin to untangle, and I wanted to submerge myself in everything – the wind, the sun, every temperature change in the water, the history of places I hadn’t yet visited in this life, and this new energy that was enveloping me like one of those 60-second hugs only Granny could give. I wanted to feel the depths of life that I had neglected for the last 20 years. I needed to feel everything again.
I came home that evening and decided to watch a movie, which was something I had also estranged myself from for the most part. I picked a movie centered around ships and tides, of course, and an actor that I used to connect with mentally. More of my emotional restraints began to slip out of their skilled knots when I watched this incredibly talented man dominate the screen again. I never understood why, but as a teenager, I just resonated with this person even though he was a celebrity and I had never met him. As I watched an old movie of his that I hadn’t seen yet, the connection was still there. There are just some people you share a soul connection with whether or not you’ve ever met. Another mental clarity checkpoint waved its flag, and I suddenly remembered why I stopped watching movies years ago. I wanted that connection with someone in real life, and I was always disappointed.
I’ve always been a pretty good people reader. I would watch his actions – the way his hands moved gracefully when he spoke and the way his eyes either desperately stared into a person’s soul or avoided them if he felt threatened or uninterested. His smile wasn’t one of arrogance but one of gratefulness. Humans are great con artists, but I always felt that this was a genuinely good human. He radiated kindness, intelligence, a humble soul, and a profound respect for other humans. I also sensed the loneliness and misunderstanding in his being, and I felt that at my core. It wasn’t that I had a bad life or was lonely or misunderstood completely. In fact, I had a great life with the most wonderful loving, supportive people all around me. The loneliness was in my head. It wasn’t so much about feeling misunderstood on the outside as it was about not understanding why my brain worked so differently than everyone else’s. I felt like a lost daydreamer or maybe even a crazy person explaining my thoughts to others because they just didn’t see life the way I did. But this was a person who would understand, and have his own two cents to share in response.
As I watched this actor on the screen, I remembered how excited I was as a teenager to find someone that would share these conversations with me. I understood how his brain worked, and it gave me hope that there were others like him out there in the real world. I also remembered how underwhelmed I was time and time again when no one could live up to what I felt when I watched these movies. After years of being disappointed in relationships, I simply stopped watching movies. They were no longer comforting and hopeful to me. I would always end the movies feeling frustrated that these men didn’t seem to exist. Feelings of hurt, resentment, and rage would stir up in me. I’d throw pillows against my wall while I sobbed in anguish over feelings I couldn’t seem to get a grip on. So, I just stopped. I stopped welcoming anything that threw my emotions over the edge. I stopped allowing myself to be subjected to deep connections, intense feelings, and storylines that apparently didn’t exist in life. I stopped because they hurt too much. The feel-good movies made me feel like a failure for not finding my happy ending. The sad movies made me revisit the hurt. The action movies weren’t even safe. There was always a subplot that was tainted with someone saving the day or someone losing their way. I couldn’t count on them anymore, so I abandoned them along with the feelings that rendered themselves when I was the audience. I needed to be the writer of my own movie. I needed to control things, so I would no longer be surprised by the endings. I turned off the TV for years other than sports, children’s shows with my kids, and an occasional movie that I would tune out by working on my laptop as it played.
Watching this movie triggered a core reset, though. I stared at this familiar face on my TV, and I allowed myself to feel things again. I dropped every wall I had built knowing it had the potential to sabotage me. Twenty years had changed my perceptions of things, though. My emotions were processing on a higher level that was freeing but also safely harbored within a new maturity. It was nice to feel again, and even the sadness no longer overpowered me. I even dissected the film’s ending in a way that didn’t reflect upon my own accomplishments or failures. I can’t explain how it felt to soak in a tub of emotions without wanting to drown.
I spent the rest of the summer alternating between lake days and movie nights. I joked about my movie obsessions being a “celebrity crush” to others because it was easier than explaining what was really happening. I wasn’t crushing over some sex symbol on a screen. I didn’t have the desire to attend his events or scream his name while I disappeared in a sea of hands hoping he’d scribble his name on something for me. In fact, I didn’t want to see him at all in person unless I could sit down and have an hour-long conversation with him.
I was repairing 20 years of hurt and fear through an actor that understood me without even knowing my name. I watched interviews, video clips, independent films… everything I could find. When he spoke, it felt as though he was saying what I hadn’t been able to say out loud. His voice was therapeutic. As I listened to his trials and emotional insights, I began to tell myself I also had been limiting myself to the world and it was time to unleash. For the second time in my life, I reminded myself didn’t have to fit the societal mold. The past 20 years were full of good times and bad, and I wouldn’t change them for anything… but things could be different now. My kids were older. My income was higher. My dreams were alive, and my emotional mindset was now available to recognize all dimensions of success I knew I could achieve. It didn’t have to make sense. Most of the things I had done in life didn’t make a lot of sense to others. I used to reach for the impossible. I used to dream of things and then make them happen, and I was ready again. Nothing was off limits. The unthinkable became “what if?” What if I could also reach people and make them believe in themselves without needing 20 years to do it? I woke up every day ready for the journey, even though I wasn’t sure of the mission. The mission didn’t even matter. I felt like I was playing a game and had just leveled up into a new untapped world. I listened to every little nudge from the universe, every little message that felt like it was directly from God, and I paid attention to subtle clues and open doors that might be inviting me in to experience a new path or another piece of my puzzle.
I started saying “yes” to myself more and I found power in learning to say “no” to things that I didn’t have to do. I also embraced the idea that I could do things alone. Just because my kids didn’t want to do something, or my partner didn’t want to… I could still do these things. In fact, I needed to. I needed time to do things because I wanted to. It didn’t have to always serve a purpose, require a justification, or fulfill a responsibility. I could enjoy things just for fun and mind-expanding possibilities. Everyone around me could adjust and take on some more of the load, too. People will take as long as you continue to give. The people that really matter in your life will also step up, help, and even upscale their own abilities when you need them to do so. I would never put anything ahead of my family or my kids, but I had to carve out some time for myself, too. Turn back to Chapter 1 and re-read it. This is the time in my life when this project began to take shape.