Sharing my personal life with the general public is a little scary. It's the vulnerability equivalent of walking into a party and announcing, "So, let’s talk about me." But this morning I feel much better about it, because I've been reading George Takei's blog. That's right. George Takei, who navigated the Starship Enterprise to destinations where no one had gone before, using nothing but confidence, a velour uniform, and remarkable comic timing.
He didn't stop there, either. Decades after boldly going, he's still boldly going—posting, advocating, charming millions of people on the internet, which is a feat roughly as difficult as commanding a starship, possibly harder, given the internet's crew is mostly comprised of trolls.
George believes in the power of people to change the world. And I've decided, somewhat unilaterally, that this means he also believes I can reach my goals, provided I set a course and don't waver. I recognize this is a slightly aggressive interpretation of a man's blog, but at this point in my healing journey, I'll take my motivational support wherever I can beam it in from.
Several years ago, I met a man who understood the pain and hopelessness that filled my life at the time. He suggested a different way of living, one that had completely transformed his own. I told him I was afraid to try; afraid I'd fail and be left even more hopeless, which felt like betting my last dollar on a scratch-off ticket.
"You don't have to believe it will work for you," said this man, who I would later recognize as one of life's actual winners, the kind of person who probably alphabetizes his spice rack for fun, "you only need to believe that I believe it works for me."
Which is, when you think about it, an oddly elegant loophole. I didn't need faith. I just needed to borrow his.
He explained that his life had changed dramatically and all for the better, because he'd followed a specific set of guidelines. If I followed the same guidelines, he said, I'd get the same results. It sounded suspiciously like a recipe, and I have burned enough dinners in my life to be skeptical of recipes. But I followed his suggestions anyway, because I believed in him even when I couldn't yet believe in myself.
And it worked. Today I'm free of yesterday's limitations—mostly, and I'd try to be an instrument of healing for others who've suffered emotionally the way I did, but without the burnt-dinner metaphors.
Here's the most curious part of this whole path: when I do my best to help others, I reap the same benefits myself. It's a strange, almost cosmically inefficient-sounding economy, the kind where giving something away somehow leaves you with more of it. I've stopped questioning it and started just showing up for it.
That's why I share the events of my life with others: to help them, and, not coincidentally, to help me. It's sometimes funny, sometimes embarrassing (there have been incidents), and always a little scary. But hey! I believe in George Takei, and George Takei, in my head at least, believes in me. So I just keep on keeping on.
Life is good my friend. Live long and prosper.
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