I Lost Something…


He had no idea, its just what everyone did, and he decided to do it better. The people around him encouraged him too. The applause was gratifying. Day by day, week by week his following grew. It seemed that he could do no wrong. When I talked to him, though, it felt like I was talking to a caricature on a film set, like he was playing a role and he had to follow script. The success script. The I-have-it-all-covered script. But something seemed a little off. This man was like a fortress, built piece by piece, and it was formidable. But when I went to go through the door to take a look inside there was precious little to be impressed by. Just a lonely little boy running around with his toy soldiers and no one to play with.

I asked him who were his heroes. He looked at me as if that was a strange question. He had none. Well, maybe the president of America, but he wasn’t going to admit that. “You know,” he said, “My home here is one of the most desirable properties in all of Los Angeles and yesterday it was full of journalists asking me about my wine cellar, my taste in cigars, my cherry wood floor and my cars. Not one asked about me!”

“Did that bother you?”

“God, man, I dunno. Not until now.”

“Well, I am sure you worked hard to get it all, it’s nice, but what if you had to….let’s say ‘let go of it all,’ would you be a different person afterwards?”

“Man!” He shot back, “You ask the hardest questions!”

“Well here is another one, who would you be without the castle and its gardens and it’s cars and it’s hefty value price?”

“Now you are going for blood, man!” He laughed. “I guess I’d be one miserable ass.”

“Ah, I love the honesty! Can I be honest too?” I looked for the nod before I continued,  “It seems to me that instead of you owning all this great stuff, the great stuff owns you. You’ve become a caretaker of the stuff, they help pay you compliments, tell you how great it is to have them in your life and then, that’s all. In the meantime you forgot you and who you are!”

“Bullshit!” He yelled, loud enough to bring forth the butler from the kitchen. “You called me sir?”

“No, no, well, maybe, bring us a couple glasses of Chardonnay, chilled.”

“Yes sir, right away!”

Turning back to me he looked a little less certain, “You know, I think you touched on something that I need to look at a little more closer. I think I have become what I thought I was told to become by everyone else and I did it and now I don’t even know anyone intimately. I don’t even know myself, really. Oh, I know I am good at performing, at making heads turn and it solicits praise. I get journalists asking to write a story about my success all the time. But I lost something in the process.” He paused and blurted a quiet, “Me. ”

The conversation was going deep faster than I had anticipated. I didn’t know what to say next. I heard myself just say, “It all starts by letting go. Let go of your security, let go of your fear of being less than, let go of your need to be better than, and you might find your true self and find out that he’s actually a great guy worth loving.”

“I don’t know”, he replied, “Letting go sounds a lot like dying. Is there going to be life after this slow death?”

I shook my head in a yes movement. “You’ll find yourself, I think, to be more alive than you ever have. Maybe you’ll even find God somewhere in there too.”

He slumped into a massive brown leather chair, “Now, this is getting my attention!”

 

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